#I really wanted to get the one more scene done but I can’t figure out how it would go so I’ll probably finish it later. or not…

[who-datgirl]

Okay y’all so I have been thinking about the finale since Friday and the more I puzzle on it, the less I believe Ruby’s fairy tale ending was genuine. I of course was a big proponent of the “Ruby is River’s daughter theory”, but I am starting to be one of those people who think she is an unknown member of the pantheon. More specifically, I think she may be the daughter of The Trickster, I’ll go into why.

Let’s start with Ruby’s “mom” in the flashback, her hooded face with humanoid lips visible gives me serious Trickster vibes from SJA. A constant lament was “WHY CAN’T I SEE HER FACE?” Well, The Trickster really doesn’t have much of a face aside from ruby-red lips and sharp teeth. Honestly, why would a 15 year old have such an ominous cloak and where did she get it between the maternity ward and abandoning Ruby at the church? Granted a 15 year old still high on painkillers from giving birth could definitely do some zany shit, but it seems like a stretch to me. If my hunch is somehow correct, I would go so far to say that in the time window they did not see Ruby’s parent crying under the hood, but rather laughing maniacally. In fact, I honestly thought she was laughing when I first watched that scene. If the “mom” is actually The Trickster, then he would definitely have been laughing as he takes great pleasure in messing around with The Doctor and their companions.

The Trickster is the god of traps, which typically involves some narrative that a person falls prey to in order to be ensnared by the trap set for them. Ruby as the child of that entity could totally be able to create narratives that people would happily believe and become a part of, or to put it succinctly: a story. It isn’t any further of a stretch than the god of games having a child that is the god of music.

I think as the season went on, Ruby subconsciously created her own happy ending and bio parents piece by piece. Finding her parents seemed to be a process of creation as it unfolded. The DNA scan in 2046 only showed Ruby’s DNA twice. After defeating Sutekh though, 2024 UNIT was able to seamlessly find some ordinary and flawed woman eager to reconnect with and apologize to her abandoned child. Her bio mom is even willing to reach out to a presumable one night stand from 20 years ago, catch up with him, and see if he wants to become a father figure after two decades. Also the origin of Ruby’s name through a street sign that seemed to not exist in the footage, until it suddenly did, felt like an actual change to the timeline. I have nothing against this ending per se, it just all felt deliberately too perfect as if reality was bending entirely to Ruby’s deepest desires. To top it off Ruby somehow pulled the exact narrative of 10 and Rose’s goodbye for 15 and herself, almost as if unconsciously she tuned into one of The Doctor’s deepest heartbreaks to reflect how horribly she felt about leaving them.

I don’t think Ruby’s real story is close to done. I think her perfect ending will start to show cracks, and the reality of it will seem more created than true. Eventually we may even see her wake up to the truth of her power in time for The Trickster to come in and truly fuck around with things for her and 15. It would be interesting to see her owning her power to send her own bio parent into a narrative that The Trickster could never escape.

There is just too much that went unaddressed. How did Ruby conjure snow? Why was Maestro so disturbed by her hidden song that they said there was something seriously WRONG with her? How did she fold her own timeline back in 73 yards? Why were people so terrified of or infuriated by the apparition that we now know was Ruby? Did the Ruby in the distance tell people about her ties to the Pantheon of Discord? Did the apparition know the truth of Ruby that is hidden even from herself? Why would Sutekh care about the hooded parent more than anything else he creeped on during his centuries attached to the TARDIS? Is he a Jerry Springer fan, obsessed with “you ARE/ARE NOT the parent” reveals?

One final thing that makes me think they may pull a child of The Trickster into the story. In SJA before Elisabeth Sladen passed, they were planning on revealing that her adopted daughter Sky was really The Trickster’s child all along. The episode never aired as SJA could not go on without Elisabeth. I could see RTD honoring her show by making that story canon through Ruby. After all, Ruby too is an adopted daughter.

[angelic-ish-phantom]

Purify

The first time Danny had accidentally flown through the Fenton Ghost catcher, he hadn’t exactly been able to dwell on it.

In his defense, he’d been so wrapped up in the increasingly stressful situation with Desiree and Tucker that he hadn’t really had time to think. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t able to think. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t.

So months later, when he’d been overwhelmed and tired and just wanted a break, he’d thought back on that distant experience and wondered. He’d wanted a solution. And he’d gotten one, but he hadn’t remembered. Had never truly processed how he’d been gone. Not when he’d so quickly received two sets of hazy memories from the too-few seconds he’d been split.

So Tucker had looked on curiously, and Sam had waited apprehensively, ever-skeptical.

And Danny had flown through the device without a second thought.

He didn’t have any thoughts after that.

oOo

When Phantom came apart from himself, he was overwhelmed, hyperaware of the sudden feeling of his core, burning alone like an icy star in the depths of his form.

He could feel his thoughts speeding by like some haunting melody, untethered by a human mind. He could feel his obsession weightless without the shackles of his human responsibilities.

His form felt so… flexible without the burden of human physicality. How had he never noticed how horribly solid he’d been.

“Wow…” he whispered, all sound where there should have been breath, like something out of a speaker.

And Phantom dragged neon bright eyes upon his other half, the human sprawled on the ground. When Danny had flown through, he’d managed to catch himself with flight, but his mirror (Fenton? Danny?) had eaten the floorboards.

“Sooo… Are you good, feeling okay? There nothing wrong with you- you two?” Sam asked, concerned glancing up at Phantom while shaking Danny’s shoulder.

Danny groaned. “I’m fine. Feel tired though.” He replied, muffled as he spoke into the floor. “Weird. But mos’ly tired.”

He slowly pushed himself to be propped on his elbows, then glanced around. Then Danny looked up.

And oh. Oh wow.

He stared in blue, only it was green. He could see his own green eyes glowing in Danny’s vision, shining back at him in infinitum.

Phantom hadn’t thought vertigo could feel so soothing. so reassuring.

It was reassuring in a much broader sense come to think of it. Phantom had… worried. When he’d been Danny, he’d thought using the Ghost catcher would split his ghost half from his human half.

Really it had split his ghost half and his human half. Phantom was Phantom, and his other half definitely wasn’t just Danny.

“Um.” Fenton stumbled, eyes wide, clearly having seen what he had. “Okay, Wow. Are- are you doin’ okay, man?” He asked.

“…Yeah, I think.” Phantom answered tentatively. Despite how he still kept his voice low, it rang clear; he had an uncomfortable feeling that if he spoke at a normal volume it would hurt the humans, that, that steady echo beneath his words would become something shrill as a scream.

He’d have to be careful about that.

“Is this like a duplicate or did you actually just,” Tucker paused to make an accompanying gesture, “pull out your ghost half.”

“There are two of us.” Phantom couldn’t resist a sewing cheekily.

“That answered nothing.” Sam deadpanned.

“He means we’re different people.” Fenton explained, also not clarifying.

Phantom grinned. They were changed; neither of them were the same person that had flown through that device. And Phantom couldn’t help his eager curiosity at what might become of this.

oOo

It had worked for a day, a trial run. And both Phantom and Fenton wanted to keep trying.

Sam and Tucker had tried to convince them to rejoin again before they left, and it had made sense. Neither of them had known what this long term separation might lead to.

But they didn’t.

Because it was an almost scary thought, the idea of becoming nothing more than parts of a whole, of loosing their senses of self to become someone they remembered being but could never truly be.

At least that’s why Phantom thought his other half had refused. They hadn’t really discussed it. No, what they were talking about was much more important.

“I’ve just been calling you Fenton in my head…”

Phantom sat, legs crossed on their (Fenton’s?) bed while his other half paced.

“But others have always called us Fenton, it was our- Danny’s name too.” Fenton argued, before groaning, “why can’t we just have had another easy, convenient name like Phantom lying around?” He flopped down onto the bed beside him.

“I mean, Phantom and was the name we, he?, used too.”

Fenton waved, “Yeah but, It wasn’t really Danny’s. Well, it was but- why I am tryna explain this, y’know what I mean!”

And Phantom nodded since he did. The idea behind the name ‘Phantom’ had always been an alter ego, another self, as much as it was, had been, Danny.

And Phantom was exactly that: Another self.

“What about Daniel?” He tried.

Fenton made a face which, okay fair, Phantom heard it as soon as it left his mouth. “Tha’s what the Fruitloop calls us. Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, sorry…” Phantom said, “Do you think staying like this for a while will make him loose interest?”

“With any luck. But God knows we don’t have any, so he’ll probably just try and stick us back together.”

“Ugh, he would… What about Neil?”

Fenton squinted questioning at him, “Where did you get ‘Neil’ from?”

“It’s the last half of our name. Like, Dan-Neil, you know? I think it sounds good.”

“It sounds like you changed the pronunciation of our name.”

Phantom pouted.

“…Neil. Ne-il. Neeeeil. Fine… I guess ’s doable.” Fent- Neil conceded. “But I’m only settling, because I don’t want to keep being mad at Sam and Tucker for calling me Danny when there’s literally no other option.”

“Settling!” Phantom cheers, before grinning wider than a human was probably supposed to be able to. “You know this means that between the two of us, I’m better at choosing names.”

Fenton’s expression grew flat. “What-“

oOo

Neil could never do what Phantom does.

He knows that he probably could, considering they were technically the same person, but it seemed so… extraordinary.

Neil was able to get Danny’s grades back up, with the work ethic of someone that had learned they what they were capable of if they only applied themselves, and actually had the time to apply himself. Neil was able to spend time with his friends and not have to drag them into fights to protect the town. Neil was able to take up hobbies, and catch up on sleep, and enjoy being warm again.

Neil could do all that, because that was normal, but what Phantom did? He flew throughout Amity day and day out, stronger and faster and brighter than ever. He kept everyone safe, and explored another world in his free-time. It’s not like their lives were totally separate from each other, but Neil held a new appreciation for all those things they’d once done together that he’d thought he’d barely managed.

Of course Danny had been struggling; he’d been a hero.

“Hey, you free?” A hero called from his window.

“Yeah, I’m just studying, man. What d’you need.” Neil replied, shutting his book.

He’d grown used to it by this point, but it was still weird, the way his voice tended come out in a drawl now, sometimes slurring. Everything just feels so heavy and sometimes it can feel so hard to think. It’s like his brain hasn’t realized he doesn’t have a core anymore and keeps sending thoughts the wrong way.

And the tiredness… The thing is Neil doesn’t actually think he’s tired. He’s just used to having so much more energy, the strength to fight ghosts and win. Now, he had to sleep for a full eight hours and he still feels… exhausted in comparison.

It wasn’t terrible. Especially considering how much easier everything had become, but he could still complain. Internally.

“I’ve been working on something I really want to show you.” Phantom said excitedly, quiet as ever. “It’s in the ghost zone though.”

Neil glanced out the window worriedly, “It’s gettin’ kinda late…”

“It’ll be quick, I promise. We’ll be there and back so fast, it’ll be like you never left.”

“I dunno…”

“Pleeeeeaaaaase. It’ll be worth it.”

Neil sighed, rubbing a slow hand down his face, “Fine.”

oOo

It was not fine.

Neil had forgotten he couldn’t fly on his own.

“I hate this! I hate you!” Neil yelled for the nth time as Phantom carried him in a way that had his body dangling over the void beneath them.

“You don’t mean that.” Phantom corrected incorrectly. “Its just around- here!” He exclaimed, the sound of static and screams making Neil’s ears ring for a moment.

“Sorry…” Phantom apologized immediately, “but look.” He gestures in front of them.

“…a door?” Neil asked incredulously, considering the amount of doors they must have passed on the way might have been uncountable.

“Our door.” He corrected, happily.

“…”

Phantom seemed to realize he wasn’t understanding. “The doors are lairs. I found out a lair is the place a ghost lives, basically. Like Skulker’s island. But inside out.” He explained, “And this is ours. Mine. Well it was Danny’s, but he never found it so I made it for us.”

And Neil tried to catch up with that, the idea that behind every door they’d ever seen there was something like a home. Then Phantom opened the door and put him down and he saw.

It was an entire world. Sprawling meadows and mist, and pines in the distance. Nebulas painting across a sky. It was incredible.

And a part of Neil wanted to be sad, because this place didn’t truly belong to him the way it once had. Then he looked at Phantom’s excitement, and couldn’t help but mirror it, because it had still been made for him.

The two of them ran and played, well past how long they should have stayed, and when Neil finally exhausted himself, slumping against a tree, Phantom and his endless energy sat down right beside him.

“’s probably so late.” Neil wheezed.

“But that was fun wasn’t it.” Phantom beamed.

Neil smiled softly even through his clear fatigue, “Yeah. It w’s great… this place is wonderful.” He mourned, again, that Danny had never found it.

“You’re wonderful.” Phantom shot back, delighted.

Neil snorted.

“I mean that you know.” Phantom continued, an happy-serious expression on his face, “You deserved a break. You’re always doing school stuff and acing it too. Not to mention you spend so much more time with Sam and Tucker, and they’re important.” He said, and Neil could remember the way their obsession would have flared, “The only thing I really have to do is get ghosts back in here. It’s not hard. Your stuff seems so much more complicated. I don’t think I could ever manage it. I don’t know how Danny ever did.”

Neil felt happiness swell at the appreciation, but… “‘s no accomplishment. I’m jus’ doing normal things.”

“Human things.”

“You literally protect Amity every day. You fight ghosts without any help. Tha’s a thousand times more impressive th’n getting our homework done.” Neil yawned back.

Phantom hummed dismissively as Neil leaned into them. “Agree to disagree… You can sleep. I’ll take you back tomorrow.”

Neil groaned, “I forgot we have t’do that again t’go back.” Then he squinted up at Phantom, “Do you even know when tomorrow is from in here?”

“Yep.” Phantom raised a phone.

“My phone!”

“My phone.”

“It not your turn. It’s still Friday, you have phone custody on the weekend. You can’t jus’ steal my phone!”

“Saturday is tomorrow and you weren’t even using it so, my phone.”

“I hate you.” Neil muttered darkly, way too tired to argue properly.

“Love you too.” He beamed, beginning to play on their phone. Considering Neil was fairly sure Phantom didn’t need to sleep, it would probably be dead come morning.

Neil sighed his annoyance before closing his eyes.

He could hear his own heartbeat like this. Ear to his other half’s form, it rang louder like the steady beat was trying to call back to the low thrum of Phantom’s core.

Neil knew that if they were Danny the two organs wouldn’t need to try and sync up like this, they work in tandem. It’s one of the small things Neil missed, but he thought he’d rather be together like this.

Both of them were happy. Neither of them were having a hard time of things. And Neil though he enjoyed Phantom’s company. He was like a brother, a twin, someone that knew him as well as he knew himself.

Neil didn’t think he would ever give up on having that. At least not forever.

[dduane]

Do you have any recommendations on what to do when you can’t write?

I’ve been struggling to write for years, but telling stories is all I want to do. I have ideas and plots and characters all figured out! But actually getting the words onto paper? I just can’t do it. There’s a mental block or something getting in the way.

I want to write, I so badly do. I want to tell my stories! But no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I love the story, the words never work properly. I can day dream scenes up perfectly, but as soon as I’m near paper the words all vanish.

I guess what I’m actually asking is: how did you defeat the blank page?

Well, first of all, I can confidently tell you that your storytelling per se is working just fine. You just told me a perfectly cogent story right there, in writing. So that's good to know.

Now let me put your mind a little at rest by telling you something reassuring about the Writer's Brain:

It's not the sharpest knife in the block, if you take my meaning. It can be tricked. It can be fooled. It can be bamboozled into working when it doesn't want to... sometimes with embarrassing ease. (And this approach is, by and large, far preferable to sitting around over-analyzing one's interior life to figure out what went wrong with your developmental process somewhere in the dim lost past. Just hornswoggle the silly thing into working and then do the analysis later, if you can be bothered.)

Sometimes just changing something basic in the process the Writer's Brain is expecting is enough to make it lose the plot (so to speak...) and let you get on with work. And in your case I'd say, more or less immediately: Have you tried telling the story to yourself out loud, recording it, and then transcribing the recording?

Because this problem is a commonplace among storytellers. Sit them down in the pub and give them tea or a drink and start them going, and you'll get half an effortless hour of hilarious prose about What The Cat Did In The Middle Of The Night or When The Neighbors Were Fighting In The Street Again Yesterday. But show them blank paper, or an empty screen, and (now that the pressure to perform is suddenly in place) they freeze.

So try doing an end run around your writing brain. Borrow or otherwise procure a little recorder of some kind. (Or if you've got a smartphone, add a voice recording app to it.) Go get comfortable somewhere and get yourself into that daydream state, and then—making sure the recorder's on—start talking.

It doesn't have to be perfect unblemished prose. The pursuit of that comes later, after draft zero-minus-one. Just tell the story... or some of it. Or a fragment of it. Even a few paragraphs is a triumph, in a situation like this. You may, during the recording, have to talk yourself into the story stage by starting out talking about something else first. Let that happen.

Then when you're done recording, listen to it and transcribe it (typed or handwritten, as you please).

And maybe a day later, do this again. And a day or two later, once more. And so forth.

You're going to have to keep at this, because your Writer's Brain may start suspecting what you're up to, and try throwing spanners into the works. (Its favorite being "Oh, this isn't working, I may as well give up..." Pay no attention to that nagging little voice behind the curtain. Just keep doing what you're doing. Persistence is a superpower.)

The thing to keep reminding yourself, as you settle into this process, is that sooner or later the WB's resistance is going to flag, because you really do want to tell stories. It does too. What you have to teach it is that—to coin a phrase—resistance is useless. :)

Anyway: give this a try. You'll need to be doing this daily for at least a couple of months to find out whether it works or not. So let me know how it goes.

(BTW: once you've broken through the barrier, you may well find that dictation is a good routine way for you to generate your first draft. At that point—should you feel inclined to go a little higher-tech than recording and hand transcription—let me recommend Dragon Anywhere. This is a month-to-month subscription version of Dragon's flagship text to speech program—the one @petermorwood and I got Terry Pratchett to use when he started having difficulty typing. I use Anywhere a lot, on days when it's easier to write stretched out or lying down than it is sitting up. It transcribes what you say, and then you can just email it to yourself and cut-and-paste it into your writing document. Very handy.)

Hope this helps!

[twice-inamillion]

The Company

Red Velvet

Smut (anal, creampie, caught during sex, first time sex, mentioning of virginity)

Chapter 10

1935 Words

(OC wants to claim his prize for debuting Irene’s group. Not everything goes according to plan, and sacrifices are made.)

“Unnie, we’re excited to debut! Can’t believe it’s actually happening!”

“You girls deserve it.”

”It's all because of you, unnie,” say the members in unison.

”How are we debuting earlier than the other girl group?” asks Wendy.

“Irene unnie has pull with the CEO, that’s why, haha,” says Joy jokingly.

”Shhh, don’t even joke around; if the other trainees hear you, they are going to complain.”

”Don’t worry about what people say, you girls deserve it. As the oldest, it's my responsibility to take care of you girls.”

”How about we celebrate later tonight?” asks Seulgi.

”That sounds like fun,” replies Wendy.

”What about, unnie?” asks Joy.

”I wish I could, but I need to get some things done. You girls celebrate without me. Here, order some food with this,” Irene gives Seulgi the company credit card.

“Haha, we are going to eat!”

Irene then exits the room and pulls her phone out to see the text message she got during the gathering. “What does he want now?” She reads the message, “IU is out abroad, so get cleaned up; I’ll be stopping by your place later tonight.”

Later that evening, the members celebrate their upcoming debut by ordering some takeout and participating in around of round karaoke. Everytime they take a selfie they send it to Irene but get no response. “We should take some food to unnie. I don’t think she has enough time to cook food after working so late these past few days,” says Wendy.”

”You’re right, let’s surprise her.”

”Yes, maybe we can bring some party streamers and surprise her, haha,” says Joy.

The members pack some food in tupperware and head to Irene’s apartment. They try to be as careful as possible not to get caught by the staff who look for trainees violating their curfew. They exit the elevator and turn towards the hallway to find her apartment. Standing in front of her door, they try to remember her key code from the time they visited her a while back.

The door unlocks, and they all enter her apartment and place the food on the countertop. They look around, but there is no sign of Irene until they hear some noise coming from the room at the end of the hallway.

Curious, they slowly tiptoe and see the door slightly open and look through the little slit and are shocked at the scene. They see Irene, their oldest member and the mother-type figure of the group nude, getting pounded on all fours.

“I’ve missed this ass so much,” as you give it a nice smack. You spread her ass cheeks wide open, giving you a nice view of her pucker hole.

Irene whines,“Just get it over with.”

You align your cock to her pucker hole and slowly press it into her hole, causing her to grunt. She tries to hold her composure but can't when you grab hold of her hips and slam your cock all the way inside.

“Oh fuck! You're being too rough!”

You don't pay any attention and begin to thrust rapidly. Irene buries her head onto the pillow to muffle her expression. You slap her ass continuously, leaving your handprint on her ass.

Minutes pass, and you pull out and say, “How about I claim my present right now?”

Irene lifts her head and turns to you, “No, please, I'm not really yet. Just give me some more time to prepare.”

“Why should I? Remember the deal we made a while back?” as you trace your thumb against her folds.

“Yes, I remember and I'll do it, but just not today.”

“Then when?”

“How about after our debut? Give me a few more days.”

You rub your thumb against her lips and say, “Alright, but this is the last time I'm going to wait.”

“Okay.”

“Be thankful I'm patient with you; someone else wouldn't have done the same.”

“Yes I know, thank you.”

“Now raise up your ass; I want to cum inside.”

Irene positions herself a bit better and raises up her ass. With one hand, you spread her ass cheek and insert your cock back inside, “Fuck, to think that you offered your own virginity for the sake of your group, haha.”

Irene groans as she feels your cock stretch her ass completely and buries her head into her pillow to prevent herself from moaning.

On the other side of the door, the members watch as the oldest gets fucked from behind. They come to the realization of Irene's commitment to them, even at the cost of giving her own virginity.

Joy then whispers, “Unnie, let's go; I don't want to see what happens next.”

“Same here; I want to go.”

Seulgi responds, “Let's be quiet,” and the three of them turn around towards the exit.

Suddenly, they hear a loud smack and a shout, “I'm going to cum inside you!” They hear Irene yell out loud and try to cover their ears. The members rush back to their dorm and try to take in what they just saw.

“I can’t believe Irene unnie and the CEO were doing it” says Joy.

Wendy responds, ”I know; Irene said she was busy, so I thought she was working.”

”Maybe it was an excuse,” says Seulgi.

”I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like she was doing it because she liked it. I always thought Irene unnie liked girls and hated men.”

”What if she’s being forced by the CEO?” asks Joy.

”You have a point; he said something about a deal in exchange for her first time,” says Seulgi.

”Do you think she made a deal so that we could debut first?” asks Wendy.

The members look at each other in disbelief at the idea that Irene could do something like this. “We should try to talk to Irene about it. Tell her that it’s not worth it, we can always debut later.”

”How do you think we should bring it up? Are we going to tell her that we walked in on them having sex? There is a reason why she didn’t tell us” says Wendy.

”All I know is that we should do something about it” says Joy.

“Let's try to talk to her tomorrow morning before our schedule,” suggests Seulgi. The members agree and nod their heads.

The next day, the members are woken up by a sweet smell and make their way to the kitchen. They see Irene wearing an apron and holding a bowl of pancake mix, “Good morning! Take a seat, I’m making some pancakes.”

The members sit on the stools and look at each other, trying to figure out how to bring up what they saw yesterday.

“Sorry I wasn't able to join the three of you, I was so busy with work that I ended up falling asleep when I got back. How was your celebration?”

“It was good. We ate a lot and even saved some for you.”

“Aww, thanks. Maybe we can celebrate after our debut!”

“We'd love that. They try to find a way to bring up the subject, but instead Irene leads the conversation.

After eating, they arrive at the dance room and practice one last time before their debut tomorrow. “Alright girls. This is our last performance as a trainee group. Tomorrow is our big day, so let's call it a day and rest a bit. I'll see everyone later today.”

“Okay!”

Irene leaves the practice room and meets up with the managers to talk about tomorrow's schedule. The other three discuss their plan for the day when Wendy asks, “What are we going to do about Irene unnie?”

Seulgi responds, “I don't think we should get involved; maybe we didn't get the whole picture.”

“Seulgi is right; what if they were role-playing, and we caught them in one of those moments,” says Joy.

“Remember when we asked if anyone had a person they liked? Irene said she couldn't see herself liking a man but blushed when we asked if it was a possibility with a girl.”

Yeah, I remember.”

“I can't see her doing it with anyone, especially a guy.”

“Let's just wait until she tells us herself, we don't want to get involved in her personal life, especially if it's with the CEO. He can disband us if he wants to.”

“You're right, we don't want to get kicked out just moments before our debut.”

Exhausted with the situation Wendy replies “Okay, I won't bring it up anymore.“

The four members wait behind the main stage as the MC gets ready to introduce them as the new girl group. They hold each other’s hands and hope for the best before heading onto the stage.

”Give a big applause to the new group. Let’s welcome, Red Velvet!”

The audience applauds as the four of them walk on stage. They give a warm smile and wave, “Thank you! We are so glad to be here.”

They each look at each other and nod, “Happiness! Hello- We are Red Velvet!” The music starts and they begin their performance.

”Thank you, everyone for your support! We'll perform much more” as the members wave goodbye. They bow and watch as the stage light goes dark.

“Good job everyone. You all did so well. Let's keep it up!”

“Thank you Irene unnie.”

“Let's go celebrate!”

“Yes, let's get some food!”

After a night of celebration each of the members are back in their rooms.

Everyone is asleep except one, she makes her way to her closet and grabs her bag and a trench coat before heading out. Her mind is set; she can't let her unnie care all the burden while the rest enjoy the easy life and exits the apartment.

You're going over at some last-minute documents when you hear the doorbell go off. Curious about who it might be, you get up and check the security screen. “What is she doing here?”

You open the door and ask, “What brings you here this late?”

“I came to take Irene unnie's place.”

Surprised, you respond, “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Like I said, I'm here to take her place” and opens her trench coat, revealing her nude body. “What do you think?”

”Not bad.”

“You can do anything you want as long as you don't bother her anymore. Just let her keep her virginity, and you can have mine.”

Not being able to contain yourself, you place your hand on her soft and tender breast, giving them a faint squeeze. Wendy's eyes squints, adjusting herself to being touched by a man for the first time.

“Are you sure you’re willing to take her place?”

”Yes, I’ve made up my mind.”

That’s all you got to hear as you grab her hand and let her into your apartment. You stop at the living room and say, “Let’s get you comfortable and take off that coat.” Wendy slowly lets the coat go, revealing her whole body but still trying to cover her shaved cunt.

“Move your hand, I want to see everything.”

”Okay.”

You walk around, inspecting 360 degrees, before grabbing her hand once more and lead her into the bedroom. She walks into the neat room and sees the large bed in the center of the room. Wendy takes one last breath before shutting the door, preparing herself for what she’s about to do.

[daddyricsdoll]

congrats on 1k bff!!!!! well deserved 💖

requesting “Don’t make me pull over or I’ll fuck you till you can’t speak.” with oscar hihi

love u

- j

Ahhh thank you J!! And oh Oscar, I'd make him pull over and open me up, tell me he likes it and fuck me to death. 1k ✭ Celebration!

(After I wrote this I realised it’s similar to the last smut scene in To Love ✭ Lando Norris, but it’s still different, don’t worry.)

˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜

It was painful to not be closer to Oscar; and he knew exactly why. This morning filled with hugs and kisses, but also grinds and teasing strokes of him against some of my more sensitive places. Making me whine and beg for him to ease my needs, but it was as if he enjoyed my suffering. Walking past me and getting ready as “we have a big day ahead.”

That being a long road trip through the Australian outback to a freshly built house right in the middle of it. He told me we could do all that we wanted when we arrived, but 6 hours is too long for a desperate girl. So what if I made him desperate too?

The passenger seat was a smaller space than I longed for, but when I spread my legs I figured it was good enough. “Osc” I breathed out, watching his face turn toward me and his eyes roam my body. I bunch my skirt up and drag my panties down my legs. Lifting one of my legs up to make it easier for myself and Oscar. “You know… you left me, so fucking wet. Thinking about your cock and how it feels when you stretch me out.” My fingers delicately touch myself as I keep my eyes on Oscar, his stuck on the road, flickering to me at every chance he gets. I glance at the growing bulge in his pants. “You wanna touch me Osc? Or maybe I’ll tease you huh? Gonna be a good boy while I make myself cum?” 

“Don’t make me pull over or I’ll fuck you till you can’t speak.” Oscar’s words rough, but they were exactly what I wanted. Making me flush and feel more arousal pooling between my thighs.

“What happened? Why’re you so quiet? You gonna tease me? Make yourself cum or just sit there and look at me.” His words, enough to make my breathing uneasy and my stomach to do backflips. 

“What happened to you? Gonna pull over and shut me up, or do you just enjoy lying?”

“You really do get your way don’t you.” Oscar grunts as he pulls over immediately. Reaching over the middle console and grabbing my body, helping me cross the middle and straddle his lap.  

“I wanna taste you, but making you shut up right now would be even better.”

“Can’t you do both? Or is that too hard?” I only tempt Oscar more, enough that he doesn’t utter another word. Pushing his seat back and lifting my hips toward his mouth so he can start abusing me with his tongue. My back against the steering wheel and my toes curling as he starts torturing my clit. Cries and moans leaving my mouth as he relentlessly fucks me with his tongue.

His hands gripping my thighs that rest on each of his shoulders. I writhe against Oscar’s mouth, adding onto the friction and sparks emitting in my stomach. Goosebumps grow along my skin and I whine when he stops to bite the inside of my thigh. Muttering curse words against my pussy and then groaning when he dives back in. 

My eyes rolling to the back of my head and arching my back when I reach my climax. Squeezing Oscar’s head between my thighs at the intensity of my release. And I already start to grow tired.

“Oh honey, you can’t be done yet. I haven’t filled you with my cock.” Oscar speaks so smoothly, but his words were firm. Making me even more drenched.

He takes one long lick through my folds before helping me off his shoulders and opening the car door. Carrying me with him before he places me on the hood of the car. “You shouldn’t be such a brat.” He starts talking his pants off harshly. Grunting his words and using my body as a toy, being the complete opposite as he was this morning. He spreads my legs open and pulls me to the edge of the car. Wrapping his hand around my neck and pounding his dick inside of me. Not giving me a second to get used to his size and the stretch but instead let him allow every thought in my mind to disappear and my attention to be utterly on his cock splitting me apart.

My mouth emitting the most unholy pornographic sounds. I bit my lip trying to quiet the sounds but instead I drew blood. The tears that filled my eyes blinded me from the beautiful man using me as his toy. Fucking me until I couldn’t form any coherent words. I brought this upon myself, but the immense amount of pleasure I gained from this wasn’t as anticipated. I whine and moan, begging Oscar, for what? I have no clue, but it only made him go harder. His hand around my neck made me see stars and his other hand playing with my clit made me see a universe. 

I was on the verge of releasing, and the moan that ultimately left Oscar’s lips helped me achieve that. Coming and expecting to get a break but how could I?

One of Oscar’s hands is now pressing down on my lower abdomen, making me feel everything more intensely. The knot in my stomach grows tighter and I clench around Oscar moaning. Feeling him spasm and then release inside of me. Pulling out almost immediately and then flipping me over. Forcing my legs open even wider and they do just as he pleases. 

His fingers coming down and collecting some of his cum that drips out of me. Leaning forward onto my body and slipping his two fingers into my mouth. 

Oscar realigns himself with me and then thrusts inside of me with a force that felt as if the whole world stopped. Stopped for him to fuck me dumb. 

Still having the same amount of vigour that he had when we started. Oscar keeps my body pressed down on the car, each one of his thrusts forcing my body to move with his. Tears fleeing my eyes to run down my face. And my pussy swollen, having all of Oscar’s attention. 

It was unbelievable at how quickly my climax came, building up over many moments to last for a few seconds. But those seconds were precious. Oscar's cock sliding in and out of me, filling every part of me up. His cum being spread and dripping out of my tight hole. Only adding onto that as Oscar released again. Fingers digging into my hair to pull my head up and hear me scream as he came inside of me once again. My whole body feeble, that I was Oscar's puppet. Giving him the opportunity to control my body. Finally pulling out after his last few rams. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping with cum.” He breathes out, his words almost forming into a moan. My mind blocked from any thought that could’ve entered, leaving me speechless, not even able to move my body.

“Such a little brat, can’t even speak huh?”

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! I would love some more rarepair dot/jack and miss fisher's murder mysteries. You write them amazingly 💚

Dot feels guilty for agreeing to go on this date. Her divorce from Hugh has only just been finalized, never mind that they’ve been living separately for the last year. She’s grateful it’s over with now – she doesn’t know how she would have felt if they’d been separated for longer than they’d been married under one roof, and that’s exactly what would have happened if everything had taken a couple more months.

It still feels too early, and it’s not like she’s ever dated before, Hugh having been her first relationship. But her neighbor Andrea had insisted that this would be good for her, and that her brother’s friend was perfect for her, and Dot is running low enough on friends that she hadn’t wanted to offend her and risk this new friendship collapsing in on itself.

She’d kept Jane and Mr. Butler, and Burt and Cec, of course, but all their other friends had landed firmly on Hugh’s side in everything, which she can’t even say is unfair, considering. But it is a little lonely. There’s a reason one of the first things she’d done was move back to Melbourne, toward the people who still liked her and away from everyone else. Her mother is appalled, but her priest is excited enough at having her back that he’s apparently willing to overlook the whole divorced bit.

She resists the urge to smooth back her hair again, wonders if she should have chosen a dress with a longer hem, but being a divorced woman provides so few benefits that it seems only fair that she take advantage of them.

“Dorothy?”

She looks up, breaking out into a smile at the familiar face. “Detective! How are you?” She gets to her feet, although she still has to crane her neck to look up at him. She forgot how tall he was. “You look well.”

“As do you, Miss Williams,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

She flushes. She never would have worn anything like this a few years ago, but lots of things were different then. Besides, Miss Fisher is always encouraging her to take risks in her letters. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well,” he says, lips pulled up on one side. On a second look, it seems like she can figure that out for herself. He doesn’t look old, really, but he does look tired, something weary about his eyes and shoulders that he didn’t have when she saw him last.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, cutting off whatever answer he would have grave.

The relief on his face makes her think she made the right decision. “I’m meeting someone, actually, although I’m not sure who. Andrea wouldn’t even give me her name.”

Dot blinks once, twice, then raises her hand to her mouth, heat crawling it’s way up her neck. “I’m going to kill her.”

It only takes Jack a second to catch on. “Ah. But,” his eyes flicker down to her hand, “I see.”

Hugh hadn’t told him, then. He’d called her Miss Williams, but that could have been habit more than anything else. Maybe they don’t talk. She assumed they did, but she’d assumed a lot of things.

Jack’s hesitating. If she lets him, he’ll make some sort of excuse and she won’t see him again unless she starts stalking crime scenes again.

“I’ll tell you the dirt details, if you like,” she offers, sitting back down looking expectantly to the chair across from her. He takes it, some of his hesitance bleeding away as he leans forward. “It’s not that exciting, I’m afraid.”

He smiles at her. He really is very handsome. “I bet I can guess.”

Dot raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“You outgrew him,” he says. “He was always struggling to keep up with you.”

It sounds so cruel put like that, but it’s also entirely correct. Hugh’s a good man and he’ll probably be a good husband – to someone else. To someone like she used to be, perhaps, but not at all for who she is now. “Well, I wish someone had told me that.”

“It didn’t seem appropriate,” he says, almost apologetic, and his eyes start to dip lower before guiltily jerking back up to her face.

“No,” she says, almost breathless. “I suppose not.”

[laenordeservedbetter]

For Sam x reader.

Ghostface is back and had followed the Carpenters, the twins, and Amber's older sister, Reader, to New York. No one trusting her because of the fact that her little sister was Ghostface, Reader is in disbelief, and Sam breaks up with her on the spot. Fast forward to the end, where Ghostface is dead, everyone's being treated by paramedics, Reader is seen walking away from the scene alone. Kirby asks where she is, Sam then sees her walking away, holding her broken arm to her body, and runs after her and apologies for not trusting and believing her. (Reader saying it's too late for sam to apologize. She then walks away from her friends, from Sam.)

You're Somebody Else

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Freeman!Reader

Synopsis: You were told that the biggest betrayal comes from the people you care about the most, but never did you expect it to hurt so much.

Warnings: scream vi spoilers, violence, spitting, cussing, angst, no happy ending. lmk if I missed any.

A/N: I wrote this at a coffee shop. I'm still here rn, so we'll see how many fics I can post before I go home. (This will probably be the only one)

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

You stood before Amber’s Ghostface outfit, reaching out to touch the fabric before you remembered where you were -- who you’re with. The glares given to you by the rest of the group burned at the back of your skull. You can practically sense their judgments. Since the first Ghostface attack in New York, they pointed their fingers at you. You understood, given what you've all been through. Can't be too careful. You didn’t care that you saw the contempt on your own girlfriend’s face. You stayed by her side, understanding where she was coming from.

Being related to a previous Ghostface was something you and Sam had in common. When you are linked to a person with that track record, it sticks with you even if you are different from them. Trust becomes hard to give. And out of everyone, you figured your girlfriend is the one who understood the most about what it’s like. However, it looks like the sentiment isn’t shared.

She approaches you, getting the courage to ask, “Can we talk?”

You can tell what’s about to happen before Sam can utter what she wants to say to you.

Nothing good ever comes out of conversations like these.

“I’m sorry.” Sam stares, her gaze cold, nothing like the Sam you fell in love with. With each deafening step she takes away from you, your heart shatters just a little bit more. You are wounded by the way she’s looking at you. Any wound or injury you might sustain in the next few minutes will not compare to the poison laced in the invisible knife held against your throat by the woman you love. “I can’t take any more chances. I can’t trust you. We’re done.”

You scoff, glancing towards the group in hopes that they would back up your claim. “Sam, you know me. I would never hurt you or Tara or. . . Anika.”

Mindy flinches at the mention of her girlfriend’s name. Her stare hardens. “You have no right to say her name. We know you did it. You killed her.”

“Mindy…” Your voice breaks as your throat feels like it’s closing up. You can’t do anything to convince them, letting the stream of tears flow from your eyes. No one came to your rescue to prove your innocence. None of them trusted you. You felt pathetic, humiliated, embarrassed. Your eyes settle on Sam again. “Really? After everything we’ve been through together, you-”

Sam glowers. “It’s over, Y/n. Please, stay away from us.”

“Fuck you.” You turn your back, the hurt in your tone clear as day. “I don’t know you at all.”

“Maybe we didn’t know each other as well as we thought.”

It was one thing for you to walk away and another knowing that Sam would not be going after you.

-

“It was easy luring you away from the group. Guess we really can’t choose our family, huh?” Ghostface makes a tsk sound, the voice changer turned off.

He takes a step forward, but you stay positioned adjacent to the wall. That voice…

“Ethan?”

Ethan removes his mask, holding the voice changer to his lips, “Didn’t expect that?”

Of course it was him. Little by little, the pieces fall into place. The apartment attack -- that was probably Ethan. He wasn’t with the group. Not even the skeptic Mindy questioned his whereabouts. Your tears haven’t dried yet and you were as sure as hell they weren’t going to stop now. You bring your hands together in a slow clap. “Oh, wow, that’s… Fucking brilliant, actually.” Clutching your stomach, you let out what sounded like a painful cackle. “This is the part where I die.” You say. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Oh no, no, no. See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Ethan smirks, gripping your left arm, applying pressure to where you had been previously injured a couple nights prior. “You are our scapegoat. I must give credit to Mindy for the idea. You have the perfect motive to be Ghostface! It was just gonna be Sam, but… The press would go crazier if it was a Bonnie & Clyde situation. Not that I care about that sorta stuff. It just works.”

You collect the saliva from your mouth, spitting in his eye. “Jokes on you ‘cause we’re not together anymore.”

“But they wouldn’t know that because by the time you get ‘caught’, all of your friends will be dead and you would look like the asshole trying to save yourself if you attempt to say the truth.”

Ethan places his free hand on your shoulder, pulling your arm with more force than necessary to guarantee that it would break. You stand there, biting your lip in order to hide the pain. If I screamed, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, you said to yourself bitterly. There’s not a single person who’d give me the benefit of the doubt. In fact, they’d make me suffer worse, believing that Ethan did the right thing. Who knows what creative scenarios he came up with already.

-

The paramedics found you slumped down beside a row of chairs after Sam and the rest of the group defeated the three Ghostfaces. They wondered why you weren’t with the others, but with a quick word from Kirby, they left you alone, guiding you outside to treat your broken arm. One of the paramedics - Theo (that’s what you heard Kirby call him) asked if you wanted a ride to the hospital. You declined, insisting that you could get there yourself without anyone’s help.

You spare Sam a glance, observing her interact with Mindy, Chad, and Tara. Core Four. Good for them. Although you were glad that they are are still extant, you can’t stop the rancor that you feel as you stare at the four. You want nothing more than for this day to be over, move to someplace else, maybe change your name. Anywhere is better than here. It’s become clear to you how unwanted you are in New York. A change of scenery might do you good.

Kirby (the only person who hasn’t treated you like scum) situates herself in front of Sam, “Hey, where’s Y/n?”

Sam only notices your absence when Kirby pointed it out. “Shit. I…” She scans the area in search of your familiar eyes, guilt eating at her knowing that she accused you of being a killer. Because of that, you got hurt. She’d never forgive herself for it. “I'll be right back.”

The blonde detective nods in understanding. “I’ll stay with Tara.”

“Thank you.”

You were on your way to the hospital when a hand grasps your injured arm. Recoiling from the touch, you look back to curse the one responsible for hurting your limb only to meet Sam’s pleading gaze. “What do you want, Samantha?”

“Y/n, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for being careless, for not trusting or believing you. If I had, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Sam touches your good shoulder this time, expressing her genuine apology.

But no matter how many ‘I’m sorry’s’ she will direct at you, it won’t take away what’s been done. “It’s too late, Sam.”

“What? No. We can try again.” She pleads desperately.

You couldn’t bite back the words the words that are on the tip of your tongue, feeling the last ounce of self control fray away. “Try again? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You broke up with me because you didn’t trust me. You didn’t even try to understand my side!” The news reporters turned their heads at your outburst. They point their cameras to you, but you don’t make an effort to cut off your ebullition short. “All of you pointed your hands at me because what? I’m the sister of a killer?! If we’re basing our suspicions of all the Ghostface’s relatives, you should’ve been on the top of the list. The only thing I asked was for you to stand by me and you failed. So, no, we can’t try again. We’ll only end up worse than where we left off.” You finish, walking away from everything (not for the first time). “I’ll get my things out of your apartment tonight. After that, you won’t have to see me again.”

Sam stays still while you leave, clutching your arm in the process. That limb will heal, but the words that Sam has spoken won’t. There will remain a constant reminder of how you were betrayed by those you would give everything for.

So much for trust.

[ofbreathandflame]

This is a very long post!

These last couple of months, it’s been interesting to talk about Nesta as a character and how her subsequent characterization is so integral to pointing out the problems in the series. Whether or not you view Nesta to be ‘real’ or ‘good’ character is one thing, and often subjective. Our own personal backgrounds may muddle or influence whether we like these characters or not.

The reason why I think Nesta is an interesting character is because of how she kind of…ruins the story, or the illusion of a story we are given. There are many times in the story where I think SJM could have elaborated on the qualities that she gushes about, but she intentionally chooses not to. For example, if SJM kept Rhysand consistent, I could see him disliking Nesta and wanting to actually hurt her, but have him think about Feyre and her wants and ultimately relent to Feyre’s want. One thing about Tamlin’s abuse that I think was done well was the fact that he genuinely seems broken up by the fact he can’t control his anger, and he feels something akin to guilt, but he doesn’t stop the abuse. It highlights the effect of the victim, not the intention of the abuser. I don’t know if it was intentionally done, but I liked that element of his abuse. I also liked that the dangers that Tamlin are worried about are real – the threat is real. Why? Because I think it proves, to some extent, that we should not justify abuse, even if the abuse seems rational. It proves that in this world, these men should still adhere to the fact of self-control. How can Feyre in a relationship with Tamlin if he can’t regulate his emotions around her?

But then the story does something weird – it embodies Rhysand with these very same qualities. It also recreates Tamlin’s abuse of Feyre with…Nesta – and then justifies it. Nesta arrives in a similar position as Feyre, yet the story goes to great lengths to vilify her for not reaching out; this is a far-cry from how the story (and stans) think about Feyre. (paint scene, fire scene, solstice scene, and hiking scene). We're supposed to sympathize with the decisions being made; so much rides on the fact that the IC are doing this out of the kindness of their heart:

Did Nesta notice the faint glimmer of worry in Amren’s smoky eyes—understand how rare it was? More than that, did Nesta understand that this meeting wasn’t to condemn her, but instead came from a place of concern? Her simmering stare told him she considered this purely an attack.

We're supposed to think about the worry of the Inner Circle and not think about the way they've decided to express their worry. Its similar to this scene that we get with Lucien to Feyre about Tamlin:

“I’ve given him time,” I said. “I can’t stay cooped up in the house forever.” “He knows that—he doesn’t say it, but he knows it. Trust me. You will forgive him if his family’s own slaughter keeps him from being so … liberal with your safety. He’s lost those he cares for too many times. We all have.” Every word was like fuel added to the simmering pit in my gut. “I don’t want to marry a High Lord. I just want to marry him.”“One doesn’t exist without the other. He is what he is. He will always, always seek to protect you, whether you like it or not. Talk to him about it—really talk to him, Feyre. You’ll figure it out.” Our gazes met. A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw. “Don’t ask me to pick.” “But you’re deliberately not telling me things.” “He is my High Lord. His word is law. We have this one chance, Feyre, to rebuild and make the world as it should be. I will not begin that new world by breaking his trust. Even if you …”

Lucien is continually asking Feyre to place Tamlin over her own happiness; he is asking her to consider his feelings before she considers his own - partially because this is the way Lucien is characterized to handle Tamlin's abuse himself. Cassian is asking Nesta to consider the Inner Circle's intention over how she feels. Amren and Rhys immediately shame and threaten Nesta - she is valid in her anger. She has interpreted this meeting as an attack...because it was. I think its especially telling that the later scene is asking Nesta to have empathy for Amren who is arguably the most abusive, abrasive, and unproductive person in that entire meeting. The second part of Lucien's monologue end's up being true for Nesta as the Inner Circle end up doing the same thing to control Nesta's behavior -- whether that be by leveraging Elain, outright forcing her, or even the decision to withhold Nesta's power from her -- these echo the exact same plot points we see in MAF with Feyre.

Let’s compare some scenes:

It was worse than a crown, actually. Built into the box were compartments and sleeves and holders, all full of brushes and paints and charcoal and sheets of paper. A traveling painting kit. Red—the red paint inside the glass vial was so bright, the blue as stunning as the eyes of that faerie woman I’d slaughtered— “I thought you might want it to take around the grounds with you. Rather than lug all those bags like you always do.” The brushes were fresh, gleaming—the bristles soft and clean. Looking at that box, at what was inside, felt like examining a crow-picked corpse. I tried to smile. Tried to will some brightness to my eyes. He said, “You don’t like it.” (MAF: Chapter 9)

“You’re going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there. You will follow Cassian’s lessons, and you will do whatever work Clotho requires in the library.” Nesta blocked out the memory—of the dark depths of that library, the ancient monster that had dwelled there. It had saved them from Hybern’s cronies, yes, but … She refused to think of it. “You will respect her, and the other priestesses in the library,” Feyre said, “and you will never give them a moment’s trouble. Any free time is yours to spend as you wish. In the House.” Hot rage pumped through her, so loud Nesta could barely hear the real fire before which her sister paced. Was glad of the roaring in her head when the sound of wood cracking as it burned was so much like her father’s breaking neck that she couldn’t stand to light a fire in her own home. “You had no right to close up my apartment, to take my things—” (Silver Flames; Chapter 2)

She could barely stand to hear the crack and pop of the wood. Had barely been able to endure it in Feyre’s town house. Snap; crunch. (FAS: Chapter 21)

"He had Enough of the coldness, the sharpness. Enough of the sword-straight spine and razor-sharp stare that had only honed itself these months"

He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too

Another grin as he lifted the small, wrapped parcel. “Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one (FAS)

“Nesta forged a new Trove,” Cassian said, reining in his rage at the truth of Azriel’s words. “She could create anything.” He nodded to Rhys. “She could fill our arsenals with weapons that would win us any war.” Briallyn, Koschei, and Beron wouldn’t stand a chance. “Which is why Nesta must not learn about it,” Amren said. Cassian demanded, “What?” Amren’s gray eyes held steady. “She cannot know.” Rhys said, “That seems like a risk. What if, unaware, she creates more?” “What if, in one of her moods,” Amren challenged, “Nesta creates what she pleases just to spite us…’ (SF)

He appealed to Rhys, “You’re all right with this? Because I’m sure as hell not.” “Amren’s order holds,” Rhys said, and for a heartbeat, Cassian hated him. Hated the mistrust and wariness he beheld on Rhys’s face.(SF

“No. She knows the labor will be difficult, but I haven’t told her yet that it might very well claim her life.” Rhys spoke into their minds, as if he couldn’t say it aloud, I haven’t told her that the nightmares that now send me lurching from sleep aren’t ones of the past, but of the future. Cassian squeezed Rhys’s shoulder. “Why won’t you tell her?” Rhys’s throat worked. “Because I can’t bring myself to give her that fear. To take away one bit of the joy in her eyes every time she puts a hand on her belly.” His voice shook. “It is fucking eating me alive, this terror. I keep myself busy, but … there is no one to bargain with for her life, no amount of wealth to buy it, nothing that I can do to save her.

So much is happening here – there’s actually more scenes, but I don’t want to go and find them all. I wanted to include more similarities between Feyre and Nesta (I might make a separate post with all of those). To some extent, I think a lot of these quotes, even without elaboration echo the point I’m about to make. In quote #4, Cassian’s narration berates Nesta for not being integrated into the family and not being happy at Solsitice, but we the audience know that Nesta (1) isn’t being talked to, (2) she can barely stand the sound of the fire, (3) Feyre forced Nesta to come by essentially holding her rent over her head. And there’s just way to many parallels between how Nesta feels at the NC and how Feyre felt at the Spring Court. Nesta is drowning; she tells us that – Rhysand’s subtle anger is something she not only notices, but internalizes. She specifically mentions that she doesn’t take any of Rhysand’s positions because they were pity offerings; he’s only doing it because of Feyre. The story then decides to let him spearhead the conversations around Nesta’s autonomy. In the first quote, Tamlin's overall ignorance regarding Feyre's mental state, and her aversion to things such as the color Red were considered red flags; yet when Nesta has an aversion to fire, when she is neglected and nearly dies the story spends so much time trying to tell the audience that Cassian simply didn't know - it doesn't say anything about him.

But one of the biggest indicators of this ruin of the story is the fact that Amren and Rhys believe that Nesta should not have her power because ““What if, in one of her moods,” Amren challenged, “Nesta creates what she pleases just to spite us?” (Maas). The issue, as consistently reiterated, is a control one. They don’t trust Nesta simply because they cannot control her – that is what is highlighted as the issue in the story. Furthermore, Feyre doesn’t let Nesta know, she defers to a process that she doesn’t have to. She outranks everyone in that room; if she wanted to tell Nesta was rules would stop her – that’s literally been the way Feyre has characterized (see: Wraiths, the HL meeting attacking Beron, Tarquin and the BoB, Mor/Feyre w/ the Suriel), yet in this moment when she disagrees with Rhys – she essentially defers to his command. She simply expresses a subtle wariness and then moves on. Feyre has the power to just tell Nesta is the point that I am making here. It’s Nesta’s power; they forced her to do these tasks, and when she has one moment of autonomy in making the sword – they are argue that Rhys should make himself High King and Cassian, despite his earlier provocations, believes in this. He agrees with it. And even though I am going on this long, wordy analysis, I think a lot of what I am saying is kind of really clear In these quotes even without explaining.

To bring this back, Rhys (and Feyre somewhat) are only excused because the story believes their intentions were good (see quote #7), which conflicts with what we’ve already seen. These are…the exact same justifications we get about Tamlin; he truly believes that by making her safe, he is making her happy – but we know Feyre values truth over safety. And so the story undermines its lessons by not condemning the actions of its characters and instead leans into moralistic reasons. The argument now isn't even that Nesta isn't being abused, but stans and even the story (subtextually) believe that Nesta deserves the abuse - or that it's purely a consequence of her own immaturity, yet this is a far-cry to how Feyre is perceived in similar situations. The story argues that these characters understand that Nesta is not in her right mind - but constantly the story expects her act functionally in the face of her depression, even though the very reason the decided to lock her up is because they all unanimously believed she could not function by herself. She's expected to respond appropriately to their jabs, do missions on their behalf, train, and work at the library with no pay. She cannot leave Velaris without a Chaperone and all of her Chaporene are employed officials who are gone for the entirety of the book. No one ever actually offers to ever take Nesta out to see the town. I am seriously tired, and really concerned with the way Nesta's abuse is talked about.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

୨୧ ｓｔｒａｗｂｅｒｒｙ ｊｕｌｉｕｓ ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x chubby!fem!reader x boyfriend!namjoon

୨୧ Genre: fluff, smut, rocker au/crime au combo

୨୧ Summary: The night of an event you've been stressing out about for weeks, you find stress relief in an unexpected but welcome place.

୨୧ Word Count: 2.4k-ish

୨୧ Warnings: unprotected sex, double penetration, double creampie, anal, light choking, dirty talk, pet names, strong language (I can be a potty mouth, sry), pet names (love, baby), dom vibes if you squint, & that's all I think.

୨୧ A/N: I really wanted to mix two of my favorite au's with two of my favorite people so here we are. There's definitely gonna be a part two because my brain won't shut up about this. Anyway, I hope you like it my loves 🖤

Punk music blares from the speakers in your living room, the distorted strumming of guitars and brutal drumming enough to shake the walls of your two story home. Playing your music as loud as you want whenever you want. One of the few perks that come with living on the edge of the city where your nearest neighbor's an elderly woman a mile down the road who never uses her hearing aid.

A hearing aid. You’ll need one any day now if you keep this up but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re having the time of your life fresh out of the shower, dancing around in your towel while you tear your closet apart to find an outfit for the party tonight. Everything has to be perfect. Your hair. Your outfit. Your makeup. Jungkook says you’re perfect already. That everything else is just decoration.

With all the effort he put into getting your band invited to this party, your “decoration” needs to be more memorable than ever. Everyone who’s anyone on the punk scene will be there tonight. From journalists to producers to some of the women who inspired you to start a band to begin with. The pressure to make a lasting impression is insane and the precise reason you’re running on 4 hours of sleep right now. You’ve been moving non-stop since this morning, trying to outrun your doubts and insecurities.

“Love, slow down. Let me help you” Jungkook whispered in those moments he caught you burning yourself out. You don't know what you'd do without the sweetheart that he is. Digging through your top drawer you pull out a pair of fishnets, the ones he can't get enough of, and you're instantly reminded of the other side of him. Thoughts of all the filthy things you’ve done in these fishnets bring a tingle to your cheeks that spreads between your thighs like wildfire. 

“Not tonight” you say to yourself, tossing them back in, “I’ll never be able to focus.” Shaking off vivid memories of being fucked against the questionably clean mirror of a dive bar last weekend, you continue to raid your closet, carelessly making a mess that’ll be a problem for future you to deal with.

“Baby!” Jungkook shouts, stepping through the front door twirling his keys around his fingers. His heavy black combat boots hit the hardwood like the steps of a giant as he marches over to the speaker and turns the music down. “Baby! Where are you?” There’s an adorable pitter patter of feet from above before your voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “I’m here! Get everything you needed from the store?” 

His brain glitches. The store? Oh, yeah. That lie he told you about needing to run to the store for something. You never pressed him for specifics. A testament to the level of trust you have in him. Trust that hopefully won’t be shattered by the fact that he lied his ass off. He cuts his eyes at the tall man looming by the door, knowing that his presence is the only thing that’ll redeem him. 

“Uh, yeah, I did” he lies, appearing at the bottom of the stairs, “Could you come here for a second?” Without bothering to answer, you skip down the stairs, only hitting the second to last step before he has his arms around your plush figure. The towel bunches up around your waist, raising your towel just enough to allow your ass to poke out the bottom. He can’t resist brushing his fingers along the softness of your ass.

A move that reignites that tingling you felt earlier and has your lips latching onto his before he can say another word. Jungkook dives right in, shoving his hands beneath your towel to hungrily grip handfuls of your curves. There’s no time for this but he’ll make it. He has to. Something about you drowns out his reason. He’d postpone his own funeral if it meant he got to touch you one last time. 

“Does everyone who comes over get to watch or am I just special?” Namjoon teases, slamming the front door shut. Jungkook’s stomach sinks, suddenly remembering what he’d actually left the house to pick up. Yours sinks even lower. That voice. It hasn’t lived within these walls for years. Jungkook steps back, waving Joon over. “I, uh, got something extra from the store.” 

A half dozen emotions brew inside of you, none of them identifiable. You only know that your feet are glued to the ground. That your mouth is drier than it's ever been and your heart’s beating in your throat. Joon approaches you, his arms outstretched to welcome you into a hug. When you don’t budge, your pouty bottom lip the only part of you able to move, he pulls you into his arms anyway.

The strength of his hug, the love laced within it, heals something inside of you that has your vision going hazy with tears. Lifting you from the stairs, Joon brings you between him and Jungkook. They hug you from both sides the way they used to before Joon went away. 4 years in prison. Light work for washing dirty money but an eternity for your close knit trio. You haven’t laid eyes on him since that last day in court.

He’d only let Jungkook come visit, insisting that you shouldn’t be in a place like that. You lost count of the hours you spent in tears hating him for keeping you away but loving him too much for the feeling to ever stick. Your Joon didn’t belong locked away with killers and god knows who else. Everything he did, everything you did together, was to survive. He'd never hurt anyone and knowing he might be surrounded by people who would made being kept at a distance sting that much more.

There was no way you and Jungkook would’ve survived without each other. Him losing his best friend and you losing one of your loves. No matter how far your careers advanced, how nice this house was, or how much money you had tucked under the floorboards in the attic, nothing could change how incomplete you feel. How incomplete you felt.

“Ouch!” Joon cries, jumping when you pinch his side, “What was that for?” “What the fuck are you doing here?” you shout, wiping the tears from your eyes. Joon just laughs, “I still live here don’t I?” “Duh, you idiot! But you’re not supposed to—your release is months away—I thought—” You turn to Jungkook who grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours before you pinch him too.

“Early release. I was gonna tell you, I just thought it’d be a fun surprise. Plus you were so freaked out about tonight. I just didn’t wanna psych you out. You mad at me?” Jungkook pouts, those brown puppy dog eyes pulling you in like they always do. “I’m not mad” you huff, rolling your eyes while leaning in to let him peck you on the cheek. Joon kisses you on the neck from behind, his large smooth hands massaging your tense shoulders.

You reach back, running your palm across his buzz cut hair, “I like the new hair. It’s kinda hot.” “Only kinda?” he asks, nipping at your neck, revenge for that pinch earlier. His hands slide down, patiently rounding your curves to reach your exposed thighs. “Stop” you giggle, a chill running up your spine, “I have to get ready.” Jungkook pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time. “We can always help you get ready” he grins, pushing his knee between your thighs to make enough space for Joon to run two fingers over your slit.

“It’s so wet down there” Joon hums, “Is that just from the shower or—.” Twisting free, you rush back up the stairs, stopping halfway up to glance back at them. “I still need to do my hair.” Jungkook shrugs, taking two steps toward you, “I’m pretty good with hair.” You swallow hard, wiping your sweaty palms on your towel. “And…and my makeup.” Joon tilts his head to see you better, “I can do that.”

Why are they like this? So annoyingly persistent. It’s not like you don’t want it. The thought had crossed your mind to have a quickie with Jungkook when you were standing in your bedroom zoning out with those fishnets in your hand. With Joon back you find yourself wanting it even more. Those feelings that overcame you are much clearer now. Passion. Love. Lust. Joy. All fighting for dominance and right now one in particular’s winning.

Look at them. They’re both so fucking handsome. And the closer they get the harder it is to ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in. “Just a kiss” it whispers as Jungkook catches up to you, his lips dangerously close to yours. You close your eyes as your lips meet, his tongue snaking against yours. One kiss. Just one.

Joon dreamt of being with you like this again. Him lying across the bed, pillows beneath him to keep him at the perfect angle to lower you into his lap. Fingers digging into the plush of your hips, he guides his length, coated in lube from base to tip, to that gorgeous ass he got a few nibbles of when you first took your towel off. “Joon…ah” you gasp, biting down on your bottom lip as the warm tip penetrates your tight hole.

Anal was never Jungkook’s thing. Seeing those cute heart shaped butt plugs you liked to wear when he had you bent over was the extent of his interest. Joon on the other hand had always been insatiable and time hasn’t changed that. “Fuck, still so tight for me” he groans out in pleasure, the tightness of your ass choking his dick the deeper he goes.

When he finally bottoms out, you fall back onto his bare chest moaning weakly, drool already leaking from the corners of your mouth. Earlier your body wouldn't even move. Now you can’t stop it from trembling, the fullness overwhelming you enough to turn your brain to soup.  Joon locks an arm around your waist, the other coming around so he can palm your breast. 

“Missed you” he whispers, rocking beneath you at a pace slow enough for his and your sanity. Your hand skims his forearm, nails digging in when he does a slight bounce to mess with you. He’s definitely put on some weight while he was away. Whatever they were feeding him, whatever weights he was lifting, you approve because he’s stronger than you ever knew him to be and you’re loving it.

“You sure you can take both of us?” Jungkook taunts, shifting his weight on the bed to hover between your legs. He places a hand on your knee, dipping two fingers into your core. He's achingly hard, twitching, leaking precum on the blankets at the sight of how wet you are. Your pussy glistens so beautifully, your walls clenching around his fingers while Joon fucks your other hole. Jungkook awaits your answer but he’s only met with your needy moans and cries.

“You have to say something, baby” he says, his thumb strumming your clit, “Tell me what you want.” The hand on your knee comes around your neck, his hold on you firm yet gentle. Joon slows his movements, offering you a second—and only that—to get your thoughts together. “Come on, you can do it. Tell us what you want.” Jungkook’s fingers are still working inside of you, mercilessly milking your g-spot.

“I…I can take it” you whine, forcing the words from your throat, “Fill me up. Please. Want it so bad. So bad.” “That’s my girl” Jungkook smiles, popping his fingers out of you. You watch as he strokes himself, using your arousal as lubricant. Joon’s hips begin to move again, leaving you pulsing in two places at once. Your clit stiffens as Jungkook rubs his tip between the silken folds of your warmth, sinking into you without warning. 

They take turns thrusting into you, one then the other, making sure you feel every arch and defining vein along their shafts. This perfect dance of pleasure and overstimulation has you crying out, tears leaking from watery eyes. Incoherent moans flow out into the ether and it’s not just you, it's them too. You can’t get enough of it, rotating your hips as best you can to pull the dirtiest noises out of them. Joon pulls your head back to kiss you and the moment you break for air Jungkook’s kissing you too, suspending you in a constant state of breathlessness. 

You’ve forgotten all about the party, your worries reduced to nothing by the ecstasy of this unexpected reunion. There’s nowhere else you want to be but here between the men you love, tension winding in your belly. You whine something between Joon’s lips and they just know what it is. Letting go of your throat, Jungkook slips his hand between your waist and his, rubbing your clit to push you over the edge. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” you scream, ears ringing as juices stream from your core, making the sound of your bodies snapping together even sharper. 

You feel weightless, disembodied, floating above yourself, jerked back to reality only by the pressure of Joon coming inside of you. You hold his hand, pressing down onto him as you kiss him over your shoulder. At the same time you’re tugging at Jungkook’s hair, keeping him flush against you. “Harder” he begs, his thrusts growing sloppier the harder you pull. One final tug has him unraveling, another wave of warmth filling you just as the other fades away.

The energy in the room gradually comes down, heavy panting turning to light breaths as you cuddle beside each other, your sweat slicked bodies still tangled together. “Still need help with your hair?” Jungkook asks, lovingly petting your head. Joon peeks over to find you sleeping more peacefully than you have in years. He kisses you on the forehead, pulling the blanket over you. “I don’t think so.”

[inkpot909]

Jealousy Headcanons: Duwang Gang

↳ Characters included are Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, Koichi Hirose, and Rohan Kishibe. Gender neutral Reader with they/them pronouns. Hinted to take place after the death of Yoshikage Kira.

A/n: What a beautiful duwang! Real talk, I’ve been wanting to write a headcanon list for this group for a long time, now. Bless these boys, none of them (except for Koichi) know what they’re doing. I really hope y’all enjoy. <3

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence and swearing.

Josuke Higashikata

-> The Silent

The immediate feeling that washes over Josuke after realizing he’s become jealous is guilt.

If he has the luxury of being alone, he’ll pace around his bedroom while entertaining a lengthy argument with himself. It takes everything in him not to raise a hand up to his mouth and press a nail or two between clenched teeth. There’s a game of tug of war occurring inside his head and he’s nothing if not a slave to fully investing himself in the conflict.

If he isn’t alone, and especially if he’s with you, there is seemingly no dent made in his chill persona. Not a single person around him would be able to tell the internal conflict running through his mind. Not even you.

His usually relaxed thoughts are disrupted with an ocean of insecurity. “What if” questions plaguing him and internally souring his mood.

It’s a foreign feeling for him to experience. Especially considering you tend to bring out a very proud side of his personality. Ever since he started going out with you, everyday life has only gotten brighter.

And although he’d never be caught mentioning it out loud, there’s a part of him that’s mindful of the fact that usually he’s the one others grow jealous of.

He’s running in mental circles, a back and forth. Agonizing over just the idea of being jealous between taking the brunt of his emotions all at once.

All while he says absolutely nothing on the matter.

He may end up distancing himself for a day or two depending on just how lost in his own head he gets. He doesn’t seek out your company, and that’ll be the only telltale sign of how he’s truly feeling.

Even then, whenever you do see him, nothing appears to be wrong. He’ll smile at you all the same. His tone is cheerful as ever, and there’s no falter present in his laugh.

Because he can’t help but be ashamed for feeling this way, he’ll do anything in his power to make sure you don’t notice. He’ll continue to play the part of your never bothered, always cheery boyfriend.

He will only bring up his dilemma to Koichi.

Being involved in a relationship himself, Josuke figures he would best understand his point of view. He does his best to hear him out (he did go to him, after all), but Koichi telling him that it’s unhealthy to internalize how he’s feeling isn’t going to get Josuke to budge.

Josuke knows you’re loyal. He does trust you... so how could he possibly compromise that trust by mentioning something as silly as jealousy? Being open and honest is usually his go to. He tells you everything. But this...? There’s a little voice in his head telling him not to. And not even sound advice from a close friend can get him to stop listening.

If you’re observant enough to catch onto him avoiding you while simultaneously greeting you as if nothing’s wrong, bringing it up bluntly will finally force him to open his damn mouth.

He’s nervous; more nervous than he’s ever been around you in the past. It doesn’t take long before the word vomit starts pooling from his mouth, littered between a plethora of apologies. His eyes never meet yours until he’s done talking, hands continuously picking and pulling at one another.

Believe it or not, talking it through with you actually helps! Who knew? Certainly not Josuke.

After that first incident, dealing with his jealousy becomes a lot more manageable. Although it doesn’t happen often, it still does happen.

And he’s still not inclined to make a scene if he can help it.

Josuke’s opinion of guys who freak out on their partner or anyone who they feel threated by- even by the loosest stretch of the imagination -is very low. He will certainly talk to you about it, but in private and merely to express his emotions rather than to criticize you in any way.

The only real exception to this, is if someone’s actively hitting on you and repeatedly not taking the hint. How he approaches the situation largely depends on you.

If you’re not afraid of confrontation, he’s going to be at your side with a smug expression on his face the entire time. Your ability to stand up for yourself can make him melt on the spot. He lets you go at it, watching you with a smile brimming with puppy love. He just cannot help but fawn over how cool you are.

Once you’ve made your point, he’ll happily back you up lightheartedly. Even to the point of mocking the person who dared to ignore every “no” you threw their way. People like that deserve to get knocked down a peg, and Josuke’s eager to help.

If you’re more meek in approaching these situations, and tend to shoot Josuke glances pleading for his aid, he’s happy to help. It feeds into his ego a bit, honestly.

He’ll make a point to wrap an arm around you, throwing his best intimidating side-eye to the person daring to make you feel uncomfortable. Hell, he’ll even puff out his chest a little too.

Once again, he’s not above insulting them. His words are vicious and more than a little rude. He is a delinquent, after all.

Josuke isn’t a really fan of getting violent in these situations, though. The only reason he would get to that point is if the other person grows violent first and he needs to defend himself.

If they take it that far, they’re asking for it in his book. He doesn’t feel any need to use Crazy Diamond against something so trivial, more than a little confident in his own strength.

That said, if the flirtatious bastard is enough to make you really upset, he will use his stand to rearrange their appearance in an attempt to make you laugh. Yeah, it’s a bit twisted, but his youthful mischievousness is likely to earn him a smile from you.

That said, if someone flirts with you and tries to brush him off by dissing his hair- all cards are off the table. Openly flirting with you in front of him and dissing his hair? That person must have a death wish.

You may want to look away.

Okuyasu Nijimura

-> The Emotional

Unlike his best friend, Okuyasu wears his heart on his sleeve at all times.

Expressing emotions, even negative or embarassing ones, is not something he shies away from. No, not even in public.

When he first confessed his feelings to you, he was certainly more than a little shy. But when you gladly reciprocated, you’re positive the entirety of Morioh shook with his joyous response.

It’s because of this that Okuyasu experiencing jealousy is quite the roller-coaster of emotion. If he’s jealous, everyone and their mother will likely know.

His immediate response is confusion.

Not over how he’s feeling per se, but instead over what to do about it. Painfully aware of his own intellegence, he’ll agonize over how he should respond. Jealousy is rather complicated in his opinion, and his biggest concern is accidentally pushing you away via his reaction.

He is decisive, though, so it’s not something he’s going to mull it over for very long.

And if you’re right beside him, the likelihood of you diffusing his jealousy right in that very moment is quite high. So, although it’s not uncommon for him to be jealous, he’s quick to let it go.

In most cases, that’s where the story ends.

Sometimes, though, if the feeling is strong enough or if you’re not able to talk with him, it’ll go a bit further.

In those instances, the emotion that follows his confusion is anger. More accurately, it’s defensiveness masked with a display of frustration.

It’s written all over his face, eyebrows furrowing and eyes turning sharp. The delivery of his words are rather harsh and unfiltered (well, more than usual).

This anger won’t ever be directed at you, though. Okuyasu cares about you far too much.

If he can’t direct it at a specific individual that’s (according to him) the source of his jealousy, he’ll instead grow angry with himself. Mainly because his jealousy stems from an insecure belief that he’s not good enough for you.

If he gets this upset, it’s best to leave him to let out his frustrations before going to speak with him on the matter. Hell, Josuke is a better support for Okuyasu when he’s dealing with the bulk of his emotions.

Not much time is needed; no more than a day. And because he respects you greatly, if you give him that tiny- yet definitely needed -space, he’ll gladly hear you out with a fresher mindset.

Okuyasu is almost always going to be soothed by your affirmations.

Sweet words about how you’re with him because you want to be, and that nothing so small could form a wedge between the two of you, is very reassuring for him.

Jealousy is going to be more of a prevalent hurtle for the both of you to work on at the beginning of the relationship. He was still getting used to the idea that you really do like him as more than just a friend. It’s sweet, sure, but the insecurity is something the two of you work on together.

As time passes, and he digests the fact that you’re not going to leave him for the first person that flirtatiously glances your way, he cools off a lot. In fact, he starts having a hard time taking the people who hit on you seriously.

Namely, he’s going to laugh at any poor bastard trying to make a move on you. Because “Ha! Get a move on, loser! Can’t you see their taken?”

His mocking may not be as well-thought out as Josuke’s, but they can cut just as deep. And his delivery is almost always sure to bring a smile to your face. Okuyasu is always proud when he’s the cause of your glee.

That said, getting defensive is still a knee-jerk reaction at times. It only applies if someone doesn’t want to take “no” as an answer.

Doesn’t matter how capable you are in defending yourself, if someone pushes it, he’s quickly going to follow it up with threats. Partially out of affectionate protectiveness, and also in part because he likes to think of himself as your knight in shining armor.

He tries to be as suave as he can while threatening a stranger with a fist to the face. One second he’s throwing insults, the next he’s giving you a smile along with a cheeky wink.

As far as he’s concerned, someone messing with his boyfriend/girlfriend better be prepared for a pair of knuckles meeting harshly with their jaw.

Okuyasu’s like an angry dog barking loudly at anyone getting too close. Least you know no one will ever dare to mess with you for very long.

Koichi Hirose

-> The Logical

Out of everyone in the Duwang gang, Koichi is the least susceptible to jealousy. Actually, scratch that. He’s the least susceptible to jealousy in all of Morioh.

Especially after developing Echoes act 3, his thought process just doesn’t leave a lot of room for doubts in both you and himself.

If someone’s attempting to flirt with you, he’s more likely to grow annoyed rather than jealous.

He’ll throw them an unamused glance, eyebrow raised as if daring them to continue further. He’ll turn back to you, mentioning loudly enough for them to hear how obnoxious he finds their behavior to be. Returning the favor with a smile almost always does the trick, often prompting them to give up.

If they don’t, and press further, Koichi is prone to suggesting that the two of you go somewhere else. He never returns any animosity thrown towards him, not letting it get to him much. Yeah, they may be hurling low-hanging insults towards him, but he’s the one with you on his arm.

His casualness in those situations is so consistent to the point where Josuke and Okuyasu each comment on how they don’t understand it.

When a situation arises where they know they’d be jealous, the two just cannot wrap their head around how calm he is. Koichi merely laughs them off, almost finding their confusion to be amusing.

Koichi’s grown a lot, and he just can’t find it within himself to give into insecurities he considers unnecessary. All that, in his mind, should really be left in the past.

Adding to his confidence, is you yourself.

Koichi adores you, and would honestly trust you with his life. So why would he ever grow jealous of an old friend? What on earth could some random person at a party provide you in a short, two minute conversation that would warrant any defensiveness? Why would he feel threatened by a coworker? It’s not like he can tell you to avoid them.

In fact, he’s very aware of the fact that he can't tell you what to do in general. Or rather, he simply won’t. It’s not in his nature to be controlling or hover over you like that.

Not because you’ve brought it up or it's ever been an issue in the past. It’s simply because... that’s not a real relationship in his eyes. He’s not bossy or pushy- you started dating him because that was your decision at the end of the day. And that alone is enough proof to him that being jealous really isn’t worth it.

Now, if by some miracle he does grow jealous, it’s not going to last very long. Again, Koichi is just too levelheaded.

He is going to grow downcast, saddened by his own perspective of the situation. This is because he’ll only get to the point of jealousy if he believes you’ve returned someone’s advances- whether it was by word of mouth or something he saw with his own two eyes.

And because you care for him as earnestly as he does for you, his jealousy likely occurs due to an honest misunderstanding.

Koichi will approach you on the matter himself, and will do so calmly. Even if he saw something, he doesn’t want to become more upset before he hears what you have to say. After all, you’ve never disappointed him before.

Because of his strong trust in you, after he details his perspective on the matter, he asks that you explain your side of the situation to him.

Koichi’s demeanor is very controlled and polite, hiding a certain degree of genuine worry. He listens with baited breath, internally praying that he simply misread what happened.

And to his relief, that’s all it ever ends up being.

Just like that, the both of you are quickly back to normal. Worries evaporate from within his mind, and he’s back to his usual sweet self.

Genuinely the best boyfriend here, no contest.

Rohan Kishibe

-> The Denier

Oh, boy.

First thing’s first, it should be noted that The Great Rohan Kishibe does not grow jealous. It’s not even a question, and honestly, expecting him to explain such a thing is an insult. Men and women alike fawn over him; anyone would be lucky to have him. You’re lucky to have him.

And to his credit, Rohan really doesn’t grow jealous very often.

His confidence in himself may cross the line into narcissism, but it doesn’t lead him to give into jealousy very often.

Like Koichi, he knows that if you’re with him, it’s because you truly care. Even more so, considering Rohan knows (if only slightly) that he’s not the easiest person to be around.

Nope! He certainly doesn’t become jealous very often… not never, like he’s worked so hard to have you believe.

For Rohan to become jealous requires specific circumstances. Some random person approaching you at a party or bar isn’t going to pose much of a threat to his ego.

On the contrary, it feeds into his ego.

You’re a beautiful individual; it’s no question as to why others would try and approach you. But, of course, you always turn them away seeing as you’re already his.

In those instances, he’s as dismissive as Koichi, coupled with a tongue as sharp as Josuke’s. Rolling his eyes, wrapping an arm around you, straight up ignoring the person trying to talk to you, kissing you out of the blue- he’s got every weapon in his arsenal equipped to ensure you’re left alone.

If it gets to the point where you’re growing visibly nervous or uncomfortable, Rohan’s words are the nastiest you’ve ever seen. But the display isn’t necessarily out of jealousy, as it is out of shock and frustration that they’d persist. He’s not going to let anyone speak to you in such a way.

But when it pertains to an old friend, the one you were talking about meeting up with for a week straight... now that’s what makes his chest tighten.

Rohan’s going to be in a bad mood because of it, but it’s not too distinct from his usual behavior. No, he’s just a little more quiet than normal. And by the time you cheerfully tell him about seeing this friend of yours, he thinks he may go nuts.

Rohan’s immediate response is to completely shut himself out from everyone, while simultaneously denying any thought he has over being jealous in the first place.

The time he spends locked inside his office is insanely alarming.

At first, you question whether or not you should even say anything about it. Yes, you’re obviously concerned for his health, but Rohan falls into his exaggerated version of workaholic-mode from time to time. And you know him well enough to understand he requires a very careful approach to be pulled out of it.

No, what really warns you that something’s wrong, is that even Koichi asks you if Rohan is doing okay.

His concern takes you aback, and only makes your heart sink further when Josuke (of all people) speaks up about it as well. He’s a lot more reserved about showing any worry, but it’s enough to let you know that something is fundamentally off.

Prodding Rohan for an explanation is going to take a good while.

He’s so unused to feeling jealousy in any capacity that he outright refuses to even admit it to himself.

No, he just needs to work and not interact with anyone. Why? Because he has to; don’t question him. There’s so much he needs to do. You’re far too busy with your old friend in town to pay him any mind anyway.

And that’s exactly the sentiment you finally manage to pull from him.

He spits it out it with crossed arms, not once meeting your gaze. But it’s a mistake (in his mind), because it gets the cogs turning in your mind.

You end up realizing Rohan’s jealous before he does.

Affirmations that you love him is a must, and don’t even bring up the fact that he grew jealous- it would only continue to stir the pot. You know Rohan well, confident in how you choose your words when talking to him about it.

He refuses to give you any indication that he's listening, of course, but one brief glance your way cracks his hardened outer shell.

The look on your face... it initiates this weird sinking feeling deep inside his gut. Just thinking of could halt his movements.

Yes, realistically, he could just use his stand to check whether or not his concern is warranted.

But, for one thing, he’s already promised you he wouldn't do that to you. Setting boundaries is extremely important to Rohan, so he respects the ones you set in return. So much so that the thought of using Heaven’s Door on you doesn’t cross his mind once.

And that look on your face, soft and melancholy upon the realization that he’s been doubting you... he honestly doesn’t need to use his stand to know he's severely misread your relationship with your old friend.

His own ability to recognize how poorly he misunderstood the situation is something he figures he’ll have to unpack at a later time. In that moment, he was just relieved. He told you, rather stubbornly, that he supposes he was wrong. In own his weird, twisted way, that was how he apologized.

In short, being with you is a humbling experience for a person like Rohan and this instance of becoming jealous is certainly a part of that.

Weirdly enough, to his internal surprise, it’s ultimately a pleasurable development. Not like he’d ever tell you, though.

With the passage of time, he even lets you tease him over it. The two of you playfully go back and forth, bringing up times where you both got so jealous. It’s all in good fun, his confidence in your feelings for him stronger than ever.

In reality, him having a bit of humor about it is a clear sign that he’s growing into the relationship more and more. And him being able to be more transparent around you makes it easier for him to talk to you in the future if he gets that jealous again.

There’s still room for growth, but such things are almost always a gradual process for someone like Rohan.

That said, only you’re allowed to make any sort of teasing remarks about the whole ordeal. Anyone else isn’t worthy of doing so.

[berriweb]

╰┈➤ ❝ out of this world ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. miles morales x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. none

: ̗̀➛ part one / part three

: ̗̀➛ a/n. i just be writing anything fr, this wasn’t supposed to have another part but now i can’t stop writing, I’ll write a part three when i feel like it and this once against isn’t proof read so if you see a typo no you don’t :)

Miles screwed up.

As he swung from building to building, taking a moment to stop and perch on a street lamp as his head tilted to the side, his eyes were trained on Gwen but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Well, that wasn’t the right word for it. It was everywhere. Between trying to find out what was up with Gwen, knowing he was in deep shit with his parents and the fact that he was on bad terms with you, he didn’t know what to worry about more. Before Spider-Man had been an escape from his own life when he didn’t want to deal with it, but now in some sick sense of irony his secret persona only seemed to be making his life worse.

Miles picked up the pace to catch up with Gwen as she swung through the city, but just as she turned a corner he recognized the street they were on. It was where you lived, in fact he could see your building from there. For just a moment he caught himself in a dilemma, slowing down just enough to stick to the wall and climb towards the window he knew was connected to your bedroom. The window was closed, strange considering he knew you had a habit of leaving it cracked even on cold nights due to how stuffy the air in there could get. When he attempted to peak through the small cracks in the blinds, your room looked empty.

Shouldn’t you have been home by now?

Miles let out a sigh and backed up from the window. On one hand, he could’ve stayed to confront you when you got home, assuming you weren’t just in another part of the house, and hopefully resolved the unavoidable conflict you two had. But on the other hand…

He turned back to the streets, seeing Gwen had gained distance in the few seconds he had stopped, almost just out of sight. If he stopped now he’d never get answers. He’d never know what she was really here for or why she’d have to leave, he might never see another Spider-Man again.

The mask hid the guilty expression he wore as he jumped from the wall, swinging from building to building while promising himself that he’d give you all of his attention as soon as he was done figuring this all out before landing at the crime scene of what he’d soon realize would be the consequence of one of his own screw ups.

Surprises weren’t always a good thing.

Between the multitudes of flashing colors and scenes, the exhilarating yet terrifying sensation of never ending falling that seemed to take forever, and the blood rushing to your head, you couldn’t even begin to make out what was happening for you. For a moment, the idea that you must’ve died and were going to the afterlife crossed your mind in the few seconds that felt like hours flew by.

Maybe I tripped and hit my head on the way home? Maybe there was something in the juice and I’m hallucinating? Maybe this is all a dream?

As much as you wanted to believe any of those possibilities, they were all crushed by the realization that you couldn’t have been making this all up when in the midst of falling, you noticed what seemed like a dirty surface getting close and closer. Luckily for you, it seemed like the constant falling did have a destination. Unluckily for you, there was nothing to cushion the fall as you hit the ground with a loud thud and a gut wrenching crunch.

Pain shot across your right side as you laid there, looking up just in time to see the same warping pattern that initially pulled you in shrinking and disappearing before your eyes. ‘What the fuck?’

As aching as your body was, you knew you couldn’t just lay in that spot forever, opting to roll over onto the side that wasn’t throbbing in pain and push yourself into a sitting position. The pain in your side returned and you reached to hold your side, face twisting in pain as you winced. You’d probably broken something, a rib maybe? The adrenaline rushing through you likely being the only thing keeping you from rolling around in agony. Forcing yourself on your feet, you nearly doubled over, taking deep, slow breathes to keep yourself from freaking out and making things worse. Taking a quick look around, it seemed as if you’d been left in a dimly alleyway, garbage cans and bags lining either side. The walls looked old and past due for a pressure wash, but you weren’t too quick to judge, you’d seen worse.

Thankfully, you hadn’t managed to drop your bag and reached to fish out your phone, your other hand glued to your side to manage the pain in your abdomen. Your first thought was the open your contacts, taking a moment to decide who to call before ultimately deciding on attempting to call your mom/dad, but the call only flashed on screen for a second before your phone alerted you to the fact that you had zero service.

How is that possible?

Cursing under your breathe, you shoved it back in your back before sucking it up when you realized you’d likely just have to walk home, assuming you were even near it.

You slowly walked out of the alleyway, the smell of smoke and a rotting stench filling your nostrils that made you scrunch your nose out of disgust. Looking around, you took note of the street sign and thankfully recognized the name. You must’ve still been in Brooklyn.

You were able to map out the way home from where you were, hurriedly making your way there while also pacing your steps to aid your side. There had to be an explanation for all of this. Maybe you had secret superpowers? It’s not exactly out of the question considering all of the heroes and villains you’ve seen on the news. Teleportation, maybe? Or could it be that someone else with powers attacked you?

When you arrived at your home you settled on the fact that the portal must have been time travel, because where your apartment building should’ve been, a massive pile of left over debris and no building was in its place.

“This can’t be right…” you trailed off, looking back to double check you were on the right street. You were, same sign, same letters, but as you took a final look you finally began to notice all of the big and small inconsistencies you’d written off as misremembering things, beginning to wander down the streets. Signs weren’t the same colors as you remembered them to be, shops you visited on the daily were either gone or in the wrong spot, across the street from where they’d been before hand or worse. It wasn’t a perfect city to begin with, but now? Brooklyn looked a mess, and the state of the city left you on guard and suddenly way more concerned that you were out here with no one you knew at night.

What the hell is going on?

Stepping into a convenience store, you glanced around to take in its appearance as the bell jingled and the cashier muttered out a greeting that showed he was clearly uninterested in anyone entering his store. You were going to search for a pay phone, too rattled to bother trying to ask the man where it was. Brands had different names, items were different colors and you could just sense that something was extremely wrong. Finding a phone screwed into the wall, you fished out a few quarters to dial a number as you heard the bell ring again, only to be disappointed when the automated voice informed you that your parent’s number was somehow invalid.

Sighing in defeat, you set the phone back and took the loss of the few coins, dragging your feet as you headed for the exit, but as you reached the door you couldn’t help but freeze in your spot when you recognized the face the cashier was talking to.

“Yeah man, he’s doin’ good. We got some business to take care of later but feel free to swing by tomorrow if you want, I’ll make time,” he chuckled, taking his chance and shoving it in his pocket as he looped the plastic bag around his wrist, dapping up the clerk before heading out the door.

You had ducked into another aisle, kneeling down to avoid being seen with a hand over your mouth as you breathed heavily.

Uncle Aaron?

You were almost certain you had died now. Or at least you wanted to be, but you weren’t dumb enough to believe that. It had to be something more.

As an act of bravery, or maybe stupidity, you decided to follow him. You had no idea what would come of it, but if you couldn’t find your house or your family, making your way back to Miles was your best bet. Oh god, what would Miles think?

You trailed behind down the blocks, keeping your distance and making sure to slow your already unsteady pace to avoid being seen. It was hard to believe the man you were sure had died was now casually walking in front of you, but you didn’t know anything about your situation to be able to make an accurate guess as to what was going on, so you opted to avoid assuming anything.

It seemed like Miles place remained in the same place and in tact, as that’s where you ended up, watching him climb the steps and eventually disappear through the door. Watching from the ground below, you eyed the building before deciding to climb the fire escape. You had no clue how anyone would react to you just walking up and knocking on the door and asking for Miles, as one: for all you knew it could potentially be dangerous, if everything else changed was it possible that your relationships had too? And two: you weren’t exactly on good terms with Miles either. Making it up to the fire escape, you peered into one of the windows, getting a clear view of the living room. Aaron was greeting Miles’ mother, who seemed normal for the most part, albeit a bit more tired.

You couldn’t tell what exactly they were saying, but she had a somber look on her face and Aaron’s seemed devoid of any sort of emotion. It was unlike him, back when he was alive anyway. Shortly after, Aaron left the apartment again and you caught a glimpse of him going upstairs. You took one last look at Mrs.Morales before quickly and quietly following him, catching up just as he got on the roof and peeking up from where you stood on the steps.

He was on the phone, and the few bits of conversation you caught were all talk about some sort of plan and him reminding whoever was on the other end to be on time before chuckling.

“-yeah yeah, your mom just got back home too.” Your mom? Is that- “See you in a few.”

He hung up, and if your mind wasn’t already scrambled enough, hearing that only made it ten times worse. You wanted nothing more than for someone to sit you down and explain what was going on, but that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe if you pinched yourself hard enough you’d wake up from this nightmare. You’d be at home, laying in bed and none of this would’ve ever happened. You never would’ve scolded Miles, you wouldn’t be worrying about your relationship and you for sure wouldn’t be here.

You watched as Aaron seemed to mess around with some rusted device, it being far too complicated for you to know what it was, but he was clearly skilled at fixing it. The air suddenly became tense and you felt something tying a knot in your gut. Call it survival instincts or just a gut feeling, either way you didn’t like it, but it proved to be helpful as just after the feeling passed Aaron’s attention turned from the device to directly where you stood. Your heart sank down to the pit of your stomach.

He knows I’m here.

He rose to his feet and you instinctively jumped back, only to lose your footing on the step you were on and trip, thankfully not falling off but instead stumbling until you hit the railing, a painful reminder of the injury you’d been trying not to focus on.

“Shit!” The pain shot up your side once more, seemingly far more unbearable now that the initial shock had worn off and you gripped the railing.

“Y/N?”

A distorted voice from behind made you jolt and turn your head, holding onto your side and you made eye contact, or what you assumed was eye contact, with a black mask and jagged, glowing white eyes. The person was wearing a combination of purple and black clothing with a seemingly spray painted logo on the front of the shirt, donning gloves with pointed fingers you could only hope weren’t going to get used on you.

You took a staggered step back and bit your lip, suddenly feeling far more lightheaded. You wanted to ask who the figure was. Why were they talking to you- no, more importantly, how they knew who you were, and if they knew what was going on, but now of all times is when your injuries finally decided you were down for the count. Your head felt full of air and your vision went white, the last thing you saw being a clawed hand reaching out to stop you from toppling over the railing as you lost consciousness and fell.

Amazed at the sight of hundreds if not thousands of other Spider-people, Miles marveled at the sight and excitedly greeting most who passed by. He could’ve spent forever reveling in the warm feeling that overcame him that moment, but that was cut short by his spidey sense when he suddenly froze and a cold feeling washed over him.

Something was wrong.

Stuck in place, he glanced around and nothing seemed to be out of place or threatening, but he couldn’t shake the sense that something bad was happening and he was somehow involved.

“Miles, you catching up or what?” Gwen called out from the small distance he’d created.

He smiled and shook his shoulder, giving an affirmative nod as he jogged to catch up with the rest of the group. Was it possible for a spider sense to give a false alarm? Miles wasn’t sure, but he was hoping on it.

╰┈➤ ❝ tag-list ❞

— @go-to-sleep-salem, @justmare, @itzmeme, @zeyzeys-stuff, @luvaline, @chasing-liberosis, @justanerd1, @lilacsandamethysts, @j-natsuka, @planetliaa

if you want to be tagged in the next part just lmk in the replies or my askbox <3

[theoreticslut]

「 like she hung the stars 」

steve harrington x fem reader

summary: although you’ve been with steve for nearly a year, you can’t help but wonder if he’s using you as a stand-in for nancy. 

requested: yes

word count: 3.1k

warnings: pretty angsty but it has a cute, fluffy-ish ending; mentions of alcohol consumption & being drunk, insecure relationship, pet names (baby, babe & sweetheart), mention of future relationship, mention of marriage & children

a/n: this request was so cute!! i had to write it asap, & i’m lowkey in love with it if i do say so. it’s really kind of angsty the entire way through, but there’s a cute ending. i really have a hard time leaving a fic ansgty. it’s a weakness of mine. anyways, i hope you all like this! Xx

It’s been well over an hour since you and Steve arrived at this house party, which has given you plenty enough time to drink your fair share of the spiked punch. It was potent, but it was drinkable, and it got you drunk which is all you wanted. 

You hadn’t ever told Steve that you felt insecure in your relationship, mainly because the reasoning behind it felt silly. He had asked you out a few months after he and Nancy broke up last year, which shouldn’t be of any concern, but you had seen them while they were together. It was clear that Steve loved her - deeper than you’d ever thought possible. 

Having noticed this, you couldn’t stop the thought of him still loving her - even though he was currently with you - from settling in the recesses of your mind. You couldn’t stop the thought from tormenting you late at night, even when he slept beside you.

Within the last few months the thought had only become more incessant, tormenting you not just late at night anymore, but throughout the day as you went about your classes and your clubs, even when you sat around talking with him and his friends. It was exhausting, but you couldn’t easily ignore it anymore. Not when you’ve been finding Steve staring at her more and more whenever she was around. 

Hence why you’re getting drunk off of shitty punch at some house party that you’re not even sure who’s throwing. You were simply tagging along with Steve, and even he had wandered off from you.

At first it was fine, you knew he was popular around school and it had been a few months since he graduated. You figured he was just catching up with old friends and classmates. 

Within the last half hour though, you spotted him chatting with Nancy and her boyfriend, Jonathan. You didn’t want to think anything of it, knowing they were trying to be friends, but as you watch him laughing and smiling at Nancy, you can’t help the ache that settles in your heart.

Not thinking much of it, you find yourself taking a deep breath before cautiously making your way over to the small group. You didn’t want to come off as insecure or jealous, but you couldn’t sit back and watch the scene any longer. Figuring that you’d test the waters by nonchalantly approaching them, you do just that.

Although worried that Steve might get upset with you joining them, you’re relieved when he smiles as you come up next to him. Wrapping an arm around your waist, you let your head rest on his chest as he continues talking.

“No, th-that’s really cool, man. I hope you like it.” Steve comments, replying to something that had been said before you came over.

“Yeah, I-I do. It’s nice. Pays decent enough, you know?” Jonathan mumbles, chuckling awkwardly as Steve nods.

Without even being a part of the conversation you can tell it’s been awkward like this for some time.

“Nance is actually, uh, looking to apply there this summer too.” 

“Really? That’s awesome. I mean, y-you do like journalism. I’m sure it’ll be, you know, a great fit.” Steve mentions, Nancy nodding politely with a terse smile on her lips. 

“‘M gonna get another drink, Steve.” You murmur, wanting to leave the awkward aura of their conversation. That and you really don’t care to hear how much Steve knows about Nancy.

“You’re not done with this one though?” He questions, having noticed your cup was still about half full when you first came over here.

Tilting it to make sure he hadn’t seen it incorrectly, he frowns when he realizes it’s actually more than half full. Only then does he notice just how much you’re leaning against him for support while your eyes are half closed.

“Baby, are you drunk?” 

“No, just tired.” You huff, your speech sluggish as you answer him. 

As you do so, though, you attempt to take a step back to look at him, but you stumble and spill your drink all over yourself.

“Shit. Let’s get you cleaned up, baby. Yeah?” He questions, taking the cup from your hand as he holds you up.

“Sorry guys.” You hear him apologize to Nancy and Jonathan and you can’t help but feel a little hurt.

You know it’s irrational, he’s essentially just excusing the two of you from the conversation, but in your intoxicated state you feel like he’s ashamed of you - like you’re an embarrassment he didn’t want them to see.

As the thought settles in your head, you pay no attention as Steve leads you through the crowded house to find the bathroom upstairs. You don’t even realize you’re in the bathroom until he closes the door behind the two of you, starting to  look for a cloth he can wet and dab your shirt with. 

“I don’t know how you’ve been drinking that punch all night, sweetheart. Shit’s strong.” He chuckles as he crinkles his nose at the smell of the cup as he tosses it out.

“Not that bad.” You mumble, staring at your hands as you sit on the sink counter while he continues searching for a cloth.

“Aha, found it.” Steve smiles, not even acknowledging that you said anything. Truthfully you’re not even sure he heard you, but it doesn’t matter.

You watch as Steve wets the cloth, squeezing the excess water out of it before he brings his attention to you and the stain on your shirt.

“You liked this shirt, too, babe. You gotta be careful.” He comments, voice gentle as he begins to dab at the stain, holding the material away from your body as he carefully presses the wet cloth to it.

You figure he’s just talking to fill the silence so you let him, not worrying about responding.

“‘M not sure how well this is going to come out, but we’re going to try, okay?”

~.~

Steve frowns lightly when he doesn’t hear anything from you. He wasn’t expecting a long answer of any sorts, in fact he wasn’t even expecting a single word, but he did expect a little hum or something from you. 

Bringing his attention to your face, he realizes you’re staring at your shirt as he works, but that your mind is somewhere else entirely.

“What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” He murmurs, continuing to work on the material in his hands, using a hand to lift your chin to look at him briefly.

“What’s on that pretty little mind of yours, huh?” 

He can’t stop the small smile that comes to his lips as he glances up at you, taking a moment to realize just how pretty you are sitting here.

“Nothin’.” 

“Nothing? You sure, baby?” He frowns, having noticed how your shoulders dropped when you answered him, not to mention the fact that you started wringing your hands together - a nervous habit of yours.

He doesn’t like the idea of you keeping something from him, especially if it’s something that upsets you. 

“Do you love me?” You suddenly question, voice seeming scared.

“Do I lov-? Of course I love you, y/n.” He splutters, not sure where this would have come from.

“Why would you think I don’t, sweetheart?” 

“You’ve just, you’ve been watching Nancy a lot when she’s around.” You mumble, still wringing your hands together as Steve settles his hands either side of you on the counter, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he frowns. 

He can’t help the ache that begins in his chest as he listens to you already sounding defeated. Scanning over your face, he can’t help but sigh deeper when he realizes you won’t look at him.

“Will you look at me, y/n?”

~.~

You can feel him watching you still as you softly shake your head, being too anxious to do so if he’s going to study you, which you know he will. He may have portrayed himself as an asshole most of his life, but deep down he’s always been a softie, taking great care to notice things about those he cares for. 

He doesn’t like hurting people, which is why he’s so meticulous when it comes to reading others emotions. He doesn’t want to miss something.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her, like she’s the moon on an otherwise dark night. You look at her like she hung the stars in the sky…” you start, needing to get all of this off your chest.

You can’t hold onto the ache any longer without some sort of an answer. You can handle the hurt that would come if he does still love her, but you can’t bear this ache of not knowing if he actually loves you like he says he does.

“It’s…it’s the same way you looked at her when you were dating. When you loved her.” You murmur, feeling your throat tighten up with the threat of tears.

Taking a moment to breathe through the onslaught of emotion, you will the ache of threatened tears to fade away so you can finish your thoughts. You need to tell him how you’ve been feeling, not smother them into coercion. 

“I can’t shake the feeling that you maybe still love her. That I’m just…a placeholder until you can have her again.”

A silence falls in the small bathroom as you get the words out, only glancing up to him to see if he’s still listening. At the extended lull of conversation, you feel your stomach start to twist with dread. 

You had a feeling that you were simply a distraction for him, but you didn’t want to admit it, afraid that if you did it’d make it a reality.

“I’m not going to lie…” he starts, clearing his throat.

“I do still love her, and I think a part of me always will. She woke me up from the dreamworld I lived in for so many years.”

You nod, a fat, unannounced tear falling from your eye straight to your anxiously-tangled hands.

“But I’m with you, sweetheart, and I plan to stay with you until you get sick of me.” He smiles, grabbing one of your hands in his and squeezing to let you know he’s there with you. 

A moment passes without a word before he lifts your chin up with a finger of his free hand so he can meet your eyes.

Finding them filled with fat, unshed tears, he frowns with an aching heart. Wiping the tears away as they begin to fall over your lash line, he brings his lips to your forehead with a soft kiss.

“I am so sorry to have made you feel this way, sweetheart. I never meant to make you feel so insecure in our relationship. I love you, and I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t.”

“Nancy and I are in the past and I know it. I accept it. I wasn’t what she wanted, and that’s okay. She left me so I could find you, and everyday I’m happier because of it. You make me happy, baby, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

“I-if that’s true, then why have you been watching her so much? Why are you so awkward around her?” You question, sniffling as occasional tears still roll down your cheeks.

“I watch her because I do still love her and wonder what would have happened if things worked out, but I know she’s happy with Jonathan so I let it be. Her and I are done, y/n, I promise you.” 

“If she were to say she still loved you too, would you go back to her?”

“I don’t know.” Steve sighs as you nod, heart feeling as if it’s cracking a little more as you drop your head back down to look at your lap.

“I’m not sure she ever really loved me if I’m honest. I was a shit boyfriend to her, baby, and she realized that. She’s the one who ended the relationship in search of something better, and I don’t blame her one bit. I needed a wake up call and she gave me that.”

“She gave me the push I needed to change myself and be a better person so I can be better to you. I want to be better for you, and I don’t think I could leave you just because of her saying she still loves me. You mean the world to me, sweetheart.”

~.~

Steve simply watches as you nod at his words and he can tell you don’t believe him. He doesn’t blame you, knowing how ruthless invasive, insecure thoughts can be. He especially knows how hard it is to let go of them when you’ve got actions to back them up.

It pains him to think he was feeding into your insecurities of the relationship by watching Nancy. He never meant anything by it. He was simply thinking of the “what if’s,” but he never once thought about leaving you for those daydreams. 

He knows that they’re irrational anyway. Him and Nancy don’t work, and even after he’s bettered himself, he’s positive that it still wouldn’t work between them. 

You and him on the other hand? He can see you two working out. He can see himself marrying you and settling down here in Hawkins - or wherever you want to go. He can see the two of you having children together, both of you running around outside with them with wide smiles on your faces. 

He can see himself making you coffee before you’re even awake only so he can wake you up with it and a kiss day after day for the rest of his life, and he can see himself loving you even when the two of you are old and gray. He can see himself with you, and he only hopes you can see it too.

Watching you sit here, though, heart breaking in front of him on the counter in the bathroom of some long-forgotten house party, he can’t help but feel like he’s screwed everything up. He loves you and yet you so easily believe that he loves someone else.

“Y/n, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible, and it honestly scares me.”

He can see you let out a shaky breath even though you’re refusing to look at him. He’s sure his words are simply going in one ear and out the other because you’re already convinced that he doesn’t love you even though he’s been trying to prove otherwise.

“I can see us getting married sometime down the road, you know?” He mentions, voice soft as he lets himself be vulnerable with you. 

Sure he’s been honest with you about everything so far, but he hasn’t been vulnerable. He’s been trying to reassure you with empty words instead of letting you see how he actually feels. 

“I think about our wedding quite often actually,” he chuckles, embarrassed to admit that fact.

“I think of how it’ll be filled with everyone who loves us and wants us to be happy. I think about that first dance we’ll have together, and how I’ll say something cheesy just to get you to smile and laugh as we pretend there’s no one else in the room.” 

“I think about all the planning we’d have to do for it, and how I want to be there for every part of it. I don’t want you to do all the planning and stressing when it’s just as much my day as it is yours. I mean, it’ll be the day I marry the love of my life. How could I leave all the planning for such an important day to one person when I’m the only one who can answer for what I want?”

“I mean, what if you choose seat covers with a bow and I want simple seats with personalized place cards?” He asks, smiling when he hears you chuckle at the absurdity. 

“I can see us sharing that first kiss as husband and wife, and it makes me all jittery inside at the sheer happiness it brings me.”

~.~

“I can see this, y/n. I can see us, and I never once saw it with Nancy.” 

“With Nance, it was more of a ‘I see us sitting at lunch together’ thing than it was a ‘I see us, still married at the age of 85’ thing.” 

You can’t help the little snort that leaves your lips as you think of yourself and Steve at 85 years old. It surprises you, but you find it easy to see the picture yourself. You’ve never thought much about it, too afraid that it’d be getting your hopes up, but you can see yourself marrying Steve and it makes your stomach tingle and your chest feel light.

“All the big stuff, though? I see you at my side for all of it, y/n.” Steve finishes and you take the risk to look up at him.

Meeting his eyes you catch a glimpse of uncertainty within him. He can see this, but he worries that you can’t, and for some reason that’s enough for you to believe him.

Laughing at how pitiful you must look, you wipe at your cheeks before you grab one of his hands, playing with his fingers as he watches you. You love him, and for the first time in a long time you believe that he loves you too.

“Just for the record,” you start, blushing a bit as you think about the words about to leave your mouth and the sheer absurdity of it all.

“I think specialized place cards are a must, and that seat covers with bows are terribly tacky.” 

Looking up at him as you pause your anxious playing with his fingers, you watch as a smile breaks out on his face, wider than you’ve ever seen from him as he laughs in disbelief.

“I love you, y/n. I love you so fucking much.” He smiles, not hesitating to bring his hands up to your jaw as he kisses you fiercely and yet still so soft.

You can feel all the heartache he was feeling at your admission through the kiss, just like you can feel all the happiness inflating him now. He wants you, and you’ve never felt more sure of that fact. 

As he keeps his lips on yours, although the kiss grows softer and more smiley, you feel your heart slowly being glued back together, and you can’t help but smile at the realization that all you needed was a little bravery and honesty in order to feel so secure with him. It’s a new feeling, but one that’s pleasantly welcomed as you let yourself completely melt into the kiss - and into Steve - for the first time since he asked you out.

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[hwallazia]

CHIHIRO – 정우영

synopsis . in which you finally let yourself let him go during a cold rainy night

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem!reader

genre . angst (way too much), lovers to exes, non idol!au

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡

word count . 0,9k

DISCLAIMER! suggestive language (a lot of bad words in here), lots of manipulation and slyness from wooyoung, cold-hearted reader, slight violence (yn smacks wooyoung’s cheek), hints of cheating.

NIC’S NOTES ofc this is based of chihiro by billie eilish. the second i listened to this song, i thought of this angsty scenario. and so i thought it’d be a great idea to put wooyoung as the protagonist bc since enemies to lovers troupe fits him so well, why don’t do it backwards? ;))) alsoo, lowercase is intentional (yep, again)

“yn, come on!” wooyoung shouted as he ran towards you desperately; breath hitching, legs trembling. the only thing he could recognize within his visual field were the ends of your dark hair flying back in goodbye, your heart already very far from his. “don’t be like that. you know this isn’t the way to fix things up.”

your leather boots splashed against the puddles of water generated by the rainy dew that announced a great storm, your hands seeking protection from the cold in the pockets of your coat. you heard wooyoung’s wet footsteps as you saw his figure getting closer to you, alerting you. you stopped dead in your tracks when he forcibly grabbed your wrist, compelling you to look at him, to look at those pleading eyes that manipulated you so much. those goddamned eyes that changed your personality so much. “don’t you fucking touch me.” you huffed sternly, shaking your arm as you tried to escape his grasp, your eyes stabbing daggers into his heart. those merry, stunning, and beaming eyes were replaced by an opaque, lightless gaze. one he’d never forget. since when did you hold so much resentment and hatred for him that you saw him that way? as if you had never loved him. as if you had never felt anything at all.

he let you go the second he understood that you were capable of punching him in the face if he even touched a minimal part of your skin.“fine, i won’t touch ya,” he raised his hands up in surrender. but still he tried to explain himself, even though he knew that he was the last person you wanted to see at the moment, “can’t we talk about this at home? it’s freezing cold out here, and you’re wearing shorts-”

“since when do you care so much?” yes, he was right, your legs quivered as your despairing breathing made your lips release condensed clouds, but you wouldn’t let him know. standing as hard as a rock, you continued, “don’t look for me neither call me anymore. i want nothing to do with you.”

wooyoung’s breath hitched and as he tried to pull himself together, he tried for one last time to convince you and mold your mind. “hey that’s a very hasty decision, don’t you think?” he paused briefly, his sigh exhaled right on your face, “yn, is this because of hana?”

the sound of her name sliding down his tongue was the straw that broke the camel’s back. after everything he had done, he really thought that this was just a little scene of yours? a little whim?

“no! it’s not because of her. it’s because of you!” you finally screamed, your heart winning over the pride that wanted to predominate in you. “you and your stupid manipulations, your excuses, and your fakeness.” your eyes threatened to water, but you wouldn't collapse. not now. “how dare you come after me and try to explain yourself after i found you with her sitting on your lap as you giggled at some of those weird ass jokes of yours.”

“oh so it is because of her,” he got closer to you, more than you would’ve allowed him, your lips being an absurd distance away. “why are you causing all of this when you could’ve just asked me?” his hand began to trail its way up to your cheek, and as soon as he cupped it, your hand slammed against his cheek loudly, pulling his figure to the left. the humidity of your hand and his face making the impact even more painful.

“you... disgusting little shit” your grossed-out expression being visible even for a blind man. “how could i have gotten involved with someone like you?” you sighed to yourself. a moment of silence drowned the conversation. wooyoung facing the ground as you stared sternly at him. but then, you decided to confess, “you know, at first i thought this was a fairytale, my most perfect fantasize. but turns out it was yours, not mine. definitely not mine.”

you resumed, “fuck, i was so blinded.” your palm landed on your forehead as you turned your body and faced up to the night sky, a couple of raindrops decorating your frozen cheeks, “this whole relationship was nothing but your slyness trying to mold my personality and mentality to your whim, wasn’t it?” you didn’t even give him a moment to respond, “who the fuck do you are?”

“yn. you’re hallucinating, my love. please, let’s stop all this nonsense-”

“i don’t even recognize you at all.” you spat, your frozen limbs welcoming an intrude, a strange warmness. maybe because you had said what was stuck in your throat for months. finally, you got out of that jail, that imprisoned manipulation that caused you vexation for so long.

“don’t say that. yn-” you observed as his eyes started to well up with tears, but it didn’t hurt you. not anymore. from one moment to the next, jung wooyoung’s existence stopped mattering to you. after such a long time, you became insensitive to those pleading eyes.

“don’t look at me like that. i’m not yours anymore.” you finally sentenced. “goodbye, jung wooyoung.” those were your last words to him so that you turned around and started on your way to, probably, your best friend's house, leaving behind a broken-hearted wooyoung, his eyes being similar to the thousand-yard stare as he watched the ripples of a puddle of water as the rain became heavier and heavier.

probably, you’d meet again in another life, or not. the emptiness you felt at that moment was unexplainable —you’d probably shirk it and let your drunk self take matters into its own hands. but you were sure that jung wooyoung taking your love away from you wouldn’t be so easy to forget.

| masterlist

[createserenity]

Reunions and the sound of glass

I don't often analyse scenes in Good Omens, I much prefer talking about their character dynamics, like I do here (and I have several other posts in the works along similar themes) but there’s a scene in episode 4 that I really want to talk about because it has both relationship stuff and a mystery – specifically the sound of breaking glass (that's not really glass breaking as such).

So let's talk about the scene when Aziraphale arrives back from Edinburgh. How adorable is Aziraphale’s face when he sees Crowley? They’ve literally been apart for a day and he’s so flippin’ delighted to see him. He’s missed him. He had fun investigating, but it wasn’t nearly so much fun without Crowley there. Now he’s back, he’s so very happy about it and he can’t wait to see Crowley. See how excited his face is? And he’s literally leaning forward to peer around the door columns as he approaches the shop.

Then Crowley appears and Aziraphale beams, he literally lights up with so much joy the moment he sees him and hears his voice. There’s even this split second when he sees Crowley where he opens his arms like he really wants to embrace him.

Then he gets a face full of plants and my goodness the look of absolute dejection is heartbreaking. I just want to shake Crowley for being so ridiculous here. Just show your angel some love, you silly demon!

Also I think the disappointment is partly why Aziraphale tells such a silly lie about the journey being uneventful. Crowley has just smacked him in the face literally and figuratively. Literally with a bunch of plants and figuratively with the message, “I’m not really that bothered whether you’re here or not.” Unsurprisingly Aziraphale doesn’t feel like sharing anything with someone who has just done that.

Now let’s take a detour here and talk about the weird sound we hear as they go towards the car. That’s not a pure breaking glass sound as such (like you’d get from a smashed window), it’s the sound of the pub doing its recycling. It’s the noise you get when someone takes out the internal glass bottle bin and empties it into the outside glass recycling bin. It’s why Crowley doesn’t react and Aziraphale simply looks around and then turns back looking unconcerned. They’ll hear that noise all the time, it’s not the noise of something bad happening.

So why is that sound used here? I have no idea. Presumably it’s not just ambiance, although since it’s a noise that could serve that purpose it could very well be that it’s a red herring. It also happens at an odd moment. One thing breaking glass signals is the breaking of trust. Aziraphale has just told a lie, but by the time we hear the noise Crowley is several seconds into his description of ‘Jim’ singing and sleeping. It seems too far removed to be to do with Aziraphale’s lie specifically. So that leaves us with three possibilities – we should ignore the noise because it’s only ambiance, it’s to do with something other than lies, or Crowley is lying about what he and Jim have been up to. I have no idea why this last one might be or what might have happened. Anyone want to speculate? To be honest he doesn’t look or sound like he’s lying to me and Crowley actually lies very very rarely, especially not to Aziraphale (when he does it tends to be by omission rather than a direct lie) so I’m inclined to think the sound is supposed to clue us into something else. But what? And if so why not actual glass breaking, why the weird recycling sound?

Anyway back to Aziraphale and Crowley’s interaction. Crowley manages to piss Aziraphale off even more by being all lovey-dovey towards his car.  After checking out Crowley’s arse (!) as he bends over to put the plants in the car Aziraphale then seems to become anxious as they talk about whether he has anymore clues, even glancing over his shoulder nervously as he talks. Why? No idea. Maybe he just knows that he didn’t really find out all that much on his trip and is worried Crowley is expecting more of him?

What’s quite sweet is that he only completely regains his balance and perkiness after Crowley shuts the car door and Aziraphale is able to step up close to him again. There’s no real need for him to step forward, they’re already at conversation distance, but Aziraphale feels most comfortable when he’s right up in Crowley’s space. Also Crowley admits to his own failure and doesn’t seem inclined to say anything about Aziraphale’s lack of information, so that probably helps too. Symbollically speaking a barrier between them (the car door) has been removed.

Anyway the scene ends with them heading back to the bookshop and I really hope Aziraphale finally gets that hug he wants. I mean, I know he doesn’t, but I feel so bad for him in this scene and it would be nice for the poor lovestruck angel if he did.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[randomyuu]

there's a lover in the story, but the story's still the same

Ahh, don’t you love it when fear motivates your drawing mood? (not really)

That’s what I felt reading the scene that is drawn below. It’s fear for Yuuji but also feeling excited picturing an emotionless teen!Gojou so here I am. Always down bad for Vox’s Goyuu fics, aren’t I? *sighs*

Welp, here we go.

Title: there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Author: @voxofthevoid

Second fic of the series there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

Pairing YuuGo, NSFW, please read the tags carefully before giving it a read... the usual drill ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

!!! SPOILER FOR THE FIC !!!

Highly recommend you guys to read them first. Or not, it’s up to you honestly :v

Usually I would gush about the fic but I’ve already done that under the fic itself so I just want you to know this comic is solely carried by me wanting to draw the ticking time bomb called teen!Gojou-post-discussion-with-adult!Ieiri. You could probably guess what they’re talking about :”)

The fear for Yuuji’s well-being started this, but Satoru’s cold eyes kept me going. I can’t get rid of it from my mind lmao

You can say drawing these kind of expressions is my jam   (￣▽￣)

I hope I did Satoru’s emotions justice haha

A bit of my thoughts and doodle below. Unhinged maybe, it’s midnight, I got more work to do after this, and my brain cells are barely hanging on. Haha I'm living the life-

I AM STILL REELING FROM THE FACT I MANAGED TO GET THIS DONE.

There are so many things I want to talk about in the process of making this. But after I typed it out, most of them sounded so unnecessary so I rewrote it a few times. I tried to make this as short as possible lmao

Typesetting and sketching are the roughest parts of this project. During these stages, I kept feeling everything I did wasn’t doing the scene enough justice, and it was frustrating. As I planned this project, I read a few doujins and noticed the font types scanlation teams use. There are so many of them, and each helped convey the tone of each image. Felt like crying when I realised I’m not knowledgeable enough to apply good typesetting, ngl. And then the interior design. Fuck, the frustration is so real. I am absolutely clueless about this kind of thing. Tracing lots of references because I have no perception of space makes me feel even worse. I knew first times rarely create a masterpiece, but I was not satisfied with my accomplishment and the feeling of failing to fulfil my own expectations hurt.

BUT.

Thank goodness most of the things I need to draw are Shouko, Yuuji and Satoru. Because dear g o d drawing them healed me. I found so much comfort in drawing Shouko’s long hair and Satoru’s eyes and drowning Yuuji in an oversized hoodie. The comfort zone of character drawing never feels so real lmaooo

Drawing them was so effective that I can look back at the backgrounds with acceptance. Hey, I did it! Not perfect just yet, but I did it!

Haha I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Guess I do have one or two screws loose.

Only for Yuuji lmao

(nah I just need sleep, or cooling down from the rush of having finished this)

It might come off as a surprise if you’ve only seen my art on Tumblr, but I’ve always preferred to draw feminine-leaning ladies. I’ve always loved drawing their curves, whether it’s the figure, the clothes, or the (long) hair. But I’ve grown to like drawing masculine gentlemen as well with their sharp edges and straight lines, and now my ladies start to look more androgynous lmao

Anyway, I was pretty stoked to be able to draw adult!Ieiri! I… I kind of miss drawing long hair so here have some more before you go on your day ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿