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thesinglesjukebox · 2 months

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BEN PLATT - "ANDREW"

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"Andrew! Andrew! Andrew! You're gonna love meeeeeeeeee..."

[6.36]

Jeffrey Brister: Platt’s an incredibly talented vocalist, there’s no doubt there, and a good performance can do a lot to elevate average material -- like, say, a pleasant but unremarkable folky song about being sad and gay. His delicate falsetto dancing over top of the guitar, how the chorus blooms with yearning in a name, staying away from theatre kid pyrotechnics -- it’s a laundry list of good choices, and I’m just bowled over by its simple and straightforward beauty and earnestness. [8]

Alfred Soto: Depending on my diet that day I can embrace this unmitigated schmaltz or vomit at the sight of it. Neither the falsetto nor the lyrics have heard of subtlety. I am past the age when unrequited lust wears the drag of lachrymosity, but I hope I'm not callous enough to understand when young adults need it. [6]

Hannah Jocelyn: A friend and I made a list of songs about unrequited queer love, specifically when it comes to incompatible orientations. This is Ben Platt’s entry in the canon, and it’s the best song I’ve heard from him, the first that doesn't sound like rejected tracks from either Dear Evan Hansen or Blue Neighborhood -- it starts off very Simon & Garfunkel, but the more ambient Sufjan Stevens territory on the chorus fits him shockingly well. One problem: the Melodyne detracts from how sincere and pure the writing is (isn't Dave Cobb known for his authenticity?), to the point where Platt sings "if I can't get closer then I am destroyed" and sounds like a Dalek. Normally that would be a dealbreaker, and maybe I would dismiss this if I hadn't, in fact, had an Andrew or five. Cobb's production is gentle and tender enough that I can just lie back and think of all the pretty girls. [7]

Isabel Cole: I do appreciate the concept of this aching little ditty about the specific wrenching futility of crushing on a straight guy, and the idea of “wasting heartbreak” on someone who would never even be able to grant you the dignity of being rejected for your actual self is poignant. I can imagine the teen for whom this hits at exactly the right time, and that’s not nothing. But the first-love adolescent yearning of the lyrics fits oddly with the meandering melody and the folky arrangement (it’s giving Harry Styles Presents VH1’s I Love The 60s), and Platt… listen, whatever you think of Dear Evan Hansen, no one’s ever denied that the guy can sing. Here, it’s hard to shake the sense that he’s deliberately trying to differentiate his solo work from his Broadway past by avoiding sounding too musical theater, choosing instead to flatten his clear, resonant tone into a dull, nasal drone that feels like he’s playing Barefoot Guy With Guitar in a mockumentary about hippies. It doesn’t really work -- his falsetto sounds grating, and like a lot of stage singers trying to branch out, there’s a certain mannered quality he can’t quite shake -- and the few more vibrant lines towards the end make me wish I could hear a version of this aiming for the cheap seats. [4]

Ian Mathers: As someone who has disliked Ben Platt in everything I've seen or heard him in, I was absolutely prepared to reject this song from its Cat Stevens-ass opening, but then I kept listening and... I don't know, I keep thinking about that classic tumblr post that ends with "I am cringe, but I am free." I listened a few more times and... it's kind of lovely? Something about it reminds me of Gordon Lightfoot? I remember how much songs that seemed to speak to my particular romantic torments meant to me as a teen and I can absolutely imagine the kid who is going to play this on a loop like I did Sloan's "Deeper Than Beauty" or whatever? Don't make me regret this, Platt. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: The frustrating parts of this song have nothing to do with Ben Platt's voice. Whatever his faults in Dear Evan Hansen, Ben has a mellifluous tenor that comfortably floats in the higher parts of his range, allowing certain lines that feel clunky ("what a time-wastin', sweet happiness-takin', self-esteem, mess-making, heart-breakin' shame") to float past so pleasantly that when your own voice begins to sing them, they jumble together in your throat until they all flow out with the delivery of "Andrew." Producer Dave Cobb's helium guitar chords are also not the problem -- they lift Platt's voice and remain so close to it that when they lean back and let him take center stage, they allow Platt to send his melody up and catch it comfortably. The frustrating thing is the drums; they are so thin and yet so rigid that when they enter, the song loses the butterfly subtlety it needed to soar. Derrek Phillips, who has played with Vanessa Williams and Rahsaan Barber, somehow had to anchor the song in a way that would give it heft and keep its light, breezy charm, but instead he reinforces the dull structure of a second-verse drum groove, and all the hard work done by Platt and Alex Hope is squandered. A bolder choice by Platt or Cobb would've been to lean into the acoustic guitar arrangement by adding the bass and keyboards, and maybe the percussion (also done by Phillips) would act as the anchoring factor. Instead, the rigid structure kills probably the second-best thing Ben Platt has done. [7]

Jackie Powell: Ben Platt has had difficulty translating his vocal talents from film soundtrack music (the Pitch Perfect trilogy) and show tunes (The Book of Mormon and Dear Evan Hansen) into pop music. On songs like “Grow as We Go” and “Rain,” he sounded like slightly more adult versions of the characters he played. He’s leaned into motivational songs without any sort of foundation. “Andrew” works better than his previous pop offerings because of the story he paints of falling for a straight (or maybe not) friend who has led him on. A lot of these stories are coming out of the woodwork as of late with tracks such as Reneé Rapp’s “Pretty Girls” and Fletcher’s “Two Things Can Be True." These stories need to be told and provide a certain type of respite for queer people who too have felt a similar level of pain. Platt calls the situation a “cruel joke” and self-deprecates in a witty but incredibly depressing bridge. He’s not questioning whether falling for “Andrew” wastes his time but rather declares the infatuation as a time vampire that robs more than it gives. What’s less than desired, however, is the Simon & Garfunkel cosplay he attempts in the verses. The Auto-Tune that helps layer his vocals isn’t needed. The folksiness in “Andrew” is a step in the right direction for Platt in his journey to translating better into pop. I just wish he could have paid homage to Simon & Garfunkel in a way that didn’t come across as just another Broadway character he’s playing. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: I feel the exact same way listening to this as I do when reading the Urban Dictionary definition of any relatively common male first name. [3]

Katherine St. Asaph: What is it about guys named Andrew that inspires plaintive folk songs? Having no longings for any Andrews, I can only connect to these songs through my nostalgia, and thus Platt's is my favorite because it navigates those channels best -- which is to say it sounds exactly like Simon & Garfunkel. [6]

Mark Sinker: Not sure I remember a song where the jump from chest voice to head voice for the high notes feels so extremely foregrounded as a DECISION NOW BEING TAKEN. AND IT'S DONE! I can imagine arrangement where this works with the content: except here’s it’s like literally everything else about the song is funneling your attention to this choice instead, and I don’t think it’s what I’m meant to be thinking about? You have a nice voice mate, sorry your crush didn’t work out, that sucks. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Every time I've tried to write this blurb it's come out too ironic -- couching my appreciation for it in my disbelief that Dear himself could make such a perfect rendering of the version of Sufjan Stevens' music that exists only in the minds of 2014 Tumblr users, things of that nature. But let me meet sincerity with sincerity and say that "Andrew" wrecks my shit completely every time I listen to it, every achingly beautiful guitar arpeggio and breathy note from Platt activating all of my sentimental impulses. Most of all I admire the commitment here -- there's never a moment of performance from Platt or his producers that shies away from the full teenage gay melodrama of the lyrics. Weaker souls would have tried to subvert the maudlin stuff here. I'm glad they didn't. [9]

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slasherlouvre · 2 years

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hiii i was wondering if you could pretty please write something nsfw for Thomas Hewitt. I was thinking something where the reader focuses on taking care of him because he deserves all of the love and attention in the world (and i’m more of a giver myself tbh) Thank youuu❤️

My first request and it’s for some loving, nsfw/t Thomas content?? 🥺

Know that I am giving you an appreciative smooch on the forehead, anon 🤧. Sorry this took so long to put out! I've been super busy, but I really enjoyed spoiling our selfless Tommy in this 💝!! Wasn’t sure if you wanted an x fem reader, so I kept it gender neutral! I hope this gets to you!

Worthy

Thomas Hewitt x gn! Reader

Warnings: size kink, cockwarming, shower sex, overstimulation, creampie, light angst, some language, living in T*xas

Summary: Sometimes even hefty, 6’5, chainsaw-wielding slashers need to be reminded of their value <3

The sun is setting in Fuller Texas, and ironically, your heart begins to feel brighter now than it had the entire blistering day. There’s a slightly noticeable spring in your step that you idly try to quell as you step outside the Hewitt home to bring in the clean sheets you’d hung on the washing line earlier.

You take a moment to admire the yellow-golds that dance across the dry plain, teasing your vision until they inevitably both darken and start to fade. Days at the Hewitt household could be rough- ever a demanding list of tasks needing to be done as soon as the first rays of sunrise touched down on the earth.

Hoyt is difficult on everyone about 'pulling their weight' around the house, but he's especially exacting when it comes to Thomas. For the most part, you tend to stay out of Hoyt’s way to avoid worrying Thomas about your well-being any further; often keeping your head down when completing chores and keeping your mouth shut when he remarks something callous so as not to ‘provoke him’. On the days you manage to finish your chores early- and Hoyt doesn't have a particularly large stick up his ass, you slip away unnoticed to be with your Tommy.

He doesn’t really like having you come down to him when he’s in the basement- there are plenty of ways you could hurt yourself, and he’s afraid your good-natured impression of him will change if you see him in such a brutal setting, but there are few things he can deny you (especially when you come on to him so sweetly). It's mostly within the privacy of your shared bedroom, long after the sun has set, that you're finally able to put the entire day behind you and spend some quality time with the man you love.

Your nights with Thomas are usually quiet, save for a chorus of crickets outside and the noises that normally come with an old house; all other sounds are normally entirely accounted to the words of affirmation you devote to Thomas and the kisses shared between one another. On some nights, your quality time doesn’t evolve much farther than cuddling each other until you both fall asleep in a matter of minutes- too tired from the day's responsibilities for much else, but more than happy to be in each other’s arms.

Solid calloused hands rouse you from your thoughts as they comfortingly settle at your hips, causing you to smile.

"All finished, handsome?", you knowingly remark.

You can feel Thomas' grip tighten just a fraction as he leans in to nod against your neck, essentially hugging you from behind. You're both aware of your warm dampened skin clinging to each other, a tell-tale sign of a hard day's work, but neither of you feel particularly bothered by it enough to keep away from one another despite the heat.

"We still have some time before dinner...", you whisper while leaning into his chest a bit more now, "we can wash up together.."

--------

You undress allowing your used clothing to haphazardly meet the floor while Tommy gets the water running. There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you as he begins to pull off his apron and set it aside, but you walk over and prevent his hands from working any further.

“Let me?”, you ask kindly.

Thomas stares at you for a moment; a thoughtful, soft-hearted expression behind blue. He nods silently, and your hands gingerly run up his chest to grip his tie and begin undressing him. Thomas is more than capable of undressing himself of course, but you always relish in doting on him- especially when the act requires a special kind of trust on his part to allow himself to be vulnerable for you.

He’s tired even if he won’t admit it. You enjoy feeling his tense muscles begin to relax under your touch as you peel away the layers separating the both of you, kissing his scars as you go.

It's impossible for you not to admire his body; you're especially fond of the way the fat of his stomach and thighs are irresistibly complimented by his obvious strength. Thomas is always careful when topping you, but you make it quite clear that you more than take pleasure in feeling his size and weight overwhelm you.

You leave his mask for last as you tenderly lead him to the tub and straddle his lap once he’s settled. Thomas readjusts slightly to help you get comfortable, resting his large hands on your hips again as though second nature, while you reach up to gently undo the straps of his mask. You set it aside and sigh at his lovely features you don’t get to see very often; you can’t help but take a moment to allow your eyes to roam his face, not wanting to forget even a single detail about him.

“I love you, Thomas Brown Hewitt”, you whisper while pressing featherlight kisses to his visage, paying special attention to the places you know he hates most.

There’s a deep resonating sound that begins in his chest, and travels past his lips at that. Even when the guttural noises he makes to communicate with you never fully develop into words, they always reach your heart.

For the most part, Thomas is a quiet man; often suppressing what’s left of his voice in favor of labored breathing even in your most intimate moments. However, he’d realized rather quickly into your relationship that hearing him vocalize flustered you tremendously; always sending a thrilling sensation through your brain and spine somehow akin to excitement, elation, and pleasure all at once. So as he always does, Thomas indulges you when it has to do with your happiness and sexual gratification.

Unsurprisingly, Thomas’ primary love language is ‘acts of service’. It’s a devotional love; one that people often take for granted because of its consistency and altruistic nature. You could never take it for granted- you’re constantly aware and moved by Thomas' love for you even when his methods can be unconventional; grateful for any capacity of affection he has to offer despite his deep-rooted psychological scars.

And while his intentions are pure, Thomas unfortunately has a warped perception when it comes to justifying his selflessness- he sees himself as unworthy of all things good and caring. It's the reason why he normally resists being on the receiving end of such sentiments and actions; a trait you always find yourself fighting against with even more words of affirmation and displays of affection in hopes he'll one day finally understand how much he means to you.

The lukewarm water agitates in a comfortable way around your bodies as Thomas moves to press himself closer against you, returning your adoration with devout kisses of his own. You moan when he sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to shamelessly keen into him. His breathing hitches when your hips unintentionally roll against his groin, and he gives you an apologetic look when he begins to harden.

“You don’t have to feel bad, sweetheart, I’m yours”, you reassure him kindly, “I don’t think we have much time before the family starts calling us down for dinner, but…”

You lift yourself off of Tommy’s lap slightly in order to reach down and wrap a hand around his now twitching cock and align him with your entrance.

“-I need you just as badly", you whisper, playfully nipping the shell of his ear, “relax, and let me wash you first?"

Thomas is fully hard now, and you can see he’s struggling to keep his heart rate calm as he intensely keeps contact with your eyes; shakily nodding despite already wanting to give in to his increasingly consuming need for you.

You take it slow, returning to kiss his features softly as you begin to lower, teasing just his tip at first. And while you often enjoy flustering your sweet Tommy, you mostly take it slow for your own sake in this case.

Thomas is a very big man; both in height and heft, so it comes as no surprise that he’s also very well-endowed. It had taken quite a lot of reassurance on your part to convince him this wasn’t a bad thing when you’d first reached the point in your relationship; that you very much enjoyed feeling so full with him even when there had initially been a bit of pain adjusting to him.

Thomas grunts deeply, unconsciously squeezing his hands down and around your smaller form in order to steady himself; an action that has you gasping as you're pushed further on his cock.

He lets his head drop against your shoulder and neck when he finally feels you languidly bottom out around him. He's balls deep in you, and you fell so tight and hot that for a moment he almost loses his composure and begins desperately humping up into you.

You can tell Tommy is trying his very best to remain patient for you, but you can’t resist teasingly rolling your hips to get another shaky moan out of him; feigning innocence as you teasingly reach behind him to grab a bar of soap and a wash cloth.

His face is heated, and you’re sure yours is too, but you very much like seeing him that way. It’s when you start to lather soap over his skin and gently begin scrubbing that he begins to stir; wanting to care for you instead before he’d deal with himself on his own, but you insist, kissing his strong jaw.

“You’re always so selfless, Tommy”, you murmur against his neck.

You meet his eyes now with a fond expression, “I want to take care of you too, it’s important to me- you’re important to me”

You can see it in his eyes, the burden he bears from having to be a constant source of strength for everyone around him. It hurts you to see him be so hard on himself all the time, to see him genuinely think he doesn't deserve the same care he constantly provides. You don't want him to feel that way with you, you always want to be the one he can come to for love and comfort.

“Even if it’s just with me, in private moments like this, it’s okay. You deserve to be loved and cared for, Thomas- I'd never see you as less of a man because of your emotional needs and wants"

At first, he’s not sure if it’s the water making your bodies so slick and soft against one another, your heart beating so securely against his, or the words you’re giving him now that he's always wanted to hear, that finally push him over the edge. He decides it must be everything all at once as tears he no longer thought himself capable of producing appear in his weary blue eyes and his posture inevitably weakens.

You're hugging his head against your shoulder in an instant, running your fingers through his unkempt hair as he lets you comfort him. You know this won't entirely fix things- you'll have to help him again when the emotional pressure inevitably builds inside him once more, and becomes too great. Thomas will continue to be strong and selfless to a fault, but you will continue to love him to a fault as well.

Eventually, he settles as you continue to wash his skin, relishing in the way your hands and chest press against him in the process. It's impossible for him to ignore your walls shifting and squeezing around him as you move to reach across his much bigger body, but he tries to focus more on the tenderness of the act in order to last for you.

After you're satisfied with scrubbing away all traces of the day’s blood, sweat, and grime from his skin, you move to his hair; gently massaging soap into his scalp and working your fingers through any knots that formed during the day. Thomas gives you a relaxed groan at this, he adores the feeling of your gentle hands in any setting, but especially running through his scalp.

Looking after his hair is an affectionate act that just comes naturally to you; often idly moving your fingers through it at night with his head on your chest before you sleep, and in between good morning kisses when he wakes up with a bit of bedhead.

Before you came along, Thomas had never payed any special attention to himself for a good reason. In his eyes he was just some defective, disgusting, freak and everyone in town had certainly made sure he was aware of it. So when you first entered his life, he had withdrawn from you; too afraid of you turning out to be just like the rest, and unwilling to blame you for it if you did. It took a very long time for Thomas to get used to your touch, to trust you really meant what you said you felt for him despite what he had heartlessly been made to think of his appearace.

"Okay, handsome, all ready to rinse", you say giving him a peck on his lips.

It's your turn to scrub your skin and scalp, but you do so with less consideration than you had with Thomas, certain you were both pressed for time now. He has half a mind to insist on washing you too, but his cock is aching at this point and there's a powerful urgency in him to cum in you at least once before you have to separate.

You move to lift yourself off of him and get the shower head running, but Thomas’ hands unintentionally fly down on your hips to instinctively keep you seated on him causing you both to groan. He's letting go a second later, red-faced to have reacted so frenzied with you; gently pulling out now while pressing grateful kisses to your neck.

Your head feels light in a very good way as you now stand under the water with Thomas, wanting nothing more than to get the soap off as quickly as possible to give into your burning need for each other. As soon as this is achieved, you're being ardently kissed on the lips again; an action that has you automatically opening your mouth for him and wrapping your legs over his thickset thighs. He has no trouble lifting you up against the shower wall, and there's certainly no risk of slipping in the heat of the moment with how strong he is.

Thomas normally prefers slow, sensual love making, but you've riled him up quite a bit tonight, and there isn’t much time at the moment either. Regardless, he needs to release the rest of his pent up energy, and you're more than willing to help him with that. But even with how desperate he is to be inside you once more, Thomas searches your eyes for consent before going any further, just as he always does.

"I'm yours", you affirm in between heated pants, "I'm yours, and I want you too-”

It's all the confirmation he needs before he has your back arching, marking your neck with the only claim to be had over you while aligning himself with your entrance once more. You almost laugh when you think about how Tommy always reacts to seeing your neck after a rougher night; worry and guilt being his only emotions as he examines your bruised skin with featherlight fingers thinking he hurt you. You constantly reassure him that isn’t the case, but you definitely don’t complain when it has him kissing and coddling you even more for the next few days.

You’re broken out of your thoughts with a gasp when you suddenly feel Thomas sink into you with one vehement stroke; attentively letting you adjust to the sudden stretch while he worships your body under intense hands and lips- eternally thankful for your presence in his life, your choice in him, and your consent to let him cherish you so physically and so intimately despite his blood-stained hands and the repulsive image he has of himself.

You're shamelessly mewling for him to move now, a sound that arouses Thomas even more if possible. You’re unable to stop yourself from fluttering in his hold with the way he overwhelms you with his size alone. Thomas has always had an ability to drive you crazy with just how full he makes you feel. You're not ashamed of showing him how much his heaviness, both inside and around you, stimulates you either. He has a habit of treating you like you'll break; Luda May raised a gentleman after all, and the last thing he ever wants to do is hurt you- but you always tell him how much you adore feeling his imposing figure completely engulf you and that certainly makes him feel better about it.

“Tommy, please”, you beg beautifully.

Oh, he could never deny you.

He’s snapping his hips up as far as they’ll go in your current position; steady meaningful thrusts that have you squeezing around him and tears forming at the corners of your eyes with how good he’s making you feel now that he’s giving you both the relief you needed, and igniting an even stronger desire all at once. You can’t help pulling yourself into him even further by wrapping your arms around his neck, your head lolling against his every time he penetrates you.

Thomas moves a large hand to delicately have you face him once more in order to kiss you, his other still firmly against your waist to keep you steady on the wet shower wall as he continues to pound into you. You take the opportunity to run your hands down from around his neck to grope at his lovely chest and stomach, keeping up with the desperate liplock in order to distract him when you delicately run your fingers over his happy trail and cup his balls to give them a gentle squeeze.

Thomas gives you a strangled moan at that, biting down on your shoulder just enough to quiet himself, and not actually hurt you as you feel his hips stutter before beginning to fuck you even more fervently. The pleasure Thomas gives you nearly renders you dumb as you feel it electrify your nerves with every time the tip of his cock kisses as far as your walls will allow.

“Tommy! I-”

He responds with an almost animalistic growl; nodding in understanding as he lets his head fall to your chest with his eyes tightly shut, feeling his own high approach. In an instant your breath is hitching; fingernails and legs gripping Thomas impossibly close as you orgasm with a long, broken whine, and quiver around him with an intensity you never want to end. Thomas is heatedly panting against your skin at the feeling, but his cock continues to hammer into your tight, wet hole. It isn’t until he feels you spasming in his firm hold that he looks up to see your blissed out expression; half-lidded eyes with overstimulated tears at their edges, face hot, and pretty swollen lips openly panting. It’s all it takes for him to fervidly rut into you one final time; cock pressed as deeply as it will go, and your hips being pulled down onto him at the same time before he’s spurting and painting your walls white.

The water continues to run while you take a much needed moment to regulate your labored breathing. In your shared stupor, you had both weakly allowed the wet shower wall to ease you down into a half seated position; Thomas still between your legs, only this time on his knees and with his hands steadying himself above you. You give him a lethargic smile as you affectionately wrap your arms around his neck once again and motion for him to lay on you. It’s impossible for you to move him physically, but he gladly obliges you, only he remains careful about actually resting his full weight on you.

For a moment, it’s just comfortable silence; both of you taking pleasure in one another’s existence. Your hands are running through Thomas’ wet hair again and you can feel the shower’s water rhythmically thrum against his broad back, reverberating under your fingertips. His heart is still beating powerfully against you, and you take a moment to lazily press your lips against his cheek as you feel his warm seed seep out of you despite him still being fully sheathed within you.

“I love you, Tommy”

Thomas leans up to give you a heartfelt expression and a short throaty groan you know to be his way of saying, ‘I love you too’.

You were sure Hoyt would be hollering for the two of you to come down to the dinner table any second now, but with Tommy’s forehead lovingly pressed against yours, and having him so comfortingly in your arms, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

--------

“Dance with me, love?”

There’s a soft melody playing from the living room’s record player when he comes to tell you the rest of the family has gone to sleep for the night. You’re gazing at him so endearingly with your hand outstretched that he would have instantly agreed even if you had asked him to walk on fire. And his heart never fails to swell when he hears you address him with such sweet names he considers so uncharacteristic for his appearance.

Thomas’ steps are clear and comforting against the hardwood floor before he’s securely wrapping his thickset arms around you and tenderly pressing his forehead down against your own once more. The night is cool; allowing for an appreciated breeze to flow through a nearby open window while the two of you peacefully sway at a slow-moving pace with your eyes closed and your hearts full.

“I hope you never doubt how much you mean to me”, you whisper genuinely, “You don’t have have to hurt yourself trying to ‘deserve’ my love for you, Thomas. You’re more than worthy of it just as you are”

His blue eyes look tearful again, but he’s embracing you warmly before you can really be sure.

God, he loves you.

You can’t imagine anything on earth feeling safer, or more soothing than being in Tommy’s arms. And it’s in those same arms that Thomas carries you up the stairs to your shared bedroom once the lovely melody ends.

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hologramcowboy · 2 years

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My theory about Jensen and his prequel business- He was not ready to say Goodbye to SPN in season 15 for sure, the show ended because Jared got his deal with Walker, and Jensen was suddenly out of a stable job and unemployed without future planning. Think about a middle-aged person becoming jobless in a highly competitive industry- he was obviously helplessly desperate... I felt he is trying to hide that desperation long ago when in some interview he described how he doesn't want to look desperate (something along that line).I don't know the technicalities of Hollywood and how exactly he got Chaos Machine, if he was the one to go with the prequel idea or if it was network's proposal to start over with spn with him as the face- but somehow he landed with one of the worst decisions of his career with this half-cooked prequel so early out of desperation and maybe fear because that was the easy known path which has given him proper maintenance for 15 years. It was the time when he didn't even have the opportunity of The Boys, it was the only thing for him to look forward in an SPN-less future. Here I might disagree with a lot for saying he didn't essentially 'backstab' Jared with the prequel, because I think he didn't even think that he needs to tell him because he was saving his career. Jared would've nothing to say legally if he deliberately excludes him from the spin off right? It doesn't make any sense to keep it a secret from him other than being completely callous about relationship. I think he only understood Jared owed him that much as a partner of the show to know about this thing beforehand when he talked to Jared after prequelgate, but things got out of hand by then. (At least I hope, as know matter how he comes across in public while wording the whole thing in interviews, both of them clearly had a talk which ought to have some impact) However, I sincerely think whatever bitterness had been formed between them both have moved pass it, but the whole fiasco have tainted Jensen's image so bad that the prequel is already doomed. Also the dull premises and the half-cooked idea of the prequel and the smell of incompetence coming from it is not at all helping the case. Jensen already knows he is going to taste failure with the prequel, but now he cannot drop it in middle. His idiotic career move out of desperation has become his nightmare now, that's why he sounds so uncomfortable, disconnected while talking about it- sometimes lashing out on fans albeit sarcastically. He himself doesn't know how to bear the burden of this foolish decision and waiting to sink.

All of these are the thoughts of my idle mind as I have no knowledge about the industry. Just wanted to share it with someone.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts. 💖 I think you may have touched upon something very human and very real.

#jensen critical

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msmarvelouswinchester · 3 years

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Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 4 - My Apologies

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - None

WC - 2551

Square Filled - Fluff ( @girl-next-door-writes's Make Me Feel Bingo); Neighbours AU ( @anyfandomfluffbingo )

A/N - A new chapter! Hope you enjoy reading this!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 <33

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Click. Click. Click.

Adjusting her glasses on the nose, Y/N toyed around with the pen in hand, blankly staring at the kitchen wall. The empty sheet of paper sat there on the table, glaring at her. It was a bit old-school, considering her laptop was lying only a small distance away but this was how she preferred to work on her novel. It had nothing to do with her laziness.

The fear of another rejection was weighing heavily on her and she was really close to giving up on her dream of being an actually published writer. However, after her little pep talk to herself last night, she had this new indomitable spirit ignited inside her. Though that spirit was fading away with every passing minute now.

Y/N dropped the pen on the table with a huff, its metallic body hitting the wooden surface of the table as she got up to make herself a cup of coffee. Now, she might not want to admit it, but her novel wasn't the only thing that was troubling her.

A stranger’s callous comments should never hurt so much but when Dean called her stupid or rather a brainless idiot, for some reason, Y/N took it to the heart. She had then come to the conclusion that he was an ass and it was futile to even try and start a healthy relationship, but the bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter in front of her changed every perception of him yet again.

Ms. L/N, I didn't have any intentions of humiliating you. I'm really sorry. I hope you accept this small token of apology.

Walking up to the counter, Y/N picked up the small, white card and read the handwritten apology for the hundredth time that day. She didn't know if she should be impressed at his tacky methods of apologies or be annoyed at him for wrecking her mental sanity. Shaking off her thoughts, she was just about to dive back right into her writing when the coffee machine beeped.

“This is not gonna work.” She sighed, pouring one cup of the warm liquid and bringing it close to her lips. After finishing her drink, she decided to go out on a walk to clear her head but just as she stepped out of her house, she heard soft pitter patters of feet out in the hallway before a small figure of a hazel-eyed girl came into her sight.

Y/N tilted her head in confusion as the little girl ran in the halls. She looked around for her parents, but didn't see anyone else.

“Hey, pretty girl. What are you doing out here all alone?” She called out to the girl, making her stop in her tracks and look at Y/N.

“Daddy says not to talk to strangers.” She said while she cautiously approached the woman anyway.

“Where's your Dad?" She smiled softly, " I'm Y/N. See now you know me.”

“Daddy's-”

“I told you to stay inside, babygirl.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the all too familiar voice of her ridiculously handsome neighbor before the tall figure of the man himself appeared in front of her. His eyes were focused on the little girl as he walked up to her. Dean crouched down to her height, hands gently placed on her shoulders. “Never go anywhere alone again. Alright?”

Does he have a daughter?

But she had never seen the girl before. Y/N was in awe as she saw the grumpy facade fade away when he talked with her. She realised that there were so many things about Dean that she truly didn't know. Maybe she had, after all, misjudged him on some petty conflicts.

“At least your kid was within the building.” Y/N said.

“Ms. L/N.” Dean regarded and turned to look at her. He shuffled on his feet which made Y/N raise a curious brow.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester.” A look of guilt with an underlying hurt flashed in his eyes when she didn't acknowledge him by his first name. He was very sure his effort at a decent apology had been appalling and it made him wince, thinking of the awfully cringy card he had curated by his own hand to convey his regrets.

“She is pwetty.” The girl tapped his knee, attracting his attention while looking at Y/N.

“Y-yeah.” Heat crept up Y/N’s neck when she heard Dean agree with the kid. A moment of awkward silence passed as Dean looked back up at the woman, this time his gaze not faltering making the woman’s cheeks warm up even more. “She is pretty, baby.”

“You are prettier. Look at you! You look absolutely stunning in that dress and hair!” Y/N jumped in deciding to not make the situation more awkward. She hoped that Dean was maintaining his usual poker face, but instead, the corner of his lips tugged up in a little smile as the girl diverted her attention to Y/N.

“Uncle De did my hair.” She said proudly and Y/N stared at Dean. Uncle De? Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought of him to be such a gentle soul. She now remembered that the last time she saw Dean, he had told her about meeting up with his brother.

“He did an excellent job, I see.” The woman said as Dean got up and stood up straight. “What's your name, pretty girl?” She looked up at Dean, as he nodded his head.

“Ava.” She muttered.

“So Ava, remember next time to not go anywhere without Uncle De’s permission. Promise?” Y/N said and walked up closer to the two humans as Ava nodded her head agreeing to her proposition, all the while Dean’s eyes trailed along the woman's every movement. He was the best in his profession and he excelled at reading his client's body languages to figure out conflict, but Y/N was like a puzzle to him right now so he decided to take matters in his own hands.

“I hope you liked the flowers.” There it was, subtle, but at least he owned up to his apology. Y/N observed him for a moment, watching as he was nervously wringing his hands together. He seemed nervous around her. This wasn't the Dean Winchester she had come to know in the last few, quite unfortunate encounters.

“I did.” Y/N wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. He tightly held Ava’s hand to not let her out of his sight.

“De-” she pouted, “Uncle De!” The said man looked down at his niece.

“Stay put for a moment, babygirl. Uncle De needs to talk to this lovely young lady. Then we can go and get ice cream, like I had promised.” He said, before looking up at Y/N. “Listen, I'm sorry for what happened that day. I did not-” Sighing, Dean said before he was unceremoniously cut off by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

His face scrunched up as he stared at his phone screen. Sucking in a deep breath, he let the phone ring until the caller reached the voicemail. He chewed on his plump, pink lip when his phone lit up with a voice message. Y/N had an instinct he was avoiding someone, maybe an ex. Dean must have had some girlfriends.

“I'm sorry, I was saying-” the phone rang again and Dean was so close to throwing the little device against the wall.

“I think you should take that, which seems important. And I would leave you with your work things. I was going out for a walk anyway. Have a good day, Winchester.” Y/N said and walked right past the man.

“Hold up!” Y/N stopped walking before turning around to face the lawyer. “I never had the intention of hurting you.”

“Then you know the story wrong.” She said, shrugging

“Well if we study closely, the scarecrow was actually very intelligent but he never realised it.” Dean shrugged.

“So you're saying that I act stupid.” This time Y/N wasn't offended but she liked watching him squirm.

“N-no I didn't mean that-” He struggled to come up with yet another apology. “Can we drop the subject of the scarecrow? Let's just pretend the story doesn't exist in this context.” Y/N chuckled at the poor man, making him shake his head lightly.

“It's okay, Dean. Go, get the kid some ice cream.” She smiled.

“Join me for a drink sometime.” Dean blurted out without thinking. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stared at Y/N, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I never pegged you for a guy to ask me for a drink.” She raised a brow at him.

“The card and flowers were pretty lame, I agree…but I do owe you a drink, or maybe a coffee, whatever you prefer.” He said. He knew his method of apologising was crappy but at that moment it was the best he could come up with. Dean never was a man of many words and he sucked at expressing his feelings so it was near impossible for him to think of anything better than this, but now he realised it would have been much better if he would have just knocked on her door.

“Sure.” Y/N nodded.

“How does tomorrow sound? Ava will be back with my brother by then. As you can see I kind of have my hands full right now.” He smiled. Y/N pondered over the sudden change in her hot neighbour’s behaviour. If this was the way Dean chose to open up to her, then so be it.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” she smiled back.

“G-great then!” Heat crept up his neck as he looked at Ava, a bit flustered. He didn't know what her deal was but she always rendered him speechless or stumbled on his own words, trying to form a good comeback. Y/N had an effect on him that neither Jo nor Lisa had ever had on him. Her perky attitude made him want to spend any time he got with her. They were poles apart but Dean found a sense of familiarity in her.

“I won't hold back you two any longer.” Crouching in front of the girl and ruffling her brown hair, Y/N said, “Don't settle with anything less than a triple scoop.”

“Don't give her any ideas,” Dean teasingly warned, “I have no idea how to deal with a kid on a sugar rush.”

“Then don't shy away from asking for a little help. I had to babysit my cousin's kids many times. I know a thing or two about babysitting,” Y/N said.

“I'll definitely take you up on that if things get out of hand.” He said, “See you tomorrow night. Have a good day, Ms. L/N.” He grabbed Ava’s hands tightly, pulling her close as he started to walk towards the elevator. Y/N shook her head, an amused laugh leaving her lips. Some things never change.

“I think the cupcakes worked their magic!” Dean teased, sharing a laugh with Y/N over a glass of Manhattan. This was the first time she had ever seen him laugh. Apparently, he was a happy drunk.

“Some roots of jasmine, rose thorns, a pinch of pearl dust and voila! You have the friendship potion,” She barely made it through with a straight face before bursting out in fits of laughter.

“I had a feeling that there was some kind of sorcery involved.” He said, signalling for another glass for both of them.

“This one’s on me,” Y/N said, making Dean scrunch up his face in an adorable pout.

“No it's not. I'm payin’, I was the one who asked you out.” His eyes immediately widened when he realised what slipped out through his mouth. “Not like an ‘asking out’ asking out. This is-” Dean waved at the space between them “-just a gesture of goodwill.”

“You're adorable.” Y/N giggled.

“What?”

“I know this isn't a date. Just two friends hanging out on a Sunday night.” She shook her head, chuckling as the man picked up his refilled glass and took a sip.

Even if Y/N said it was platonic, the ungodly amount of time she had spent in front of her closet to pick out a perfect outfit would definitely make her rethink her answer. She had skimmed through her closet, trying to find the dress that said ‘just friends’ but to her all the dresses she owned screamed ‘I want you to fuck me’.

Nevertheless, she had settled on a simple pair of blue jeans and a crop top. But she had felt seriously underdressed when she knocked on Dean's door and it had opened to reveal the man in a jeans t-shirt and black slacks, staring at her with a smile on his face.

“Well duh! My first impression of you kinda sucked.” Y/N said.

“I did warm up to ya, didn't I?” Dean chuckled. “Another round?”

“Nuh-uh. Sparkling water for me. I don't want to show up at work tomorrow puking my guts out. And that while nursing a painful hangover? No thanks” She laughed.

“You're no fun!” He chuckled with her.

“I am no fun? What about you, Mr. Turn-down-the-volume?” She said as the bartender pushed a glass of water towards her and poured out another to the man.

“You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?” He shook his head.

“Never.”

A moment of silence passed as Y/N looked across the nightclub buzzing with people just like any other Sunday night. She never thought Dean would be the person to even know about nightclubs around the city but guess she didn't know him that well.

“You wanna head back home? I can walk with you to your place, be all gentlemanly,” he smirked. She liked this drunk version of Dean. He was happier, far more cheesy and funnier than his workaholic version.

“Of course. It's not like we live in the same apartment,” she teased. “Hey, you wanna hit the dance floor before we go back?”

His eyes widened at her sudden question. “No, I don't dance.” He shook his head furiously, clearly stating that dancing was definitely not on his agenda.

“Oh come on, don't be shy.” She said.

“Nope.”

“Fine! You are no fun!” She rolled her eyes, “Let's get outta here then.”

The walk back to their apartment was filled with drunken giggles and cheesy banter. “I had a fun time tonight. Apologies accepted.” Y/N said, unlocking the door to her home.

“Glad to know that. I couldn't have lived knowing you hate me,” Dean teased, “I had a good time as well. I really needed a break from work.”

“So you do accept that you work too much?”

“Agree to disagree.” He shrugged, leaning against the doorway, “Night, Y/N.”

She walked up to the man and pecked his cheek, making his eyes go wide at the sudden affection. He swallowed hard as she stared up at him with hooded eyes. Patting his arms lightly, she said, “Night, Dean, see you in the morning.”

“Only if you're running late.”

Chapter 5

Feedback is highly appreciated!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series!

#make me feel bingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #au dean x reader #au dean winchester x reader #au dean x you #au dean winchester x you #au dean winchester x y/n #au dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #irresistibly yours

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bemamar · 2 years

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People tell me the reason why you are emotional about ur abuse is because you are in your 20s and women in their 20s are emotional because they are young.. is it true I am just being emotional ?? And I’ll get over it as soon as I hit my 30s as they say?? :/

tbh I’ve always been emotional in general but the idea that they try to tell me my feelings is just young-adult over reactions made me feel like I am 15 years old who’s crying over a video game, I am in my mid 20s tho.

Hey anon... That's, not true at all (and it's misogynistic). Whoever told you that either is or is acting like an asshole, and definitely doesn't know the first thing about abuse. First of all, let's eliminate the concept that women are more emotional than men, yes? That's just bull right off the bat. That aside, I think the simplest way I can explain this to you is with a metaphor.

Being abused is in a lot of ways like watching someone you love die. And in that parallel, recovering from abuse is like grieving that death. We grieve the relationship, we grieve the person we loved, we grieve the person we were ourselves, and (specially in child abuse cases) we grieve for the time we lost, and the person we could had been if it weren't for it, our hopes and dreams.

The thing about grief is no one grieves the same. It's painful, and it's not a straight line (it definitely doesn't happen in neat little stages), and it's confusing and heart wrenching, and we all need different tactics and methods to handle it. Some people need to believe that in some way it was meant to happen, and they find that makes them stronger, and that's okay. Some people find that the only way for them to truly move on is to forgive whomever or whatever was responsible, and that's also okay. Some find strength in their anger and indignation, and putting those feelings into change for themselves, and they never feel the need or just simply nor the want to forgive, and that is also very okay. Some people push it into the past, and are able to focus all of themselves on the present, and don't want to relive it, not to risk retraumatizing themselves, and that is also valid. All of it is valid. And all of those people, all of us, will have days now, or ten, or twenty, or fifty years from now, when something, or someone, or a situation will put us back in that place, and we will need to cry or scream, or take a day off, or whatever it is, just like it happens when you are grieving. The difference is, once you've grieved, then the impact those moments have on your life are minimized, the time they rock you for is shorter, and it becomes easier to remember who you are now and the things that you've learned, and the things that are good about your life now. That doesn't mean you get over it, you get on with it.

No one gets over grief. We just find different ways to deal with it, to keep living, to find happiness again, sometimes even more than you had before, but sadly, that is just something that will always be there somewhere. That doesn't mean at all that it's hopeless, it just means something happened to you that changed you, and however you do it, you need to grieve what you lost, and (if you can) you need to seek the help of someone else. No one expects a grieving person to get over it by themselves. No one is going to go to a parent who lost a child, or someone who lost a partner, or a child who lost a parent etc and be like: "ugh why are you still crying when we talk about this? Aren't you over it already? It's been 10 years, you should be over it. You're an adult now, stop crying over your dead loved one." So why on Earth would we expect abuse survivors to deal with this? It sounds just as callous, cruel, and plain stupid as that would.

Therapy is your greatest ally, really, to find the way you want to deal with it, and then to gain the necessary tools and tactics that will help you the most imo. The thing about abuse is no one really knows crap about it, unless you've studied it, even when we've been through it. Therapy is hard but it's also a series of mind blowing moments of validation for things you didn't even know were abuse in the first place. It's someone taking you out of the woods and showing you the forest, and then the path through it, the valley and the hills and the dead end trails. We still get lost, and have ups and downs, but you won't be alone in it anymore, you'll have someone to have your back, which is really all we can ask for in life, I think. If you have support, and you are taught to give yourself support, the rest becomes easier and a lot more manageable.

I'm sorry someone told you that. There is nothing wrong with you. Hyper sensitivity is also not a character flaw, on the contrary, it can be a huge strength. I hope that if you are not already, that you are able to find professional help (and remember not to be afraid to keep looking until you find someone you feel at ease and comfortable with), and I wish the best of luck in general.

I don't know if you are talking about parent or partner abuse. Mine was the former so my resources are focused on that, but if you wanna have a look at this channel, it might be helpful to you (extremely so if you are talking about ca) and just informative in general. I hope you have a good day, week, life, and know that you are valid and you have a right to your process whatever it turns out to be.

#tag; an original answer #child abuse #victim blaming

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soukokuwu · 4 years

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Hi there, I really love your writing. Can you write a scenario where Dazai's black fem s/o who works at the ada and is encountered with a racist client who makes it pretty obvious that she doesn't want the s/o there because of her skin colour and s/o is feeling pretty down at it. Something similar recently happened to me so I kinda just wanna read some damn scenario about it, thanks.

HOME IS NOT A PLACE. genre; pairing. fluff; dazai x reader word count. 1,675 synopsis. dazai comforts you after an unnecessary hardship. warning. brief discrimination author notes. i’m so sorry to hear that happened to you (& i know i took very long with this, i apologise.) i’ve had similar discrimination inflicted upon me too so i hope you don’t have to experience it again & that you’re feeling better by now. <3

The nerves of some people.

A pair of chocolate beads observe silently, intensively, as the callous words spill out of thin, dry lips.

“I don’t want someone like her to serve me.”

Sip.

The old woman eyes you top to bottom.

“I demand someone else, someone... normal, at least.”

He catches the disdain in her voice. He’s sharp as a tack. Beside him the weretiger watches, cowering as he feels the ominous energy emanating from his superior. He’s seen Dazai angry, furious, but never like this. Never... silent. In this moment, the brunette is absolutely livid.

Dazai’s hands are placed on the table, balled tightly into fists. His eyes are trained on the client you’re trying to appease — she’s too wrapped up in her own head to notice him glaring. As he expects. People like that are often ignorant.

Normally he’d hate to get caught up in things like this, prefers to leave it to Kunikida, but the blonde isn’t around and it’s you she’s speaking to. He’s not going to keep mum when it comes to you. How dare someone insult his girlfriend for something that shouldn’t even matter?

Dazai loves you, he knows you’re way too nice to stand up for yourself, and Naomi is already killing herself trying to appease this witch. He notices the way your nervous fingers are fumbling with each other, the way you press your lips together to stop them from trembling, even the way your feet are tucked under the table brushing against each other. You’re scared, and your head is hung so low... you’re ashamed?

The line has been drawn a while ago. But now he absolutely can’t stay still. Not when it’s leaving you feeling so horrified.

He stands up, forcefully kicking the chair back against the wall with his knees as he does, and everyone in the room goes quiet.

All eyes are on him. His bangs are messy, covering his eyes, and lucky they are, because whatever expression lay under there it isn’t for everyone to see. Even the usually chirpy Kenji is stunned into silence, a wave of fear flashing across his features.

“Oh? Has the whiny granny finally shut up?” Dazai hums.

He’s fully aware that everyone in the room feels even more uncomfortable than before. As they should be; he doesn’t use this tone much, if at all, around them. It’s a tone most associated with who he used to be, a tone that incites a flashback to his port mafia days.

But in the midst of everything, you snap out of your seat and scurry off, your head in your hands. And Dazai watches as you run out of the office. Should he deal with the lady first? Or should he get to you? He doesn’t much know the ‘right’ ways of a relationship, but a nudge comes in from Naomi.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Naomi assures him, a newly invigorated motivation after seeing his strong reaction.

Dazai mumbles a “thanks” before he excuses himself to find you — shooting one last warning glare at the old lady — and he knows just where you are.

Something cold is pressed against your cheek and you jolt. Dazai pulls it away with a chuckle and waves the cold can of juice in your face.

His features are much softer now than it was before, and you ease up a little when you realise he must be so worrried to have come up here to find you. When you take the can from him, he settles down quietly beside you and looks out at the view, and you two sit there wordlessly.

You are on the rooftop of the building right beside the ADA office. This is your hideout, a safe, convenient space for when you really need an escape from anything. And today is one of those days. Rare as they may be, you expect some people to react that way. Because sometimes humanity is flawed in the worst ways possible.

In an ideal world you wouldn’t be feeling this way. In an ideal world, everyone here would be able to accept you for who you are — not what you look like, not where you’re from. In an ideal world, you’d be free from the judgemental, free of the discrimination.

But this isn’t an ideal world. This is earth. This is life. What can you do but accept it? What else can you do other than tolerate what’s thrown at you? You think back to the harsh words spewed by the woman before — the one targeted at you because of your skin tone.

A rush of memories flood your mind.

Unwelcome looks from classmates. Sneers wherever you went in school. The way your name was associated with the sentences “why is she here?” and “she looks weird”. It was like sentencing you to be a social outcast over something you couldn’t control. You’d been forced to spend most of your schooling days alone, project groups being the bane of your existence. Where you thought it’d be an opportunity to make friends, it just gave the other kids additional chances at mocking you. The worst part was you couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. You had your doubts talking to school counsellors, they could easily be one of them. You didn’t even dream of telling your mother either, being a single mom was hard enough, you didn’t want to pile on more problems.

But it lightened up as you got older and people got more mature. Didn’t mean it stopped completely, though. You still had to welcome several unwanted glares and finger-pointing. But at least the name-calling stopped. And what you didn’t hear wouldn’t hurt you. It got better when you finally stepped out into the adult world. People were generally more accepting now, and you didn’t once feel left out in the ADA. They were all kind, for the most part, and never once did they discriminate against you. All they cared about was your work ethic, and they all generally accepted you for who you are. They didn’t give a damn what you looked like.

They accepted you for you, and that was the greatest gift they could have bestowed upon you. To the others it may have been nothing, but to you it meant everything.

There had never been a day where you were forced to confront your old fears. Until today. When that lady ever so subtly insulted you. It was like every doubt that ever crossed your mind since you were a kid came flooding back to you, the questions of whether you really belonged here, whether you should just give up and move away. But where? This is your home, for as long as you can remember.

“I love your eyes.”

Dazai’s sudden declaration stuns you, and you tilt your head towards him with a curious gaze. He isn’t teasing you, you knew that much. If he was, he would wear that wide, silly grin of his. No, this time his smile is… endearing, comforting.

“I love the way your smile reaches your eyes.”

A pair of hands reach out to cup your cheeks, and you can feel yourself getting nervous. He usually never speaks his feelings. Why is he doing this now?

“Look at me, belladonna,” he coaxes, and you listen. You’re met with earnest chocolate eyes, and you keep looking into them, even as they inch closer and closer towards you. He stops the moment the tip of his nose touches yours, and you feel your breath hitch at your throat.

“You are a beautiful person, my love,” he assures you, voice low and steady. His eyes are still staring straight into yours, and you can just make out his beautiful hair flowing in the breeze. “I’ve thought that ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

You chuckle, remembering the first day you stepped foot in the ADA office. Dazai had stumbled over all googly-eyed and took your hand, already confessing his future love with you. And he was right, because look at you now. And all the sounds muffle together as you continue gazing at your boyfriend as he lists down all the things he loves about you. From things as small as how your hands feel in his to the way he absolutely loves how he can be completely himself (or as much as he can be) around you.

“Shut up.”

Without even thinking, you find yourself tilting heavenward, pressing your lips onto his. It’s something he welcomes, by the way, his hands moving from your cheek to your neck and kissing you deeper.

You know exactly what he means by saying all of that. And you find it cute, how his way of comforting you is quite a roundabout, yet why does it still work? But you find the answer when you pull away, that first moment when you open your eyes — really open your eyes — and meet his. He’s right.

That lady’s opinion didn’t matter. It hurts, you know he’s not invalidating it, but he just knows talking about it further would just frustrate you more. Besides, he’s been with you long enough to know; if you want to, you would talk about it, and he would listen. As he always does. Even when it’s about things you considered trivial or stupid, he always gives you the time of day, always tries to make everything better.

He’s right — she doesn’t matter. To you, the one that matters most, is him. And you’re grinning silly just thinking of just how much he loves you, and how easily he makes you feel better with just his words. The lady and her biting remarks are well behind you now, as he envelops you in his arms, giving you an important confirmation: Dazai would always have your back, would always protect you.

Because you can have a myriad of doubts, but one thing is for sure.

Dazai is your home.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives

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lunaticlua · 4 years

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how do you make a home? // part 7

series masterlist

also available on ao3

a/n: hi! college is taking up most of my time this week. this chapter doesn't have much going on, but i like it nonetheless. soon, we will embark on a more canon part of the story. hope you like it :)

additional note: the title of the chapter is from 'time alone with you' by jacob collier ft. daniel caesar

gif by @mclines

chapter 7: time alone with you

“lay all day in bed with me and teach me how to love ya” (time alone with you – jacob collier ft. daniel caesar)

Lulu is scrolling through her Instagram feed on her bed Sunday morning, enjoying the sun's rays entering her bedroom and warming her body, when she hears a tapping. She gets up and walks to it. After opening the curtain completely and lifting the windows, she finds a pile of blonde hair and a pair of ocean blue eyes grinning at her. She tries to hide the growing happiness on her heart as she speaks. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Seeing you,” he shrugs. “Now, can I come in?”

“Yes, but you do know that we have a door, right?” She jokes as he is jumping through the window into her bedroom and almost falling. She notices the same backpack he had with him the day prior on his back. Before sleeping, she revisited all the instances that should have given her a red flag about the state of his home life, but she hadn’t paid too much attention until now. Him practically living at his best friend’s house was one of those.

“Of course, I do. But this way is more romantic.”

“Oh, you are romantic now,” she teases, even though she is aware that she can’t stop smiling at his antics. His silly behavior had been the biggest cause of the lightheartedness that came with seeing him every workday of the last month, despite her attempts at closing herself off and not letting him in.

“Always have been, babe,” JJ winks with a juvenile smirk as he comes closer to her, taking her into his strong arms.

“I am ‘babe’ now?”

“Could have been earlier if you wanted to.” Instead of answering, she simply laughs, savoring the closeness of the hug. The comfort that it brings to both of them is unmatched. Lulu loves her aunt and uncle more than anything else in the world and she is forever grateful for having them in her life. JJ recognizes that, without the Pogues by his side, his life would be so much harder and sadder. But they know wholeheartedly that, even as cliché as it sounds, they had found a safe heaven on each other’s embrace.

The teasing atmosphere is gone by the time Lulu stares into his kind, loving eyes. Bearing her soul to him and listening to his deep secret the day before solidified the feeling she had been harboring for the boy. The words they hadn’t spoken yet are evident on their gazes and smiles. He leans forward, placing his callous hands on her rosy cheeks and connecting their lips.

As the kiss deepens, she moves her hands to his shaggy hair, feeling its softness through her fingers. His heart skips a beat at the caring touch. A lifetime with a negligent, runaway mother and a violent father made him unaccustomed to this kind of affection, even though the Pogues weren’t shy at showing their love for one another.

After some time, they end up, laying on her bed. Lulu has her head rested on his chest and he is playing with her fingers, relishing on the comfortable silence and on each other’s company. She props up and turns to look at him, still leaning on him. “Tell me something no one knows about you.”

“I am the best surfer in Outer Banks,” he deadpans.

“Be serious,” she pouts at him.

“I am! People should acknowledge this, but they don’t. It’s a shame,” she stares at him skeptical. “Okay, okay... Let me think.”

“I am waiting.”

He sticks his tongue out at her, making her laugh. “My real name is John Jackson.”

“John Jackson?”

“Yeah. For some odd reason, people in this island love to name their children John. But, since I became friends with John B in third grade, I go by JJ. I don’t even think Pope and Kie know my actual name.”

“I like it. Your name,” the answer brings out a smile on his face.

“It was my grandfathers’ names. My parents wanted to honor them or some shit. I think that the last person that called me John was my mother, but, after she went away, it is weird,” he grimaces, as it clearly is a sensitive topic for him.

“It makes sense. My mom used to call me Luluzinha, which it is an affectionate Brazilian way of saying Little Lulu. My aunt tried to keep calling me that, but I hated it. It sounded so wrong in another person’s mouth after everything.”

“You miss your mom a lot?”

“Every single day,” she replies, touching the star pendant on her necklace that it used to belong to the woman. “Do you? Miss your mother, I mean?”

“Not really,” he tries to sound nonchalant, but she notices the conflicted emotions on his eyes. “Tell me something no one know about.”

He changes the subject and she accept it without questioning. Talking about family is not easy for everyone and she understands it. “I like taking pictures.”

“Of yourself?” He asks with a malicious smirk, moving with a loose strand of her brown hair from her face.

“No! Pictures of places, of things, of fully clothed people.”

“Bummer,” he jokes. “You are any good?”

“I think so. The school paper back in Ohio used my photos quite a lot.”

“Can I see it?”

“Of course,” she voices cheerfully. His interest on her and all the things surrounding her never failed to make her happy. She gets up from the bed and walks to her closet, pulling a big box. It is filled with the pictures she took and revealed through the six years she been doing this. She picks some of her favorites, the majority from the two year. “It is not much. There weren’t many exciting things back there but photographing the football games was nice. I liked the movement and the emotion of it.”

He goes through the ones she puts on his hand, analyzing it carefully. “I don’t understand a lot about art and stuff, but these are good.”

“Thanks.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was ten. When I moved to Ohio to live with Auntie Rita, I was appointed a therapist. I didn’t speak for a long time after that night. It was hard and Betty, the therapist, she said that I should try to find a way to express myself. After some time, I began talking again. Sounds dumb, but it made sense.”

“It is not dumb. It helped you, right?” She nods and he pulls her into his arms again. “Whatever helps you with all this pain is not dumb. Nothing regarding you is dumb.”

“Thank you, J,” she kisses him lightly. “I know this deep down, but it is hard to remember.”

They get back to lying position, cuddling. They are in complete silence for some minutes when he breaks it. “I want you to meet my friends.”

It draws a genuine smile from her. “Tell me more about them.”

“I think that you will get along with Kiara fine. She is this environmentalist, hippie chic. Her family owns the Wreck. She is actually a Kook. You know what a Kook is, right?”

“I grew up here, JJ, remember?” She quips, thinking about the Pogue v. Kook thing that everyone learned at a young age.

“Anyway, she is rich, but for some reason she likes us better than the trust fund kids from the Kook Academy. She is bossy and creative. Pope got the brain, but Kie is the one who actually makes sure that we don’t get arrested.”

“I already like her, then.”

“Of course, you do. Oh, man, you two being friends will be the death of me,” he grumbles, prompting a giggle from her. “Pope is the one who will get out of here. He has a scholarship lined up for him. He just needs to pass this one last interview, which he will definitely do, because he is the smartest person I know. And there is John B. The one who lets me crash at his place practically every other night. He is my best friend. His dad disappeared at the sea some months ago. He is in denial. Kie humors him with it, but we know that he is not coming back. No one get lost at sea these days and lives to tell the story,” he ends with a sad expression. Big John had been a father figure for him as well and his death shock him hardly.

“Is he living by himself?”

“Technically, no. His uncle is his legal guardian, but he hasn’t been home for months now. This would be a good thing during the summer, if DCS wasn’t all over John B because of it.”

“This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Family is a messy thing.”

He holds her tighter and brings her closer to his chest, seeking comfort with the action. Sensing that he is not on the mood to continue to talk about it, she just looks up to his face. His eyes are closed, preventing her from seeing the ocean of emotions present in it. He seems peaceful like this: lying down with her by his side. She analyzes his sun-tanned skin and his blonde hair, taking in his beautiful face.

“I like you,” he opens his eyes startled. “I know that it is pretty obvious now, but I wanted to say it either way. You are the first person my age who got close to me and I am happy that you did. I like you, J. A lot.” His surprised expression softens.

“I really like too, Lulu.” He beams at her and, then, brings her face closer, kissing her passionately. They spend the rest of the day together, enjoying the fact that her uncle was away for a fishing trip with some friends. They cherish the calmness, without knowing that the moments of peace were fleeting, and they would miss easiness of this day later on.

“do you realize you have the most beautiful face?” (do you realize?? – the flaming lips)

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little-writings · 7 years

Note

Antsy request, Mc takes Jaehee's job work a week because Mc and Jaehee are besties and Jumin won't give Jaehee a break, like Mc is dressed up as Jaehee and when Mc doesn't do it right jumin gets very upset, and at some point in the week Mc couldn't handle it. And something bad happens to her and jumin realizes that he must lessen the work on Jaehee. Ps love your writing!!!

This sounds like it has a lot of potential I’d be happy to do it!

Anyhow, thank you and have a wonderful day!! Enjoy ｡;+*(★`∪´☆)*+;｡

———————————————————————————————————–

Exhausted.

Jahee had come home each and everyday exhausted.

You had been roommates for years now, having known each other since your schooling days.

And from this friendship, you had come to know Jumin.

He hadn’t been the cold callous stone of a man you’d be described by Jahee but someone quietly sad and shut off, only a hint of something else emerging when he spoke to you.

“MC?” He had lifted his head up as you were introduced by Jahee, getting up from his seat. “It’s um…nice to meet you I suppose.”

You crinkled your nose slightly, shuffling your feet awkwardly. “Hi, did I…did I do something wrong?”

He was stunned for a moment, blinking before seemingly returning to reality.

“I’m sorry-what?”

“Did I do something wrong? Something to upset you?”

“No? Why do you ask?”

“You just seem…upset I guess.”

“I’m not I just have plenty of work to do, that’s all.”

“Is now a…a bad time?”

“No, no don’t worry,” He sighed. “I am sorry I know I’m not the best company.”

“No-I mean-I just I was afraid I was making the wrong impression.”

He scoffed, straightening his posture and stepping closer to you.

“You haven’t I assure you of that.”

“You haven’t made the wrong one either if that helps at all.”

And oddly enough he smiled.

“It helps plenty.”

And for a moment you felt something like butterflies in your stomach.

But for some reason, your ideas of the same person were drastically different.

Opposite even.

Yet you didn’t know why.

Until it was put to the test.

“You don’t have to do this you know,” Jahee muttered, exhaustion lining her features, too tired to even lift a single finger in objection. “Just-it’s fine…”

“No, it’s not!” You yelped, slipping into what would be your roommate’s usual clothes. “You’re not feeling well!”

“But I can get up-” She huffed as she tried to sit herself up, bones aching as though she were elderly.

“No, you can’t! Rest today! I’ll be fine, I think I know you well enough to ‘be Jahee’ for at least a couple days.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What’re you worried about then?”

She hesitated as if the word was hard to say.

“Him.”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest as you did the finishing details, twisting around to face her.

“I’m sure he’s not that bad, no one ever likes their bosses after all.”

“You don’t…you don’t understand…”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll bring you something when I’m done okay?”

“You’re never going to be done, you’re going to be stuck there…forever.”

“I doubt that,”

You didn’t for long.

He had been stern the moment he saw who he thought was his secretary, giving more and more work somehow each second you thought you were close to done.

Breaks were nonexistent.

Even late into the night hours, you were still hunched over the desk, absent-mindedly and confusedly filling out the papers in a state in which you weren’t even entirely aware of where you were anymore.

You could hardly even do a thing as he left, mustering a small wave as he passed by.

“Are you planning on staying much longer? It’s late.”

You shrugged.

“Well, I think rest would be best. I need you to take care of Elizabeth 3rd in tomorrow morning, I’ll be handling meetings.”

You didn’t even respond.

But horror painted your features.

Not that he noticed.

And from then on it was a blur.

From the moment Jumin stepped in through the doors you threw up your head, confused.

“What…what’re you doing back?”

He appeared puzzled at the sound of your voice, putting it past him, if only briefly.

“I um…it’s morning and this is my job,” He came to your desk, dropping his keys before you. “Here’s an extra set of keys to my home, Elizabeth 3rd is waiting.”

“I…I uh-okay.” You stood, the sudden rush smashing into your mind, a wave of weariness washing over you like you hadn’t thought possible.

“Jahee?”

You looked to him before you crashed to the ground, hardly able to handle your own weight as your knees buckled, passing out completely.

And as you spoke he knew.

And a horrid realization emerged.

“I’m not….I’m not Jahee.”

And it all went black.

You woke on the sofa of your home, a blanket cast over you and a pillow resting beneath your head.

As well as Jumin, just across.

He rose as he saw you and guilt drenched him.

“H-Hello…MC.” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of whether he could meet your gaze. “I…I’m sorry for what happened, I…I had no idea who you were.”

You sat up, sore yet much better shape.

“You always treat her that way?”

“I know…I’m not exactly aware of many things,” He replied softly. “I simply saw it as giving Jahee work, her reaction wasn’t my concern. I didn’t realize the extent…until now.”

“She never told you?”

“There are somethings you just don’t mention to your boss…”

You found Jahee her lids heavy and long, yet kindness in her tone as she referred to you, leaning against the sofa.

“Then how come I’m here?”

“Jumin called, knowing it was you, he was very worried.”

“I didn’t understand the effects I was able to have on others.” He sighed. “I can only imagine what it’s done to Jahee, I know it isn’t much but I do apologize.”

She didn’t answer.

But she was seemed grateful.

“You aren’t required to stay and I’d be willing to fill out a pleasing recommendation but if you were to stay with C & R I will assure you that I will do my best to improve to the best of my ability.”

Nothing.

But they both seemed to know.

Jumin let out a sharp breath, shifting his attention to you instead.

“And while I know you assured me I didn’t give a bad first impression, the second was well…nothing short of disastrous wasn’t it?”

“A little more.”

“Right…”

You felt a pang of bother rustle inside of you, fiddling with your fingers before you gave him a smile.

“But I’d be willing to give it another shot.” You remarked. “If you are.”

He lit up absolutely shocked.

“What? Really?”

“I want to help you become a better person, so I think we could have a retry, don’t you?”

He grinned.

And without hesitation, he nodded.

And he was full of something new.

Hope.

“I’d like that.”

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