#calculatedates

[twodimensionalboyfriend]

OP YOU COOKED W THIS ONE

DON’T BE FOOLED BY THE PINK

PAIRING: PopularBF!Satoru X Meangirl!reader

SUMMARY!! Y/N is the undisputed queen of the school — captain of the cheerleading team, untouchable, and fiercely protective of her spot at the top. Then she shows up: the quiet new girl, sister to one of Satoru’s closest friends, and instantly wrapped in the basketball captain’s attention. But this isn’t your typical “new girl steals the spotlight” story.

East Kinsen University’s courtyard was loud with first-week energy — new students darting between buildings, upperclassmen lounging in clusters like they owned the place. And in a way, you did.

Your legs crossed as you sat on the concrete ledge outside the gym, black sunglasses shielding your eyes from the early fall sun. People walked by and either greeted you or looked away too quickly. Your reputation had that effect.

You were Y/N. Captain of the cheer squad. Satoru Gojo’s girlfriend. Pretty, well-dressed, impossible to ignore. People either wanted to be you or wanted to see you trip.

You didn’t care either way.

You took a slow sip from your iced coffee and glanced at your phone. He was late. Again.

When Satoru finally showed up, he was in his usual post-practice look — basketball shorts slung low on his hips, hoodie sleeves pushed to the elbows, hair damp and messy from the gym. He wore that same loose grin he always had when he saw you.

“You're not slick,” you muttered, eyebrows raised. “Fifteen minutes?”

He leaned down, kissed your cheek. “Technical meeting ran over. Coach wants to murder Kaito for slacking on defense.”

“Again?”

“Every day.”

You smiled despite yourself. Then your gaze flicked past him.

Trailing behind him, slightly hunched, was a girl you didn’t recognize.

Wavy dark hair, headphones in, a stack of books clutched to her chest like a shield. She wore a plain long-sleeve top and jeans, the kind of outfit that made her easy to miss.

But Satoru was walking with her.

He turned and gestured lazily. “Yo, Y/N — this is Yui. She’s Daichi’s little sister. First year. He asked me to show her around since he’s got classes all day.”

You took your sunglasses off slowly.

Daichi was one of Satoru’s closest friends. A solid guy. Chill, never talked much. You knew him mostly through late-night study groups and group hangouts at the courts.

Yui blinked like she hadn’t expected you to even look at her.

You didn’t smile. You nodded.

“Hi,” she said softly, voice nearly drowned out by the noise of a passing skateboard.

Satoru nudged her shoulder with casual ease. “She’s a little shy. But she’s cool.”

You gave her a once-over. The oversized backpack, the nervous posture, the way she avoided your eyes. Not a threat. Yet.

That afternoon, you ended up at the dining hall with Satoru’s usual crew — Daichi, Ren, Kaito, and Satoru. You weren’t always there, but today you felt like being visible.

Yui tagged along, of course. Satoru pulled out a chair next to him. You were about to sit down when she sat there instead.

You watched her blink in slow realization.

“Oh—sorry,” she murmured, half-standing.

“It’s fine,” you said before Satoru could speak, sitting on his other side instead. You glanced across the table at Kaito, who watched the whole thing happen with unreadable eyes. He quickly looked away when you caught him.

Halfway through lunch, someone asked how Yui liked her classes.

“They’re okay,” she said. “I’m still figuring everything out.”

“She’s in one of my psych lectures,” Satoru added, casually. “Professor’s a lunatic. Screamed about pigeons today.”

“She’s passionate,” Yui said with a small laugh.

You stared at her. You weren’t used to other girls laughing with your boyfriend.

By the end of the meal, it was clear: she wasn’t trying. She wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t competing.

And that’s what made it worse. She didn’t have to try. She was already in the room. At the table. In Satoru’s words. Laughing at his jokes. And no one noticed the shift. Except you.

It started with a laugh. That was all. Not yours — hers.

It was in the student union lounge, Thursday afternoon, when you heard it. You were across the room, near the coffee counter with Ren and Daichi, scrolling through your phone while they argued about fantasy league picks. Satoru had said he’d be “five minutes.”

He was ten.

And when you looked up, he was there — across the room, slouched over the vending machine with Yui beside him. She had her hair tied in a low, messy knot and was holding a can of green tea. Something he said made her laugh. A soft one. Quiet. But familiar.

It wasn’t flirtatious. Just… familiar.

You watched as he bumped her shoulder lightly, like he’d known her longer than two days. You saw how she looked up at him — not like she wanted him, but like she trusted him already.

That was worse.

Friday afternoon, you passed the quad on your way to class and spotted Satoru sprawled on the grass with Kaito, Daichi, and Yui.

No one invited you. You weren’t mad. You were just... watching.

Yui sat cross-legged, sketching something in a small spiral notebook. You recognized the style — fine pen lines, heavy shading. She was talented. You could admit that. Quietly.

You didn’t stop to say hi.

Saturday night was when the first crack showed.

You were at Satoru’s place. His roommate was out, the lights low, your jacket on the floor, and your legs draped over his lap. You weren’t fighting. But something was off.

He was scrolling through his messages absently, the glow of his screen lighting up his face.

You leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back — quick, distracted.

“Who’s texting?” you asked casually.

He didn’t flinch. “Daichi.”

A beat of silence. Then you saw the edge of a photo — something black and white, drawn in ink. You blinked.

“Is that one of Yui’s sketches?”

He looked up at you, surprised. “Yeah. She showed me earlier and I told her to send it. It’s of the court. Cool, right?”

You stared at him.

“She drew the basketball court?”

“She said it helped her focus. It’s kind of sick.”

You smiled tightly. “Yeah. Sick.”

Monday, you sat at your usual table in the campus café — the long one by the window. Satoru had just come back from the gym, towel over his shoulders, hair damp. You were halfway through a protein bar when he slid into the seat across from you.

You expected him to kiss you hello. He didn’t. He was texting.

You leaned forward. “You good?”

“Huh?” He looked up. “Yeah. Just — Yui left her psych notebook in the gym. I told her I’d drop it off.”

Of course he did. You took a sip of your drink and looked away.

The worst part was how quiet it all was. No one was flirting. No one was lying. It wasn’t that kind of story. But you still felt it — this silent invasion of space. Your space. Your people. Your boyfriend.

And every time you said something about it, it sounded ridiculous. Satoru wasn’t doing anything wrong. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

That night, you got a DM on Instagram.

From Kaito.

She’s not doing it on purpose, you know.
But I still don’t like it either.

You stared at the message.

Then you closed the app.

You didn’t realize the group hang was happening until it was already halfway underway.

Daichi sent a lazy text in the guys’ chat about grabbing food after evening classes, and somehow that had turned into a full table reservation at Yuu’s Ramen Bar downtown. You weren't even in the chat — Satoru texted you separately, told you the plans like you were being added to something instead of hosting it.

The first subtle shift.

You met them outside the restaurant. The weather was cooling, breeze tugging at your cropped jacket. You looked good. You always looked good — perfect makeup, clean lines, skirt just high enough to remind everyone you were her. You used to walk in and own the room.

But tonight, the room had already shifted. They were standing around, waiting for the last of the group. Daichi, Kaito, Ren, Satoru… and Yui.

She was wearing a dark sweater and plaid skirt, sleeves too long, hair tied with a ribbon. She looked like she didn’t mean to be there. That’s what made her presence so hard to challenge.

“Hey,” she greeted, voice quiet.

“Hey,” you said flatly, brushing past her to Satoru’s side.

He leaned down, gave you a quick kiss to the temple. “Glad you made it.”

You tried not to glance at Yui, but you felt her eyes on you.

Inside, the table was long. You sat between Satoru and Ren, across from Daichi and Yui.

You didn’t know who made the seating call, but it irritated you.

Yui ended up next to Daichi, but she kept glancing at Satoru across the table. You saw it. You weren’t going to mention it. Not yet.

The boys were loud, laughing over miso bowls and fried gyoza. You tried to stay in it — laughed when Kaito told a story about freshman year, played with Satoru’s fingers under the table.

But at one point, Daichi asked, “Yui, did you tell them what club you’re thinking of joining?”

“Oh,” she said, straightening. “The art society.”

Kaito nodded. “That fits. You still sketching campus buildings and people and all that?”

Yui flushed a little. “Yeah. I just don’t know if I’m good enough to—”

“Don’t say that,” Satoru interrupted, casual but direct. “That drawing of the old gym? That was sick.”

You blinked.

She smiled. “You remembered that?”

You cut in before he could answer. “Satoru has the memory of a goldfish. Don’t give him that much credit.”

A few chuckles. But Yui looked down. Her smile faded just slightly.

Later, when the check came and everyone was getting up, Yui accidentally bumped into your shoulder while grabbing her coat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

You turned slowly. “It’s fine.”

She hesitated. “I hope I’m not… making anything weird.”

You gave her a long look.

“No,” you said. “You’re not that important.”

Her face dropped. She didn’t reply.

When you and Satoru left, he was quiet. Too quiet.

“Something wrong?” you asked, half-daring him to say it.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to say that to her.”

“Say what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

You stopped walking. “Why are you defending her?”

He paused. “I’m not. I’m just saying… it wasn’t necessary.”

You smiled, cold. “Neither is her sitting with you every day.”

That silenced him.

Back in your dorm room, you took off your earrings with slow, careful movements.

Your phone buzzed. A text from Ren.

You good? Looked a little tense tonight.

You typed, deleted, then typed again.

Do I look crazy to you?

Three dots. Then:

No. Just different.

You stared at the screen until it dimmed.

Monday mornings had a rhythm.

You walked into the student lounge and the table by the windows was always yours. Satoru, Kaito, Ren, Daichi, and you. You brought coffee sometimes. Other days, snacks. You filled the silence, kept the conversation up when the boys were too tired from weekend games.

You were the glue. You always were.

But this Monday was off. You entered the lounge and saw them first. Kaito half-laughing. Satoru leaning back with his ankle crossed over his knee. And Yui — sitting in your chair, holding a takeout tray of coffee cups and paper bags.

“—I just figured everyone could use a pick-me-up,” she was saying, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “The bakery near the art building opens early.”

Daichi held up his croissant like a toast. “This slaps.”

You stopped. Your seat was taken. Not just physically — but replaced.

Satoru spotted you and smiled. “Hey, babe. She brought pastries.”

You forced a smile and sat next to Kaito instead. A space over.

He didn’t say anything, but when he slid you one of the coffees she brought, you noticed he’d passed over one that didn’t have lipstick on the lid.

Small mercy.

By Wednesday, people in your program were talking about Yui’s art.

There was a bulletin board near the design wing, and she’d put up a charcoal sketch of a girl sitting alone on the library steps. It was beautiful, you’d admit. It also looked eerily like you — same posture, same boots.

People stopped to compliment it. Someone even said, “You know, she’s so refreshing. Like… real. She’s not trying to impress anyone.”

As if that was something to praise. As if trying hard made you fake. As if you trying at all was the problem.

That afternoon, you sat on the bleachers watching basketball practice. You always did — the cheer squad usually finished an hour earlier, and you liked seeing Satoru move, command, lead.

You were halfway through tying your jacket around your waist when you spotted her.

Yui.

Sitting in the far corner of the bleachers. Alone. Sketchbook in her lap, legs tucked under her.

You didn’t walk over. But you kept glancing that way, waiting for her to leave.

She didn’t. She waited until he waved. At her.

You saw it clearly. The lift of his arm between drills. The way her posture straightened when she noticed.

Your stomach turned.

That night, you left the group chat. Quietly. No drama. No goodbye.

But they noticed. Daichi messaged you, then Ren. You ignored both. Only Kaito sent the right thing.

Wanna talk? No judgment.

You didn’t reply for hours.

But eventually, you did.

She’s replacing me.

His typing bubble appeared. Then paused. Then started again.

No. She’s just… being included.

You stared at that sentence.

Then:

But I see you. I haven’t forgotten.

You blinked at that.

It was nothing. And everything.

Thursday, Satoru walked with you to class. You held his hand loosely. You didn’t say much. He did.

“You’ve been off lately.”

“Have I?”

He exhaled. “Y/N…”

You looked up. “Do you like her?”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“Yui. Do you like her?”

“No. She’s Daichi’s sister. She’s a kid.”

“She’s only two years younger than us.”

He looked frustrated now. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m observant.”

He pulled away just slightly. “Can’t you just let people in without turning it into a threat?”

You stopped walking.

“I used to be your person,” you said quietly. “Not a threat. Not a chore. Just… your person.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. And that hurt more than anything.

It started with a seat. Again.

Friday morning, your first free period, the guys had taken the usual corner table outside the cafeteria. It was barely 10 a.m., and already warm. You were running late — hair still damp from your shower, your slides too loud on the concrete path.

You rounded the corner, expecting the usual: the boys eating loud and fast, Satoru teasing Daichi about his midterms, Kaito flipping through his notes, and an empty spot beside your boyfriend.

But the seat wasn’t empty. Yui was already there. Right next to Satoru.

They weren’t doing anything, not exactly. But her elbow was close enough to his that your heart clenched. He leaned toward her mid-sentence, laughing softly at something she said. She wasn’t flustered this time — her voice was calm, steady.

She wasn’t trying anymore. She had already arrived. You walked slower.

When you reached the table, Kaito was the only one who stood slightly, sliding a chair toward you. You caught his eyes. He didn’t smile, but he gave you that quiet look — the one that said, Yeah. I saw it too.

You sat across from Satoru. He greeted you with a casual, “Hey, babe,” like nothing had changed. But everything had.

Later, while walking to class, Kaito caught up with you.

“She’s louder now,” he said casually.

You looked at him sideways. “What?”

“Yui. Used to whisper everything. Now she interrupts Daichi when he talks.”

You raised a brow. “Why are you telling me that?”

Kaito shrugged. “Just proving I’m paying attention.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t look away either.

That afternoon, you found out they had planned a night out — ramen and karaoke. A group thing.

You found out by accident.

Daichi had posted a dumb video on his story: Ren badly lip-syncing to some anime opening while the camera panned across the private karaoke room. There was Satoru. There was Daichi. Kaito. Ren.

And Yui. Laughing on the couch, your drink in her hand. The one you always ordered.

No one had texted you.

You were alone in your dorm, eating crackers with peanut butter, phone glowing in the dark.

You didn’t cry. You called Kaito. He picked up on the second ring.

“You saw?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled. “I wasn’t in the mood to go either. But I had to show up.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to keep her from turning into you.”

The silence was loud.

You didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then quietly:
“What’s wrong with being me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “But they forget what it took for you to get here. She just walked in.”

The next day, Yui approached you.

You were at the vending machine near the back stairwell, alone between classes. She came around the corner with her sketchpad pressed to her chest.

She didn’t look nervous. She looked… ready.

“Hey,” she said.

You turned, slow. “Hi.”

She didn’t fidget. “I just wanted to clear the air. I know it’s weird that I’m around your friends all the time now.”

You smiled. Not kindly. “Oh, now you notice?”

Yui looked away for a second, then met your gaze again. “I didn’t mean to step on anything.”

“But you didn’t stop either.”

Her throat moved in a swallow. “I didn’t think I had to. I thought… maybe there was enough room for more than one girl at the table.”

You tilted your head. “That’s cute. But it’s not about room. It’s about roles. I had mine.”

“And now I’m threatening it?”

“You’re not threatening it,” you said, voice sharp. “You’ve already replaced it.”

For a moment, you thought she’d say sorry. But she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “Maybe you just stopped wanting it.”

That stopped you cold. She walked off without another word.

Satoru wasn’t oblivious. He just didn’t want to admit how bad it had gotten.

It was easier to think you were just being dramatic. That your tension with Yui would settle. That things would click back into place if he just gave it time.

But he wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way you started dressing up more for morning classes again — lashes perfect, lip gloss slick, hair curled even when it rained.

He noticed how you kept your phone face-down around him, and how Kaito always seemed to look at him like he knew something he didn’t.

The final nudge came on a Thursday.

Yui had been tagging along to lunch with the group. Again. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore — cracking jokes with Daichi, handing Ren her apple juice like they’d grown up together.

Satoru was halfway through his rice bowl when you walked up to the table, dropped your bag beside him, and smiled — big, bright, the kind of smile you used when cameras were around or when you were pissed.

“Hey, baby,” you said sweetly, sliding into his lap like it was nothing.

Everyone froze. Even Yui.

He blinked. “Hey.”

You wrapped your arm around his neck and leaned in like you’d missed him all morning. You hadn’t. You’d ignored three of his texts.

Yui looked down at her tray.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, brushing your fingers through Satoru’s hair like it was routine. “Cheer practice ran over. You didn’t wait for me?”

He hesitated. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

You smiled with your teeth. “I’m always coming.”

After lunch, Satoru caught up with Kaito on the walk to class.

“She’s starting to play games,” he muttered.

Kaito gave him a dry look. “You mean she’s acting like your girlfriend again?”

Satoru frowned. “It’s not about that.”

“It is to her.”

He didn’t respond.

At practice that evening, Yui showed up again.

She claimed she was waiting for Daichi — said she just wanted to sketch from the sidelines until his shift ended.

Satoru didn’t believe her.

She sat quietly, legs crossed on the bleachers, sketchpad on her knees. The first ten minutes, she didn’t look at him at all.

The next ten, she did. And the next.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself thinking about it even when he was running drills.

Not her, exactly. But the way you’d looked at her during lunch. Like a challenge. Like you were done playing nice.

And for the first time in weeks, that version of you — sharp, high-maintenance, territorial — made him feel something warm under his skin.

It reminded him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

You didn’t go quiet. You never faded out.
You fought for what was yours.

Later that night, he showed up at your dorm without warning.

You opened the door in a robe, eye masks under your eyes, music playing low behind you.

“Do you want something?” you asked, not stepping aside.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just— We haven’t talked.”

“That’s new.”

He gave you a look. “You’ve been acting like I’m the enemy.”

“Because you’re not on my side.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer: “I’m just stuck in the middle.”

“Then move.”

You crossed your arms. He looked at you — really looked. Messy bun. No makeup. Annoyed as hell.

Beautiful anyway.

“Don’t make this a war,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Then stop handing her ammo.”

The silence between you stretched. Not hostile — worse. Tense in a way only people who used to love each other could feel.

When you finally turned to look at him, he looked tired. No teasing smile. No cocky charm. Just Satoru. Raw, undecided.

“You don’t see what it’s like,” you said, voice lower now. “Sitting there every day like I’m some relic while she slides into my spot.”

He frowned. “You think that’s what’s happening?”

“No, Satoru. I know that’s what’s happening.”

“She’s not—”

“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to laugh in your face.”

His jaw clenched.

You leaned back in your chair, legs crossed under your robe. “She’s sweet. Quiet. Harmless, right? I know the game. I used to play it.”

“She’s not playing a game.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m losing?”

That silenced him. You watched him, eyes softening just enough to let the truth peek out.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore.”

He didn’t answer. And that was the answer.

You stood up slowly, walking to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, you kept your back to him.

“I used to be the only girl you’d skip class for. Remember that? We’d lie in bed all morning, then I’d wear your sweatshirt to practice just to make it obvious.”

“I remember,” he said quietly.

You turned back around, arms folded loosely around your waist. “Now I feel like I’m fighting a war no one told me we were in.”

Satoru finally stepped forward, voice lower. “You think I don’t care about you anymore?”

“I think you’re tired of me. And you’re too cowardly to admit it.”

He flinched at that — not dramatically, but you saw the way his throat tensed.

Then, softly: “You’re wrong.”

“Prove it.”

That hung there, heavy and cold.

He looked at you — really looked. Wet lashes. Bare skin. Red mouth. Sad eyes that still somehow sparkled when they stared him down.

“I miss us,” he said.

You blinked.

He stepped closer, hesitantly brushing your wrist with his fingers. “But you’ve got this armor on now. Like I’m the enemy.”

“You started this war,” you whispered.

“I didn’t think I’d have to choose.”

You swallowed. “But you do.”

He nodded once. You held his gaze a second longer, then turned back to your bed and sat down, curling your knees up beneath you.

Satoru hesitated.

Then slowly, quietly, he joined you — sitting on the floor in front of your bed, leaning back against the frame.

No one spoke. The music still played quietly from your phone speaker, some old Japanese R&B playlist looping in the background.

You reached down, your fingers brushing his shoulder.

Then, slowly — impossibly soft — he leaned in and kissed you.

It was barely even a kiss at first. Just his lips brushing yours, a question wrapped in hesitation. And then your hand slid into his hair, and that was it.

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper. His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb sweeping just beneath your eye. His lips pressed to yours again, and again, with a hunger that surprised even him — not desperate, but familiar. Like he knew you. Like he had always known this mouth, this rhythm, this exact taste.

You made a soft sound against him, and he moved closer.

Your legs tangled beneath the covers. Your robe loosened slightly at the shoulder, and his hand slid along your waist, warm and steady, not rushing. His fingers gripped the fabric, grounding himself there.

When he pulled back, just a breath away, he kept his forehead resting against yours. His voice was low and hoarse.

“I hate fighting with you.”

You swallowed. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted. “Everything just got… loud. And she was easy.”

You blinked. “You mean quiet.”

He nodded.

You traced the curve of his ear with your fingertip. “I’m not easy, Satoru.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I never wanted easy.”

He kissed you again — this time slower, like he had all night. You let yourself melt into it, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as his body pressed you gently into the mattress.

It was messy. A little angry. A little sad. But it felt real again. And in that moment — it was enough to stay.

It started with the hallway.

Friday morning. Eighth period break. You were always a little late walking to the cafeteria — part intentional, part habit. You liked people watching you enter.

But today, there was no act. You were calm.

You wore your school sweatshirt slouched off one shoulder and a miniskirt paired with knee-high socks. Hair half-up, gloss shining but simple. Not trying too hard. But you didn’t have to.

You knew he was waiting at the table. Satoru. And this time, he wasn’t looking at the entrance for someone else.

Ren was mid-story when you walked in. Kaito and Jin were arguing about fantasy league stats. Daichi had his head down texting.

Satoru was staring at his drink — until the second you stepped in.

His head lifted instinctively. His eyes followed you, slow, steady, like they didn’t want to blink and miss the moment. And you?

You walked right over to the table, slid into the seat next to him, and draped your arm along the back of his chair like it belonged there.

“Missed me?” you said casually.

He looked at you, smiled. A real one. “Always.”

Across the table, Yui watched quietly. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her lunch tray was still untouched. Her water bottle had a tight grip around it. Her drawing pad sat unopened in her lap. She kept glancing from you to Satoru like trying to make sense of the math.

But the numbers weren’t adding up. You were back in your seat. And Satoru didn’t even hesitate.

He nudged your leg under the table. You looked over, caught him staring — warm and distracted. You rolled your eyes but didn’t move your leg.

You laughed at one of Ren’s jokes. You stole a fry from Daichi’s plate. You whispered something in Satoru’s ear and made him chuckle mid-sip.

And all the while, Yui sat three spots down, pretending not to notice. But she noticed. Everyone did.

Especially when, just before the bell rang, Satoru reached over and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear like it was nothing.

In the hallway after, you could feel her catching up. The rubber soles of her sneakers too soft to be loud — but you were trained to feel eyes.

“Y/N?”

You stopped, turned.

Yui stood there with her sketchpad hugged tight to her chest.

Her voice was calm. Careful. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just crossed your arms, tilted your head.

Satoru glanced back from where he stood ahead — waiting, watching — but you waved him off.

He nodded slowly and kept walking.

When it was just the two of you, you finally spoke.

“What’s up?”

Yui hesitated, her grip tightening around her notebook.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

You smiled. “But you did.”

“I was just trying to make friends.”

“And you picked my boyfriend?”

Her expression shifted slightly — not angry, not even defensive. Just… confused. Hurt, maybe.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You barely looked at him lately.”

That landed sharper than she probably meant.

But you didn’t flinch. You stepped forward, slow, deliberate — just enough to have to look down into her eyes.

“Here’s the thing,” you said softly. “You don’t have to understand what we are. You just have to remember that we are.”

And with that, you turned and walked away.

Leaving her in the hall with her sketchbook and a stomach full of silence.

The sun was setting behind the gym building, casting long golden shadows across the basketball courts. Practice had ended late. Satoru was walking toward the locker rooms, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair messy, shirt slightly damp with sweat. His jersey clung to his back, and his steps were slow — tired but calm.

Until he heard her voice.

“Satoru!”

He turned.

Yui stood a few feet away, hands nervously gripping the strap of her messenger bag. Her cheeks were flushed — whether from walking fast or nerves, he wasn’t sure.

“Hey,” he said, adjusting his bag. “Everything okay?”

She hesitated, then stepped closer. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t answer right away. The way she was looking at him made his stomach tighten — it was too open, too expectant.

“Just a minute?”

“…Yeah.”

They walked toward the side of the gym where it was quieter, near the old vending machines. It smelled faintly of rubber mats and Gatorade. A few straggling players shouted from inside, but out here, it was still.

Yui finally turned to him.

“I don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be,” she began, voice low. “But I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Satoru blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Her voice faltered. “You and Y/N. Yesterday. Today. Everything’s changed.”

He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking down to the cracked pavement. “Yeah. We’re figuring things out.”

Yui’s brows pulled together. “But I thought—”

She stopped herself. Satoru looked up at her.

“You thought what?”

“I thought you liked me,” she said softly. “Or at least… I thought there was something.”

He stared at her a moment — not cruelly, not even cold. Just... quiet. Honest.

“Yui,” he said carefully. “I like you. You're sweet. You're easy to talk to.”

Her face lit up with hope.

“But,” he continued, “I was never not with Y/N.”

Yui’s expression froze.

“I thought maybe... we were over,” he admitted. “Things got distant. Complicated. But it wasn’t your job to fill that space.”

“You said you wanted me around,” she whispered.

“I did,” he nodded. “And I meant it. But not like that.”

Silence. A bird chirped somewhere nearby. A basketball thudded in the distance.

“You were just being nice,” she finally said, her voice cracking just a little.

He nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry if I led you on.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“I wasn’t trying to steal you,” she said suddenly. “I just… felt safe with you.”

He gave her a sad smile.

“That’s the thing, Yui. I’ve never been safe. Not with her. Not with anyone.”

She looked away quickly, trying to blink back the sting in her eyes.

Satoru adjusted his bag, standing taller now.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate,” he said gently. “Someone who chooses you all the way.”

And then — he turned, walking off toward the locker rooms, leaving her alone in the golden light.

The evening air was cool and soft, wrapping around you like a quiet promise.

You found Satoru sitting on the low stone wall outside the school gym, alone except for the fading light and the distant hum of the city.

Without thinking, you slipped beside him, your shoulder brushing his.

He glanced at you, eyes catching the last warmth of the sunset.

For a moment, words failed you both.

Then, slowly, Satoru reached out, his hand warm as it slid to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

He looked down at your lips, then back to your eyes — searching. You swallowed.

“Can I?”

His nod was the softest thing. Leaning in, your lips met his.

The kiss was gentle at first, a quiet question hanging between you.

Then it deepened — slow and steady, like two halves finally coming together after too much space.

Your hands found his wrists, fingers curling lightly.

He pulled you a little closer, careful, like you might disappear if he wasn’t.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling.

“I missed this,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you said, voice just as soft.

You stayed like that a moment longer — two people tangled in something honest and new and old all at once. And for the first time in days, the noise around you faded completely.

[velvettte]

part one || series masterlist

nanami kento was dressed to the nines today.

his suit was a slate gray, fit and tailored to his frame so perfectly that he’d caught his secretary staring at him for more than her usual twenty seconds after he walked past her desk.

he set his briefcase down at his desk and checked his watch, only to be disappointed by the time it showed.

8:15 a.m. a full forty five minutes until he’d get to see you again.

not that he should want to see you — despite not knowing whether your first encounter was genuine or not, he knew enough to declare one thing.

he was absolutely, most definitely, caught in your storm.

he’s about to settle down at his desk, taking out his laptop and about to do some research before his mahogany doors open to reveal you, draped in sunlight.

you wore a suit of your own, a set so finely crafted and tailored that he’s left catching his breath as you walk through the doors. you gently adjust the blazer, grinning at him as soon as the door closes behind you.

“hello mr. nanami,” you say, and your tone is all business despite the informal grin on your face. “i thought it would be a good idea to drop in early in order to provide you papers of the transactions that are to occur between these two companies.”

nanami feels a bit comforted by the professionalism, moving his eyes to look at the documents you’d just handed him.

he scans the words, pausing when he spots a particular clause he never remembered in the negotiations.

“i’m sorry…i believe one of these documents contains a non disclosed clause. if these documents are to be used in the barter of services between our companies, i will have to involve my legal staff, as these are undiscussed terms.”

he pointed to line eighty, where it said “if jujutsu technologies does not reach a profit margin of at least 20%, the company will be acquired and merged into atlantis technologies.”

he looks to you and is surprised to see calculatedness on your face, a far cry from the giggling, sweet version of you he met last night.

“my apologies mr. nanami,” you say, and he is unnerved by the confidence your voice holds, “this clause was not an addition by me to this contract. it was actually a clause given to me by your superior, the former ceo of jujutsu technologies before he chose to step down. i merely added it into the contract so it would come to your attention in case you weren’t already aware. it seems that you weren’t.”

he meets your eyes to se something mirroring genuine remorse as you produce what was certainly the email chain between you and a man he called more friend than superior.

a man who’d currently put this entire company in hot water.

against his will, he looks at your lips, trying not to be distracted by the softness of them as they curved into a satisfied smile when he signed the papers that would place his company under intense negotiations.

he also tried not to wonder how your figure would look beneath your blazer as you walked out of his doors again.

“emily!” he hollered to his secretary, who ran in the moment he called.

“yes sir,” she said.

“get gojo satoru on the line.” he pauses, wondering how you could shake up his routine so much. “we need to talk.”

read part three

taglist: @iniyalovesall @debussy42 @chosostonguepiercing @salsakiyoomi (send an ask to be added!)

[halfadeckofcards]

Needles and Pins

Trouble saunters up to your workplace in a gas station in the middle of Nowhere Special, Southern U.S.A. Night after night, it comes armed with a charming smile and bared teeth. And despite knowing full well it's a bad idea, you just can't keep yourself from being lured in.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom(s): Near Dark 1987, Abigail 2024 Pairing: Severen x AFAB!Reader x Frank/Adam Barrett Word count: 9.8K Content warnings: Canon divergence, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, vampires, alcohol consumption, manipulation, hypnotism, physical assault, biting, blood drinking, making out, brief gun violence, reader makes some dumb decisions because of hypnotism and/or blood loss, threesome, grinding, blood kink, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, handjobs, implied reader death, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 Link: Here

Author's Note: Ohhhh baby this idea's been blooming since I saw a gifset comparing Near Dark's Severen and Abigail's Frank. They're so alike but so different it's insane, and the idea of getting tag-teamed by them was too fucking good to pass up. Plus it's Multi-May, an event run by my lovely friend @bisexual-horror-fan, so I figured - why not? Hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

It didn’t occur to you that the harbinger of your little town’s demise would be an old RV that was one pothole away from shuddering itself to pieces. You’d seen plenty of them over the years. Most folks who weren’t local were just passing through on their way elsewhere – stopping for the night to stretch their legs, to sleep, to grab gas or a drink or a pack of cigarettes, whatever. It’s just how it was living in a snoozy little town not far from a major highway. Plenty of people stopped for a while, but few ever lingered. So it was strange when they did. It made you suspicious.

But on the surface, there’d been nothing to suspect.

You’d been at the gas station counter just past midnight, scrolling through your phone, when they’d pulled up in a dirty RV that had to be decades old. A family of five. Had come from some other part of the South, judging by their accents. Three of them had come inside – an older man, a woman who seemed to be his partner despite being about twenty years younger, and a young boy you assumed was their son. The man had been the one to speak to you. He was perfectly polite, friendly, charming even. He’d introduced himself as Jesse. He and his family were roadtripping across the U.S. and had stopped to get gas, stretch their legs, and spend a couple days not cramped inside an RV.

You’d nodded politely as he’d spoken. Had rung up the gas and a couple magazines the kid had grabbed – none of the brightly colored kiddie ones. You hadn’t commented on it, kept your face as pleasantly friendly and neutral as possible. When Jesse has asked if there was a motel in this town, you’d given him directions. They’d paid in cash and left. And you hadn’t thought much of it, because it was the kind of story you’d heard about a hundred times. They’d stay for a couple days, realize there was fuckall to do here outside of sitting in a bar or sitting in a church or going to the grocery store, and they’d leave.

So what if their stares, hard and intense and glimmering with an unfathomable something, piercing like they could see through your skin to the veins and muscle and bone beneath, had lingered in your mind for the rest of your shift? So what if the kid glared at you with a simmering hostility and a calculatedness that felt distinctly wrong? So what if something in the back of your mind told you something wasn’t right about them?

You’d met plenty of folks passing by in this job. You’d met plenty of the friendly kind, and a few of the shadier kind. And you’d made a habit of listening to your gut when something felt off. Someone like you working largely alone in the dead of night couldn’t exactly take chances. So you paid attention to that prickle on the back of your neck, that curling unease in your stomach.

But the kid…. they were a family with a little boy. You’d brushed the unease off and gone back to scrolling through your phone to pass the time.

Then they’d come back around the next night, again past midnight. This time it was the kid and the two who’d stayed outside – a blond haired girl and a man wearing sunglasses, a leather jacket, and the kind of grin that set you on edge as soon as you saw it.

“Hey there.” You said the words with calm friendliness. “Can I help y’all?”

“I’m sure you can.” The man swaggered up to the counter with the confidence of someone who owned the place. You resisted the urge to cringe away.

You weren’t exactly the type to scare easy. What was wrong with you?

The girl and the kid were wandering, eyeballing shelves of candy and snacks without touching anything. They were siblings, maybe. Both blond like the woman from yesterday. Not like Sunglasses. He looked closer in age to –

Your attention snapped back to him as he stopped in front of you and propped an elbow against the counter. “What kind of ah…. fun do y’all get up to here? Got any bars, clubs…” His gaze flitted up and down your body. “….Strip clubs? Or is this more of a ‘grannies at town hall’ kinda place?”

You schooled your features back to neutrality despite the rising discomfort in your chest. “No clubs, adult or otherwise. Sorry.” You weren’t really. “There is a bar, though. It’s just down the road from the motel, actually. Surprised you didn’t see it earlier.”

“Well, yknow how it is. Kiddie-winkies keepin us busy n all that.” Sunglasses gave a vague wave toward said kids. The boy shot him a look of cold fury, while the girl seemed engrossed in reading the label on a packet of Nerds.

You gave him an obligatory nod. “Sure.”

The man studied you for a moment. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, he tipped his head and pulled off the sunglasses, then studied you again. His eyes were blue.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me round town, would ya?”

You blinked at the whiplash of this family’s oddness and Sunglasses now apparently coming onto you. Because that’s only what he could be doing. Ladies-man type. Alright. Sure. Not the first time it had happened.

“I don’t get off till seven a.m.,” you said apologetically. You’ll probably be gone by then, and I’ll be heading home to pass the fuck out, you didn’t say.

“Aw. Shame.” He tilted his head, eyed you up and down again. Like you were a strange little puzzle to figure out. Or a particularly interesting piece of meat. His smile turned cheeky and, if you were being honest, just a little bit strangely charming. “Don’t suppose I can convince you to skip the rest of your shift?”

Well. The idea was certainly tempting. “Not if I wanna pay the bills,” you answered instead.

He nodded and made a little hum. “Right. No mercy for the lil guy, huh? Well.” He straightened, flicking his sunglasses back on. The grin was sharp and feral again, and it poked at some ancient prey animal instinct far in the back of your brain. “Thanks for the directions, sugar. See ya round.”

And then they were gone.

You really hoped the kids hadn’t pocketed anything while you were distracted.

They were still in town days later, long after you’d expected them to leave. You only ever saw them at night, and even then, it was glimpses. Maybe that should’ve been strange to you, but you were something of a nocturnal creature yourself. Sleep all day, wake in the afternoon, work the night shift, come back home as the sun was rising and pass out soon after. Maybe they worked the night shift too, whatever it is they did. Though that didn’t explain the kids’ sleep schedule. It occurred to you that they should’ve been in school but hey, maybe they were homeschooled. It wasn’t your business. Maybe it should’ve set off alarm bells, but you knew better than to stick your nose where it didn’t belong.

But apparently Sunglasses had never learned that.

You’d been intending to grab some groceries and take them back home before your shift, but as soon as you stepped up the curb to head into the Harris Teeter, someone called your name and on instinct you turned around. And were met with a familiar face.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Sunglasses sidled up to you but notably didn’t make any physical contact. Points for that, you supposed.

“Well,” you said dryly, “I do live here.” You weren’t on the clock and didn’t have to have your customer service face on. You were free to say what you like, leave any time you like.

“Really? Thought you mighta been stuck haunting that place.”

“Stuck haunting a twenty-year-old gas station in this town? No fucking thanks. I’d rather drink myself to death,” you scoffed.

A delighted look sprang across Sunglasses’s face. “Sounds like a plan to me! How bout it? I’ll buy you a drink.”

Whoa whoa whoa, wait. You mentally backpeddled. “No – that’s not what – I have stuff I need to do before I clock in–” You weren’t exactly eager to get to work early, but neither were you eager to let a strange man buy you a drink.

“Aw, c’mon now.” He took off those sunglasses and met your gaze. “Just one drink. It’ll be quick.”

….He was pretty good-looking. He was the posterboy of tall dark and handsome, with the pale blue eyes, mussed black hair, and jawline. The leather and chunky rings gave a rougher edge to that prettiness. And there was something else about him – an erraticness, an unpredictableness, that was as enticing as it was unnerving. And really, how many other guys had tried to come onto you before, invasive and unappealing? How many of them had actually been truly tempting? Exactly none of them. And now that a guy like this, strange as he was, showed up and offered you a drink, were you really about to say no, even when you wanted to say yes, deep down? Were you really about to shoot down the only decent chance you’d gotten in this middle of nowhere Southern hell?

“Alright.” It just slipped out. It slipped out so easily it startled you.

Why would you say yes like that?

“Alright!” The man threw an arm around you and tugged you away from the grocery store parking lot – and towards the bar on the other side of the road. The bar you’d pointed out to him just days before.

Your head whirled. What the fuck? Why did you say yes? What had possibly compelled you to say yes to this stranger?

“I don’t. I don’t even know your name,” you stuttered.

His grin turned cheeky as he glanced down at you. “Severen. Feel free to wear it out much as you like.”

It was an astronomically bad idea to get involved with a total stranger. A total stranger whose smile gave you bad vibes. A total stranger who’d probably be leaving within a couple days. A total stranger who’d been so very eager to have your attention. There were red flags. He probably wasn’t involved in some drug or sex trafficking scheme, but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him. Severen. You wondered if that was the name he’d been given, or if it was something he’d chosen himself for the punk-cowboy thing he had going on.

And yet, despite your reservations, here you were. You weren’t usually so swayed by a pretty face, but something about those blue eyes had compelled you to say yes. And against all odds..... you were enjoying yourself.

Severen was engaging, to say the least. Intense. Energetic. Constantly in motion, even when he was sitting – moving his arms and hands animatedly as he spoke, bouncing his leg, fiddling with his sunglasses or his un-drunk glass of alcohol.

The longer you sat there and listened to him – the more you stared at him – the more you found yourself loosening your grip on caution. The more your reservations wilted away. You couldn’t even blame your drink, since there was no alcohol in it. He was just…. kind of fascinating. And energetic. He made you laugh. And despite your earlier misgivings, he was kind of sweet. He told you about his family. Apparently Jesse and Diamondback, the blond woman, had found him at a low point in his life and taken him in, provided him with food and shelter and company he hadn’t had in a long time. And they’d done the same with the two kids, Mae and Homer. They were a patched-up family who stuck together and took care of each other when no one else did. It was sweet. It brushed against something lonely and untouched in your heart. To have that kind of family, that kind of reliability…. you shoved down the pang of sheer want it stirred up.

You could not start wanting and getting attached like that. Not when they were just passing through.

Still. You couldn’t stop meeting his gaze. You quickly stopped minding how often his arm brushed against yours. And you very quickly started to idly wonder if there was room for a sixth in that beat up RV.

When your phone alarm pinged at 10:30 p.m., you didn’t want to leave the comfort of the bar and Severen’s scorching attention. You could hear the reluctance in your own voice as you said, “I should head to work.” But God, you didn’t want to. You almost hoped he’d ask you to skip out on your shift, like he had last time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to say no.

But instead he just fixed you with a smirk and said, “Prolly.” He waved you off as you reached for your wallet. “Don’t worry bout it, sugar. Drink’s on me.”

You hesitated. “Well. Thanks. This was actually really nice.” Please give me a reason to stay.

“Course.” His gaze flicked away from yours, down your figure, sizing you up again. Did he see anything different from the first time he’d done that? Did you…. feel something different from the first time?

You forced yourself to say, “See you round.”

“I sure will.”

You left the bar in a haze, as if slipping out of a dream. By the time you were clocking into your shift, reality had fully settled back in and left your body oddly heavy, limbs buzzing with the faint sensation of pins and needles. Doubt had come back in full force. About a dozen questions whirled around your mind all night. What the fuck had you been thinking? Why did you say yes to him? Why did you so desperately want to head back to the bar and find him again?

You kept a wary eye on the door for the entire night. But there wasn’t a single damn sign of life, even if you felt like something was watching you from beyond the bleached lights of the gas station. You were almost relieved as the sun peeked up from the horizon at the end of your shift. As if it would protect you.

As if it would shield you from whatever went bump in the night.

You kept running into Severen. You kept making bad decisions. He would take you to the bar or walk to work with you or come to the gas station and hang around like it wasn’t a public establishment you were supposed to be running. Every time you wanted to tell him to fuck off, every time you wanted to ask why he was still here and why he was stalking you, he’d make eye contact and the words would die on your tongue. He’d draw you in. He’d say something that made you smile or laugh or, God forbid, that made your face warm and your breath come a little too quick. Things were moving far too fast far too soon, and you knew it. Whenever he wasn’t around, you snapped back to reality and promised yourself that he wouldn’t reel you in again. You had to cut him off. Whoever he was, he was trouble. You could sense it. But then he’d pop up again and your resolve would instantly burn away – you’d forget why you wanted him to stop in the first place. He was hypnotizing.

Even now, eight days after they’d first come to town, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care that Severen was perched on the gas station counter, teasing you and making you giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush and completely distracting you from what you should be doing. Which was acting professional while there was a customer. Which you most certainly were not doing. He was making you fucking stupid, and you couldn’t care less.

The customer kept eyeballing you from out the side of his glasses. Embarrassment burned in your stomach. But you just couldn’t drag your attention away from Severen for more than a few seconds.

“Anyways, like I was sayin – Diamondback took one look at this sucker and just bout knocked his block clean off.” He whistled and you jumped when he snapped an arm out, as if punching an invisible attacker. He laughed at your reaction. “Knew from then on never to mess with that bitch.”

“She sounds pretty badass,” you admitted. You wondered what she’d think of you. After the initial meeting with Jesse, you’d spotted her wandering around the town at night, sometimes laughing and with her arm around a young blushing guy who’d moved to town a couple years ago. You wondered about that. Didn’t ask.

“Yeah, she ain’t half bad. Ole snake’s got one helluva bite, that’s for damn sure.” Severen paused, as if considering, then leaned over with a mischievous look. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “I been told I got a good bite too.”

Oh you could not be thinking about that at the cash register. You ducked your head and furiously looked for something to do with your hands. Severen’s self-satisfied laugh – it was more of a giggle, really – just made your face warm more.

A magazine smacked down against the counter. You snapped your head up. The customer was staring at you with an unamused expression. The slicked-back hair and chain necklace and obvious impatience all just screamed douchebag, as if the words from his mouth didn’t say it loud enough. “If you lovebirds are done – can I check out?” Oh, and a Yank to boot. New York or New Jersey, if the accent was anything to go by.

“Sure thing,” you said with forced niceness.

“These too.” He tossed down a packet of spearmint gum and a bottle of iron pills. You nodded and rung them up.

You didn’t have to look at Severen to know he was sizing the customer up; the dirty look the customer was giving him in return was indication enough. You grit your teeth. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t start a fight. Please don’t –

“Got a problem?” Severen asked. The cheerfulness in his voice felt like the warning rattle of a snake. You sucked a breath in from between your teeth.

“Yeah, actually. Think you can fuckin move?”

For a second, you were certain Severen was going to just tackle him and start a fight then and there. But instead he hopped down from the counter and clapped a hand onto the man’s shoulder. That grin was still fixed on his face, but it was thin and sharp like a razor. “First come first served, Yankee.”

Something like disdain or anger flickered across the customer’s face, but you jumped in before he could say anything. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

The customer’s gaze bounced between you two, something unreadable in his shockingly blue eyes. He gave an annoyed huff, shoved Severen’s hand off, and rifled around his jacket pocket for a wallet. He tossed a twenty and a five down. “Keep the change.”

“Alright. Would you like a receipt?”

“No.”

You shoved the items in a shitty plastic bag and thrust it over the counter to him, accompanying the motion with a blithe smile. “Here you go. Have a nice night.”

“Uh-huh.” He paused before heading out, giving you a weird raised-eyebrow look. “Don’t let the fuckin bed bugs bite.” He said it obnoxiously, knowingly, like it should mean something. Your face heated as you recalled what Severen had whispered in your ear. Fucking asshole.

You waited till he was out of sight to turn your disapproving frown to Severen. The urge to melt and let it go was near overwhelming, but you shoved it aside. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Yankees ain’t got manners, that’s what.” Severen said it dismissively, tossing his head like a dog shaking off flies. Then he sprung over the counter and landed with a jostle of leather and buckles and spurs, and he popped up to full height with an expression that promised nothing good. The same expression he’d been wearing when he first set foot here. You startled back. He followed you.

“Since when do you care about that sort of thing?” Something rung in warning at the back of your mind, even as that fuzzy contentedness that came whenever you looked at Severen tried to smother it. Something was off.

“Aw, don’t be like that. Lookit me.”

Rough fingers curled around your jaw and tilted your head up. As soon as you made eye contact, the warning in your head went silent. The tension in your jaw and your brow and your body unspooled. You went limp, letting Severen herd you against the back wall and cage you in with his arms and his body. His head blocked the sterile glow of the neon lights, casting you in shadow. His breath settled against your lips.

“Now, aren’t you a pretty lil thing?” he murmured, all soft honeyed tones and Southern charm. You would’ve liked to have thought you were immune to that sort of thing, being in this business and all, but your heart hammered so loud in your ears and your throat that you couldn’t think straight. “Thought that since I first saw you. Thought to myself, ‘oh, well I could just eat this lil sweetheart up.’ Wouldn’t I be a lucky man?”

He laid a hand on your chest, just below your throat, fingers curling against your pulse as his thumb caressed your skin. The edge of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. “You scared? Excited?”

Your tongue felt heavy. Everything did, heavy and weightless at the same time. “Yeah,” was all you could get out.

“You weak in the knees for me? Lil heart aflutterin?” The hand at your neck had climbed to join the one at your jaw. He cradled you like something delicate. “You sweet on me?”

You managed a weak laugh. “Y-yeah.” That was one way of putting it. One way to describe whatever the fuck was going on with your body.

He smiled. Brushed his nose against yours. “Good. That’s good.”

“Severen.... please.....” You weren’t quite sure what you were pleading for. What, exactly, you wanted him to do. “Please.”

“Don’t you worry sugar. Imma make you feel real good.”

Lips pressed to yours. Slightly chapped and cool, but firm and relentless, a sweet moving pressure that had your head spinning even more than it already was. His body pinned you to the wall and his fingers tilted your head to the side, moving you how he pleased. He pressed his tongue into your mouth sooner than you would’ve expected. A helpless noise came from your throat. Heat shuddered down your spine. He kissed you deeply, languorously, as if he had an eternity to explore you.

A thought bubbled up from the back of your mind – what if a customer walked in on you? But then Severen was slotting a thigh between your legs and biting at your lower lip and you stopped thinking much at all. Your hands slid under his jacket, racking up his shirt and dipping along the curve of his spine as you explored smooth, cool skin. Or maybe you were just burning so hot that he felt cold in comparison.

You whined when he pulled away, only to sigh in relief when his mouth latched onto your neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses and scraping teeth and one hand cradling your cheek as you tilted your head away and gave him better access. Fucking Christ he needed to stop being a tease. You squirmed and dragged his hips closer, sliding yourself on his thigh and biting back a sound of pleasure at the friction. One of his hands dropped down to brace your hip. He huffed a laugh against your skin.

“God, please Severen,” you breathed.

He hummed and pressed a kiss to your pulse. His fingers dug into your skin.

And then he bit you.

Not a playful nip. Not a hickey. A full-power clamp of jaws like a dog or an alligator biting down on its prey. Teeth tore through your skin, punctured clean through like you were butter left out in the sun. It knocked the breath right out of you. Pain exploded through your veins. Your body thrashed of its own accord. Your mind screamed awake.

A gunshot rang out. Severen yanked away from you, teeth ripping back out your neck. A cry of pain unlodged from your throat and you stumbled away, sliding down against the wall. Severen swung around and snapped bloody teeth at something beyond your line of sight. “What the FUCK–” Another gunshot. Severen yowled and his body jerked and buckled. He collapsed to the floor. You scrambled away from his body as his words ricocheted in your own mind. What the FUCK....?? Your breath sawed in and out from your chest far too quickly. Your head buzzed.

What the fuck had just happened?

There was the crunching of broken glass – when had one of the window panes been broken? – and a head peeked over the counter. Slicked back hair and glasses and ice blue eyes.

The customer from earlier.

You stared at him with what was probably a panicked, bug-eyed look. He stared back at you. Then his gaze drifted slightly to your left and his eyes darkened. “You’re uh. You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah.” Your voice came out raw. “He bit me.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a bite.”

“Yeah.” Was this really the time or place for this conversation?

You weren’t sure if you’d said that last part out loud, because the man grimaced and leaned over the counter, offering you a hand. You took it and tried not to think about the fact that yours was shaking. He yanked you up with ease then helped you clamber over the counter. There was a pistol in his other hand.

Your head swam.

“We should, uh, get you out of here.” The man shoved the gun into his waistband and glanced around. A hand snaked around your upper arm. Normally you would’ve pulled away, but you weren’t exactly confident in your ability to stay upright. Not when you were shaking and fucking bleeding from your neck as if you’d been bitten by a vam–

“Holy shit.”

The man gave you a look that was halfway between annoyed and alarmed. “What?”

“Did I just get bitten by a vampire?” you blurted. He grimaced again. You realized how that sounded. “No, I’m not – shut the fuck up, don’t look at me like that–”

“Oh come on–” For a guy who’d gone out of his way to save you and shoot the maybe-vampire-maybe-crazy-guy who’d fucking bitten you, he seemed pretty fucking fed up. “Here.” He grabbed a bottle of orange juice from one of the drink shelves and shoved it into your hands. “Drink the fuck up. We’re leaving.”

“We can’t leave the scene of a crime. There’s a fucking dead guy!”

“Yeah, unless he’s a fucking vampire, in which case I don’t think a bullet’s gonna do much to stop him.” He practically dragged you out of the gas station with him. You couldn’t exactly argue with his logic, even if the world was tilting around you and you were lightheaded and your thoughts wouldn’t stop sloshing around like soup inside your skull.

God, how the fuck was this even happening?

“Got somewhere we can hole up?” the man asked.

You almost blurted, Who’s we? Trusting a stranger was what had gotten you into this mess. Then again, he’d gone out of his way to save you. And even if a bullet didn’t do much to stop a vampire, you had to admit you felt marginally safer with a human shield. As awful as that thought was.

“Um.” You tried to collect your scattered brain. Took a gulp of orange juice and cringed at the bitter taste. “There’s a church that isn’t too far from here.”

“That’s not–” The man cut himself off.

You glared at him. “What?”

He gave you another annoyed look. You again debated yanking your arm away from him and walking yourself. Instead you took another sip of orange juice. You probably weren’t putting enough pressure on your neck.

“That shit probably doesn’t work. Hallowed ground and crosses and all that religious BS.”

“What? Why?” You frowned. “Don’t tell me your name is Van Helsing.”

He scoffed. “It’s Frank. And your little vampire buddy didn’t need to be welcomed into that shithole to get to you, so that’s probably a myth. And who the hell knows what else is a myth too, right? We could be wasting our fuckin time in a church.”

You strained to remember whether or not there had been a welcome sign on the door of the gas station. Working there for so long had made you blind to the details of the place. You tried twisting around to catch a glance of the gas station receding behind you, but Frank was pulling you along too quickly and had you in an iron grip. Shit, maybe he was right.

Another thought hit you. “Oh fuck,” you said aloud.

“What now–?”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” you snapped. “Severen, the fucking vampire, came here with four other people he calls family. I only ever see them around at night. They’re probably fucking vampires too.” A whole pack of vampires. Right under your goddamn nose. Then again, how were you supposed to expect something that wasn’t even supposed to exist?

“Oh, well that’s just peachy.”

You were walking down a cluster of buildings now, passing by the grocery store and the bar. Warm hazy lights cast an orange glow on everything and reflected off Frank’s glasses, obscuring your view of his eyes. His mouth was set in a flat, grim line. You couldn’t get a goddamn read on him, or why he was here, or why he was helping you. You didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but after Severen, your guard was firmly up.

But….

You sighed. “We can hide at my place. I never took Severen there.” Of course, there was always the possibility that he’d followed you at some point. But then why wouldn’t he have attacked you there rather than in public? You twisted around, trying to get a look behind you again. You didn’t see any angry leather-clad blood-stained guys tailing you. You didn’t see any bats. Did vampires even turn into bats? Fuck, who knew? At least at your place, you’d have kitchen knives. And garlic, if that worked. Did you have anything that could be used as stakes? Did that even work? You’d heard decapitation was a sure way to kill anything, but you doubted you had the physical strength or mental fortitude to cut through someone’s spine, even if the bastard had tried to kill you.

Ultimately, you did end up going to your place. Your hands were shaking hard enough that you had trouble getting your keys into the door, and Frank glancing out into the open empty night didn’t do anything to ease your nerves. Especially not when his hand was resting on the grip of his pistol. It just made you want to start scanning the tiny neighborhood too. But once the door was unlocked, Frank ushered you in, slipping in right behind you before you slammed the door shut and locked it again. And hooked up the extra chain lock too. Not that it would protect you from vampire super strength. You assumed that one was real.

You flicked on the lights, but Frank immediately shut them back off. Only half a protest escaped your lips before he interrupted. “Nope. As far as anybody else is concerned, no one’s home.”

“Fine. Just give me a second.” You flicked the lights back on long enough to check the analogue clock hanging in the living room. “It’s just past three-thirty. We still have a few hours before sunrise. We can stay here until it’s light out, assuming that one’s real.” You hadn’t seen Severen or any of his pack out in the daylight. You were pretty sure that one was real, but now Frank had you second-guessing every bit of vampire fiction you’d ever seen.

But Frank just said, “Yeah. I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You nodded dumbly. Stared at the faint outline of his face in the darkness. Christ on a stick. You were stuck with this guy until then. Another stranger. A stranger with a gun, no less.

Fuck.

“Alright. You close the blinds. I’ll do something about this.” You gestured to your neck. It had stopped bleeding, but you were damp and sticky with your own blood. “We can, I dunno, rub garlic around the door and windows afterwards?”

“You really think garlic’s gonna work?” Frank said doubtfully.

“I don’t fucking know!! You figure something out, Mister fucking Van Helsing! I’m gonna go deal with the fucking bite on my fucking neck.” You beelined for your bedroom and left him to his own devices. Hopefully he’d trip over something in the living room, the fucking douchebag.

You grabbed a change of clothes then stepped into the bathroom. There were no windows in the closet-sized space, so you closed the door, locked it, and flicked the light on. Through your squinting at the sudden brightness, you caught a glimpse of your reflection.

Jesus Christ, you looked like a walking corpse.

Okay. That was fine. That was expected. Whatever.

You stripped and dumped your bloodied clothes onto the floor. Jumping in the shower probably wasn’t the best move when you had a possible vampire thirsting after you and a stranger with a gun in your house, so you went with a dampened towel instead. When you’d cleaned up most of the blood, you dropped the towel onto the pile of your soiled clothes. You tried not to wince at the idea of throwing them away. The shirt and towel probably weren’t salvageable.

Not that that mattered right now. You were busy examining the bite mark on your neck. Miraculously, it had stopped bleeding on its own, though blood welled if you poked it too roughly. It had hurt at first. Now it was just weirdly, worryingly numb. The teeth marks were deep and torn, hadn’t pierced through cleanly and had probably been jostled as you’d struggled against Severen. But it was definitely a bite mark. And it definitely wasn’t a normal human one. The thought made you a little woozy, to be honest. You crouched down, and the rush of blood being forced back up made your head spin.

This couldn’t be real. This could not be real, and it could not be happening to you right now specifically. This was fucking insane.

You reached for the small medical kit under the sink. How the fuck any of this worked, you couldn’t be sure, but cleaning the bite mark and slapping a plaster on it couldn’t make things any worse.

Vampires bit humans to turn them into vampires. But they usually had to feed the human their own vampire blood to actually turn them. That’s how it went in Interview with a Vampire and Dracula, right? And that hadn’t happened to you. So you were good. Right? Probably? The feeding blood thing was something vampire fiction generally agreed upon. That was probably real.

But wait, Dracula was actually able to go into the sun in the original book. It only weakened him. Shit, what if the bursting into flames in daylight thing was made up? Your heart dropped at the thought. Although, no, you hadn’t seen Severen or the rest of his pack during daylight hours. And an RV could be a pretty good place for vampires to hide if they blocked out all the windows. Okay then, that one seemed like a safe bet. You weren’t so sure about garlic. That one sounded pretty silly. And as much as you hated to admit it, Frank was probably right about vampires not needing to be invited in. So you couldn’t count on that to protect you. And what about religious iconography? You weren’t sure you had anything in your house for that anyway. Fucking hell. You’d been thrust into a world you didn’t understand and didn’t know the rules to. And you had to keep yourself alive because of it. Well, yourself and Frank.

Even if the garlic seemed silly, it couldn’t hurt either. And surely you had something around the house that could be used as a stake. Unless it had to be wood.... did it have to be a particular kind of wood....?

“Fuck,” you muttered to your reflection. Maybe Frank would have some ideas.

You finished cleaning up and getting dressed, and then you headed back out. “You see anything weird?” you asked as you opened the bedroom door. And stopped. Squinted in the darkness.

The living room was empty.

“....Frank?” Your heartbeat thumped in your ears as you peered into the kitchen. He wasn’t there. “Frank? Are you–”

Something grabbed you from behind. A hand muffled your shriek before it could leave your throat. You thrashed and kicked and bucked like an animal as you were dragged. Your elbow jammed against something solid. A grunt of pain hit your ear.

Then you were tossed onto the bed. The mattress softened the harshness of the fall, and you jerked upright immediately. You scrabbled for a weapon as a figure filled your doorway. Tall wiry gleaming glasses outline of a jacket –

“Sev–”

He pounced onto you and you shrieked again. Clawed and writhed and–

It wasn’t Severen. It was Frank. With a mouthful of sharp teeth baring down at you. Oh fuck.

“Now what are the chances of that, huh?” he sneered. “Getting attacked by two different vampires in one day? Talk about bad luck.”

“GET OFF!” You renewed your struggles, but that brief moment of shock had given Frank all the time he’d needed. He had you caged against the bed, grabbing your arms and pinning you down with his bodyweight. “No!!”

“Fraid this just isn’t your day.” He said it so cruelly, so carelessly, like you were little more than a beetle under his shoe. Tears pricked your eyes. God, you were so fucking stupid, you’d fallen for the same fucking shit again.... “Tears? Really? Now? We’re just getting to the good part.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted out.

He laughed softly. You jerked under him again, but he remained immovable. “Maybe in another life. Now. Hold still.”

He leaned in, teeth bared and breath puffing against the other side of your neck. “NO!” you screamed. You threw every ounce of energy in your body into heaving against him. One of your knees hit his gut. The air rushed out of him and he doubled over. You yanked a hand out of his grip and blindly grabbed something from the bedside table and smashed it against his head. He toppled to the side. You shoved him off and bolted.

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom door. A hand was on your arm and you were spinning and then you were on the mattress again, this time with Frank shoved up behind you and pinning you to the bed, your back to his front and your face pressed against the sheets. You hollered, half-muffled. He wrestled with your flailing arms.

“Not so fucking fast, bitch,” he spat in your ear. “I haven’t eaten in weeks. I’ve been buying my time on fucking gas station iron pills, but now that I’ve got live, squirming prey? You’re not getting away from me that easy.”

You snarled some combination of words at him. You weren’t even sure what. But you writhed and jerked and flailed and didn’t let up for one second, even as he pressed against you and swore at you.

“Yknow,” a familiar voice drawled, “it’d be easier if you hypnotized em. Right?”

You both froze. You turned your face to stare at the bedroom entrance.

Alive and well, leaning against the doorjamb with one leg crossed in front of the other, mouth and shirt smeared with blood that looked black in the darkness – Severen. Sunglasses and all. Very much not looking like a man who’d been recently shot.

Your heart plummeted. Despair like nothing you’d ever experienced washed through your body, cold and stinging like alcohol.

“The fuck you mean ‘hypnotized’?” Frank said. He didn’t sound smug anymore. Just pissed.

A disbelieving laugh burst out from Severen. “You don’t know about that? Ohhh I get it now!! Well I’ll be damned!!” He took a step forward, practically sauntered. “You’re a newbie, aren’t ya? You ain’t figured out all the perks yet! Yknow what else you ain’t figured out yet, newbie?” Another step forward. A sliver of light from the bathroom – you’d forgotten to turn the light off you’d just closed the door you’d been in such a rush – hit his sunglasses and illuminated the edge of a smile and blood-splattered skin. His voice turned sharp and low like you hadn’t heard before. “You don’t steal another vamp’s prey.”

Frank flinched behind you. You saw Severen move, but it took another second to figure out what else you were seeing. A pistol, gleaming and old-fashioned, aimed at Frank. It might’ve brought you relief in any other circumstance, but here, now, aimed at a vampire....?

“This might not kill you, but I can assure you, it hurts like a bitch.” Severen flashed his teeth at the both of you. “So how bout this, son? I’ll be the bigger man and let you go, and you fuck off into the night and never cross my way again. But first, and here’s the fun part – we share this lovely lil sweetheart here between the two of us. And if you say no, well,” he laughed cheerfully, “I’ll shoot ya and drink up by myself, and then I’ll make you regret stumblin into an elder.”

You couldn’t breathe. Two options. Neither of which ended with you still having a pulse.

“So!” Severen wiggled his free hand through the air. “What’ll it be?”

The following pause was heavy and lasted far too long. Please say no. Please refuse him. Please fight him or try to disarm him or fuck up and give me a chance to escape, please, God, please....

Frank sighed through his nose. “You know what? Fine. Fine! Whatever. As long as I get something out of this clusterfuck.”

The words triggered something in your brain, that primal drive to survive. You yelled and thrashed, hoping to catch him off guard and fling him off. He just hissed and squeezed your arms till your bones felt like they were about to snap. You cried out in pain. Tears blurred your vision.

“You wanna help me out here or what?” Frank asked Severen.

“Sure thing, partner!” The words dripped with saccharine venom. He neared the bed and reached up to his sunglasses. Hypnotism. Cold fear doused you.

“NnnNOOdon’tyoufuckindare!” You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away. Severen’s laugh twisted your insides unpleasantly.

“Aw now don’t be like that!” You heard shifting fabric, the creak of leather and jingle of a dozen pins and badges. Fingers forced their way under your chin and tugged at you, trying to coax you towards him as rings dug into your cheek. You struggled to resist. Clamped your jaws together and strained your neck muscles so hard it felt like something was about to pop. “I said, don’t be like that.” Nails dug into the skin at the back of your neck, piercing and hurting and lancing pain through your nerves. It shocked you into relenting, and Severen twisted your head towards him with a noise of approval. You screwed your eyes shut tighter. He tsked at you. “C’mon now, open up for Sev.”

“Here, let me,” Frank said from behind you. He yanked you away from the bed and clasped your upper arms in a near bone-breaking grip. You had no time to recover before he bit you and agony ripped through your neck and shoulder. On instinct your body arced, strained, tried to pull away from the pain as your eyes snapped open of their own accord. And then there were fingers around your chin, roughly yanking you down, forcing you to meet eyes the color of the afternoon sky –

“Relax, sweetheart. The three of us’re gonna have some real fun tonight.”

The effect was instantaneous. Something fuzzy and hazy wrapped around your thoughts. Even as you struggled, your body loosened, and your thrashing weakened to a soft writhe. You bit down on your own tongue till blood filled your mouth. Focused on the pain, the hurt, the agony radiating from your tongue and your jaw and your neck and your arms, and refused to let yourself get swept up in the stupor. You were not doing this, you were not letting this happen, you were not going down without a fight. If they wanted you, they’d have to fight tooth and fucking nail, you swore it to any God that was fucking watching.

“Jesse likes to go on about how this sorta thing is really more the power of suggestion than actual hypnotism. Accordin to him, hypnotism ain’t even real.” Severen said it casually, as if commenting on the color of the walls or the softness of the pillows, even as the dog-like tilt of his head revealed the predator in human skin. “Which is real funny comin from the walkin talkin livin dead. But point is, lil sweetheart’s still gonna be struggling if you don’t do it right. Get off newbie.”

Frank unlatched from your neck. You whimpered in pain, tried to pull away, but your body responded only weakly.

“What?” He sounded almost as bleary as you felt.

Severen cackled. “Don’t know how to make it feel good yet either, huh? Whoever vamp daddy is did a piss poor job at teachin you the ropes. Scoot over. Let a professional handle it.” He cupped your neck and ripped off the plaster you’d placed over his bitemark.

A bitemark on each side, you thought through the fuzz. Now you were all evened out.

Teeth pierced through your flesh for a third time that night. It hurt. It hurt. You tried to put up a struggle despite the weight of your limbs and the lightness of your head. Pleading words and cries fell from your mouth. They went unheeded. Severen sucked at your skin and lapped up your blood – yes, this was really happening, this was what they were going to do to you – and your head swam. Your shoved at him weakly, but you might as well have been shoving at a brick wall.

This was it. End of the line. A lamb to the slaughter. Bottom of the food chain.

Your thoughts and emotions tangled together, fueled by the rush of pain and adrenaline and blood loss. Something crept through your veins. A chill spreading outwards under your skin. Death. This is what it felt like to die, you were sure of it, and all you could do was wait for it to overtake you.

.....Except.

It wasn’t. It didn’t. It was something else. Something started to replace the pain and the despair, something that was warm and liquid and buzzing. It filled your senses and glowed in your chest and trickled further down, dangerously down.

It felt.... good.

Awareness flooded your senses, hyperawareness of every little detail and sensation. The light spilling from the bathroom, casting the scene in lurid suggestive shadows and slivers of amber. Severen’s teeth buried in your neck, his lips closed around your skin as if working a permanent hickey into your throat. How he cradled your head so sweetly and dragged a hand down your side. Frank’s breath on your ear and your cheek and your neck, the proximity of his lips. Both of them solid and pressed against the length of your body, immovable and caging you in and supporting your body weight as your legs buckled beneath you.

How could you have been afraid? How could you have run and cried and screamed when it felt like this? You shifted against them, searched desperately and half-mindedly for some sort of movement. You might have whimpered. Or moaned. You weren’t entirely sure.

Severen unlatched from your neck but didn’t go far. You could feel him smiling against you. “Didn’t I tell you it’d feel good? All that struggling for nothin.” You mm-hmmed as enthusiastically as you could, despite the intoxicating headiness unfolding in your body and making you dizzy.

Frank’s exhale brushed against your ear. You shuddered. “How the hell did you do that?” he murmured. Some distant part of you wondered the same.

“Ain’t rocket science.” Severen licked at the gouges of your bitemarks. Sparks of pleasure flew under your skin.

At some point you’d started squirming. You wanted that feeling, that friction from when Severen had pushed his thigh between your legs at the gas station and you’d ground against him. That felt like a lifetime ago. Like a dream. You wanted it back. You wriggled your hips and got a response from the both of them. Frank made a low choked noise in the back of his throat and one of his hands flew to your side, nails digging through the fabric of your shirt. Severen sucked in a breath and tipped his head back. His throat worked enticingly as he ground back against you. Oh fuck that felt good. You gasped and grabbed Severen’s shoulders to steady yourself. And tried desperately not to sound like a dog in heat as you writhed against them.

You were too warm, burning up. Aching and struggling to breathe. Hands slid along what parts of your body they could reach, mouths and tongues and teeth pressed against your neck.

The thought of being consumed no longer seemed so terrifying. The mental image of them tearing into you, bloodying and messing themselves with you, teeth gnashing and throats working and tongues exploring your veins and arteries and snapping them like rubber bands was so visceral, it made you clench around nothing.

Eat me alive eat me alive please God devour me.

Between one moment and the next, you’d been dragged to the bed. Frank was behind you still, holding your back to his chest. He grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, and when you rocked against the hardness pressed to your ass, you were rewarded with a stuttered groan. You couldn’t even remember why you’d been annoyed at him. He was making such delicious little noises because of you, was grinding against you with the desperation of a man who hadn’t been touched by anyone else in years. How long would it take him to cum in his jeans just from this?

Your attention was abruptly, fully drawn away when Severen dropped to his knees in front of you. Enough light bled out from the bathroom to let you see the fresh blood smeared across his face, overlapping the dried splatter from before. His eyes glinted in the dimness. He looked like a predator. He was a predator. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid, not when he was pushing your thighs apart and running his fingers up to the hem of your jeans. He thumbed the button. At this angle, the way he looked up at you through dark eyelashes was absolutely obscene.

“How bout this? He drinks you, and I eat you. Sound fair?”

Lust hit you like a physical force.

Frank dropped his head down to your shoulder and licked at the bloody bite mark he’d made. “Yeah, alright. Sounds fair.”

You had enough time to catch a flash of teeth from Severen before he was undoing your jeans and dragging them off you and taking your underwear with them. It took a tangle of limbs and wandering hands to maneuver your body, but then you were bare and exposed and you suddenly realized how wet you were. How wet you’d been the entire time they’d been manhandling you. Heat flared in your cheeks and deeper in your guts.

“Well, lookit this,” Severen purred. “All this for lil ole me?”

“You?” Frank muttered against your skin.

“Was my idea.” And then his mouth was on your exposed cunt and Frank was sinking his teeth into you and it was so much, it was too much, it was near overwhelming. Pleasure shot through you so intense it made your body jolt from the force of it. Your heart pounded in your throat where Frank’s mouth met your skin. He kept grinding against your ass as he drank. He pushed your shirt up and explored the expanse of your body, every dip and fold, teasing and testing every inch of sensitive flesh. All while Severen’s tongue lavished your clit, warm and wet and fucking relentless. He drank up your arousal like that alone would sustain him. His tongue swept tight little circles over your clit and then dipped down between your folds, back up to your clit, and he did it again and again until your thighs were shaking and you were twisting your fingers into his hair. The hot pressure of his tongue and his fingers digging into your thighs and Frank clutching you and sucking on your neck was all too intense. You shuddered and jerked and panted from the pleasure. You were burning, coiling tight, about to shake apart from it all. You had no idea what you were or weren’t saying.

Fuckfuckfuck, it needed to stop but you didn’t want it to, please don’t stop fuck oh God please –

Frank pulled his teeth from your neck to press sloppy open-mouthed kisses to your skin, smearing the blood already drenching you. His lips were slick, the prick of teeth a promise. “Fuck, you taste good,” he slurred, words barely more than a growl. He rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. It was all you could do not to cry out.

And then you did cry out as Severen’s teeth pierced your inner thigh. Fresh blood joined the slick mess between your legs. You rolled your hips forward against the fingers Severen had shoved into your cunt and the thumb he’d pressed firmly to your clit, and then you continued the motion backwards to grind against Frank’s still-clothed bulge. It hit you so perfectly you wanted to cry, and maybe you did. It was impossible to tell with the onslaught of sensation. Half-blind, you grabbed Frank by the hair and yanked him up. His protest was cut off when you slammed your lips against his and swallowed the noise. He opened to you with a broken moan. You ran your tongue along his teeth. The coppery tang of blood made your insides curl with disgust just as much as it had you riding Severen’s fingers. You pricked yourself on Frank’s teeth. Sharp pain, the taste of blood, and then he was grabbing the back of your neck and devouring you, teeth and tongue and frenzied need, kissing you like it was his salvation and your demise. It probably was. And God, you wanted nothing more.

A new hand at your neck urged you away from Frank. You turned your head. Severen was leaning up, eyes-half lidded. “Oh, you sure fuckin do. Blood and pussy taste like heaven.” He pulled you in and you kissed him too, tasted your blood and arousal and you moaned into him. Frank nipped at your neck, dragged his hips against yours. Severen’s fingers were still curled inside you.

You were going to explode. You were going to die. You were going to irreversibly shatter apart and it was going to be messy and it was going to feel so fucking good that you wouldn’t even mind.

The sound of a belt and a zipper shot through you like lightning. You were pulled up onto your knees and they both came up with you, Severen in front and Frank behind, pressed against your bloody and sweaty and spit-soaked body. Frank shifted behind you and his tip pressed against your aching cunt. Between Severen fingering you open and the fluids coating your thighs, he was able to slide in with ease. You choked on the feeling, the relief from the emptiness and the fullness of him inside you. An experimental thrust had you doubling over against Severen, which just made his thumb rub harder against your clit. The next thrust hit you even deeper.

You felt sick. Sick with desire, in pain from arousal.

You only belatedly realized you’d reached for Severen’s belt, shaking hands pawing at the clunky metal buckle. He laughed at you but helped anyway. When you curled your blood-slickened fingers around him, his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head and his jaw went slack. He thrust into your hand with barely-restrained desperation. The dual motions were uneven, jolting and frenzied, but then you slid into a rhythm and the three of you writhed in tune. Moans and huffs, cries of pleasure from you and a tear-dampened face. You jerked Severen off as he punished your clit, as Frank fucked into you, as you lost what was left of your mind. You kissed them and they switched between kissing and biting and sucking and licking you. There was so much blood. All of it yours. You couldn’t care.

You seized in pleasure when they bit you at once, teeth buried in either side of your neck, four hands playing you like a finely tuned instrument. Sobs wracked your throat from how good it was. They used your body like a doll, kept moving until their own release was spilling into your hand and filling you up. Kept moving after that, chasing every wretched bit of pleasure in your bodies until the pain had returned and you could no longer tell it apart from the pleasure.

When they finally blessed you with mercy and released you, your body fell limply to the bed. Your limbs were dead, useless, body entirely wrung out. Your head swam and muffled ringing filled your ears. Colored dots danced along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the two bloodied faces peering down at you.

“Thanks for the fun times, sugar.” The words were muffled, as if coming from underwater. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Couldn’t make yourself get up, move, do anything. Why was that bad....? You were so tired. Too hot and too cold and impossibly tired. The bed was heaven underneath you.

The faces were saying something, but you couldn’t hear them.  Didn’t want to.

You let your eyelids slide shut.

The darkness was a blessing.

[radiantcircle-if]

noel isn't a sharpshooter but this reminds me of herrr 😳😩 she'd never even wear a baseball cap BUT NOW I NEED IT

the definition of aura

[free-luigi-mangione]

Jumping into the letter discourse, I also think the actual letters from him are 100% genuine. This is not to say Karen and his team aren’t mindful of how they might impact public perception, and they wouldn’t have cleared him to write if they didn’t think he could handle it. And as the people responsible for getting him off, they absolutely should be looking at these aspects. But I get the vibe that this calculatedness did not come from him, neither is he going to play along if they ask him to go full PR king. He just doesn’t give off those vibes.

I thought the medical student letter was genuine, but the cannoli one struck me as extremely fake even though everyone seemed to think it was genuine. It seemed too saccharine. Everyone keeps clowning on him for being a yapper and I just don’t see it like that. From whatever we’ve heard of his history so far, the things that caused him to isolate, it’s the fact that he put other’s needs before his own and refused to burden them with his own problems. I once spent an entire afternoon going through his Reddit history and he says this outright, that people didn’t take him seriously when he tried to talk. In his last message to his friend Danny in July, he says nobody understood him. It makes sense to me that he’d express genuine gratitude for the connection but also not go Dear Diary with randos because he’s in literal hell right now.

I only knew about this Jules person from her initial post at getting a reply for him, but her follow up behaviour has been abhorrent. I’m not even going to get into the ghetto discourse because that’s coming from the prosecution (nice try, suckers) and I’m so fucking furious that they’d stoop so low. But this lady is a real person, presumably not a law enforcement plant, and the fact that she’d now mock him for writing her back when all she’s done is bombard him with mail is genuinely awful. Like this man is basically stuck in a torture chamber, he took the time out to reply kindly to your letter, and this is how you talk about him in public? What a massively delusional bitch.

I feel really awful about how commodified he has become. The documentaries, now a new book, people leaking messages from years ago, people he spoke to less than a handful of times selling him out, the gross invasion of his privacy in every possible way, and now this letter bullshit. They’ve already thrown him into a cage, and now they’re trying to ruin his reputation. This man has so much to deal with, so much bullshit on his plate, and this is what he gets from the outside too.

the cannoli letter does seem overly sweet compared to the other letters we're used to, but it also has a distinct 'him' voice to it, i can't say this any other way, but it sounds like him??? altho the childhood memories out of nowhere seem weird but then we don't know him as a person. and while that letter matches the letter catalogue, the only thing that struck me as odd about the letter is that it doesn't say anything that we didn't already know (except the bit about making cannoli and being seasick on boat rides, which could be completely true or could have been made up entirely), but then none of his letters said anything that was suddenly new information?? (does him speaking spanish count??? because that was new info for sure)

anyways i don't think any of the letters are him being a pr king, he's just being quite honest with what he writes in all the letters and is just being his kind and charismatic self, he's not sugar coating his responses to make the public like him, he's no celebrity and he knows it, the letters are him being real and we should not try to find any insidious motive behind them, simply because there aren't any

and yeah jules the letter receiver riding on the high horse of having gotten the first public carpe diem from him has definitely lost the plot, because arguing that he is being stupid for answering letters when he has the death penalty hanging over his head, all while she is the one milking that letter and making it her whole personality and threatening to doxx a senior citizen with a sick child who spent the holidays rushing between her home and the hospital, is absolutely insane and cringe behaviour and i sincerely hope she grows up a bit and learns to behave like a responsible adult living within society

and about ruining his reputation, his reputation doesn't get ruined if we don't pay any attention to the mindless garbage that daily mail and their likes and random social media users come up with. they want our attention, and if we don't engage with them or their "content" and stop paying attention to them, sooner or later they're bound to get the memo that trying to tarnish his name isn't benefitting them simply because the general public refuses to acknowledge any such notion they come up with. we really really need to be careful about what we talk about and how we talk about it because we do end up influencing public perception some way or the other. this is not a game. we are actively playing with fire and if we're not careful, we might bring the house down around with us even if that's not what we want to do.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

''#and in-ho in particular represents the overarching idea of 'human nature/people do not change‚ no matter how ''good'' you are'''

I don't think this can be said with certainty before watching season 3, particularly as we know we're getting more in-ho backstory/a look at his character in season 3.

I could see an ending where in-ho doesn't change his belief...but I'm also not sure that's got the full meat of what they're doing with his character. and, even if he doesn't change for it, I think the part of him that does have conflict over it...that subconscious piece that does have hope that he's wrong...is very important, and compelling, and interesting, to who he is -- and what's been broken in him and what he's fallen from, how he's found himself in this darkness and whether it's encompassing or whether there still is something that could enjoy the goodness of humanity in him. and there is a beacon of light in gi-hun, that in-ho is obviously trying to quash, but I really don't think 100% of him wants it to be quashed.

I also don't know that a message of 'once this person loses any hope in humanity there's absolutely no way for him to come back from that and he wouldn't even want to' is particularly...great? as a message or commentary.

i dunno, maybe he will just be a 'I'm evil and darkness and this has been my master plan and I've never once hesitated'...but that's not really what I've taken from it so far (despite, yes, all his manipulation and calculatedness), nor something I'd find very fulfilling as a story.

Definitely agreed that there is depth to him! He's absolutely a complex character, and I think (but may not have gotten across clearly in my couple of posts about it) that the emotions he experiences while playing the games with Gi-hun are somewhat genuine. I think the showrunners actively want us to see those emotions and view them that way! I just think he's leveraging those things for the ultimate purpose of tearing Gi-hun's worldview apart (for a wide range of possible reasons). It seemed like the main read of his character in fandom spaces has been more focused on magnifying whatever inner conflict there may be (to the point of being surprised that he didn't have a change of heart at the end), so I wanted to emphasize that he is actually doing this stuff on purpose. I'm looking forward to how they develop him in Season 3!

I also don't think the show will necessarily conclude that "people don't change, no matter how good you are" (meaning human nature, not necessarily In-ho in particular), but that is the "thesis" of In-ho's character at this point. What I mean is that, narratively, his function is to argue against Gi-hun's belief in people and their ability to overcome their horrible circumstances, and to do the right thing instead of the selfish one. In-ho joins the games with the express purpose of proving that no matter how clearly Gi-hun makes his case, no matter what he tries to do, people are going to play the games anyway, because human nature won't change: "survival of the self ahead of others" is the fundamental drive of all people. And these people need the money to survive, so they will play at the cost of others' lives.

Gi-hun's character is challenged by the events of season 2 because that claim seems to be being proven right; even when many people want to leave the games, and even when the cost is clear, there is still a larger faction who want to stay. But what he doesn't know is that In-ho is orchestrating events so that that is certain to occur! Without In-ho as the final player, the games might have stopped; someone else might have voted X. And that's just the most obvious of the changes made because of his role. So in the end, it's not actually a fair fight of ideas--the system/establishment that tries to set people against their fellow man has so much more power that they can "make their case" more convincingly. That's why In-ho wins in the end: what he represents has (at least for now) come out on top, because the people he represents are already there.

Since he is a human, I think it's likely that he feels a degree of inner conflict about this. But everything we've seen from him indicates that he really does believe his perspective to be the only reasonable way of seeing things. And that's deeply tied with his own choices: if he was wrong, if there was another way, then how can he ever hope to atone for the wrong he's done? The more people do in the name of their ideas, the more desperately they become entrenched in them.

In short, I think In-ho is very complex and compelling--just maybe not as conflicted as people like to read him. He's not as sympathetic if he really believes in what he's doing, but I think the plain reading would indicate that he almost entirely does. But it's more interesting, in a way, to have a villain who doesn't want to be proven wrong! And more satisfying if, in the end, he can be--and perhaps can even change, himself.

(Also, I'm not sure if you sent another ask as well, but I tried to touch on both of them here in any case!)

[jyeshindra]

Motivation in Astrology

One helpful way of processing astrology for me has been to look into motivations for each sign. Why do they behave the way they do? What is each sign energetically driven by?

I did my own little brainstorm so I've decided to share! Hopefully you find some resonance either in yourself or people in your life.

Aries - I am

Aries is very much motivated by leadership. There is a definitive self-interest in Aries folk. What will benefit them and put them ahead? What will allow them to individuate and stand on their own? They want to take the lead. 

Motivated by leadership, challenges, battles. Spontaneity, fun, excitement. Something new.

Taurus - I have

Motivated by material security. What they have. They want to feel secure in a very physical sense. I have what I need to take care of myself and the people I love. I can enjoy my life and delight in the simple things.

Gemini - I think

Motivated by communication! They want to form new connections and socialize. They want to learn new things and take in new information. They want that intellectual stimulation.

Cancer - I feel

Motivated by emotional security. More than any other water sign I think they are very tuned in to how they feel about where they are, who they’re with, what they’re doing. Their feelings will push them in different directions. They want to be surrounded by loved ones, people close to them, relics of the past, and they want enough money to take care of themselves. 

Leo - I will

Motivated by their heart and their ego! Literally their sense of self. They want to express themselves and they understand the world through how they come off to other people. To be more specific…it’s their self-image. They’re outgoing, gregarious, and live right from their hearts! They kind of want to be the center of your world and they want to be the person people come to. They want to give advice, lift you up, remind you of who you are and what you’re capable of.

Virgo - I analyze

Motivated by perfection! “How can I make this better?” Virgo analyzes and studies the structure to find a new system. How can I make this better! How can I improve, update, make this more efficient, stronger, structured, stable. Truly I think Virgos want to learn how to serve better.

Libra - I balance

Motivated by harmony. Balance. They want harmony in their environment, in their relationships especially. They’ll usually leverage and negotiate and make sacrifices or take action to achieve this. They want peace in their environments. They’ll use their words to achieve this. Their thoughts and their ideas.

Scorpio - I desire

Motivated by their desires. Their ambitions. Their relationships. More specifically their emotional investment in such things. Scorpio wants to go deeper, towards what they desire. Whether it be a person, a job, an artistic passion, etc. Whatever they desire, they want to pierce to the truth of it. The compulsion. This is why they have such incredible self-awareness, perceptive abilities, and transformative qualities. They are very aware of their desires.

Sagittarius - I see

Motivated by expansion and opportunity! Novelty, education, seeking out new opportunities. They are motivated by expansion! What will bring them the stimulation of something new? They want to get out there and explore. What will help them grow? I think every Sagittarius wants that…a-ha moment! Where they see the big picture.

Capricorn - I use

Motivated by achievement. Capricorns want to progress in the world and climb the ranks. They want the earthly security that comes from what they are able to accomplish in life. This creates the discipline, focus, and even the coldness and calculatedness of Capricorn.

Aquarius - I know

Motivated by service. Not in a 1 to 1 way like Virgo, I think they actually want to serve the collective in some way. They care about humanity and are very interested in people. I think that’s why they collect knowledge and learn so much about other people and how they operate. They are still independent which I think speaks to the contradictory nature of Uranus rulership. They want to serve the collective and also retain their freedom.

Pisces - I believe

Motivated by their beliefs! By their connection to something “bigger”. Pisces wants to make their dreams come true so they’re connected to their sense of magic and their spirituality. What they believe in often shapes their life journey and the direction they flow in.

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

hi! i read ''got shocked'' and i loved it! this is probably the stupidest question, but what did you mean when you said ''she was kind, but not gentle''. ? what's the difference? i really like your shit<3

oh my GOSH you have no idea how excited i get when people point out specific things that i write, thank you much for asking me this and NO QUESTION IS A STUPID QUESTION I REALLY APPREVIATE BEING ASKED SHIT

to answer your q…

i think i meant that kind and gentle don’t necessarily go hand in hand. gentle is more like tender and caring outwardly in my head, and the OFC/y/n isn’t really that. she’s not really caring 😭😭 like she does not give a fuck about the people she works with (except a select few) and she doesn’t go out of her way to do things for them, more like she has to or is made to.

Her kindness is strategic and a conscious decision because, as a woman in a male-dominated field — and I guess ‘got shocked’ was an exploration of that workplace and how certain men behave — she knows she won’t get places if she’s prickly and doesn’t want to sacrifice her career over someone calling her a bitch because she didn’t let someone call her sweetheart or buck. so she lets it happen.

she’s not a pushover, but she’s not going to burn the status quo down because it’s not practical and doesn’t align with her interests.

and because rust is fixating on her, he comes to uncover this, although he—a man—struggles to comprehend her passivity. he’s more permitted to be ‘active’, to slap geraci over his face for crossing him, while she isn’t. ((in my head, part of why she left Brooklyn was because she snapped a bit)). he admires the restraint that, really, he could never develop to the same extent because he was not raised with that female passivity drilled into him all his life.

this gap in his ability to understand her fully fucks with him because zuh he wants her but just doesn’t know it yet. and the fact that it’s fucking with him fucks with him because he knows, really, he shouldn’t care at all

very overwhelming, hence the near panic attack/synesthesia overload

innnnn conclusion, i think i used to phrase like “decidedly kind” or something instead of just “kind” because i don’t think her character is like necessarily kind because she’s dishonest and kind of deceptive and, even if that is for some sort of survival, that’s not plain kind it’s calculated.

if you’ve read the idler wheel or other stuff I’ve written ((thank you if you have ☺️☺️☺️☺️)), she does have tenderness that she lets herself feel relatively freely—in the confines of her own mind/world at least, very separate from her job.

she likes rust as well, but he is kind of a calculated risk in itself 😭 like she willingly sacrificed some part of her ego too to let herself indulge in that want, just as he did, though maybe in a slightly different way. and if you read the second part to the Idler Wheel (it’s coming I swear, this is self-promotion), then you’ll see that she’s dealing with the consequences of her sort of “deception”/calculatedness, wanting to give way to genuineness which does not usually come naturally to her

anyhoo pls ask me more questions about this kinda stuff, I love answering 🤓🤓🤓

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 8

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: ~4.4k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7]

[ao3 version here]

He didn’t want to save them the way they wanted. After all, it’s not what the good doctor prescribed. No. Hannibal had something else in mind entirely, and soon they too would understand.

———

“This new interest you have acquired begs questioning, Hannibal,” insinuated a starch-stiff blonde woman, the doctor’s very own psychiatrist, Bedelia Du Maurier. She was a temple of collected calmness, exuding a brand of cunning calculations that wasn’t too dissimilar to that of Hannibal Lecter’s, as she sat up straight within the confines of her home, the glowing dawn light filtering through the tall windows just out of reach to paint over her coldness in a warm palette.

   While the other doctor kept to the shadows, placed across from Bedelia inside the otherwise plain and dull room. “I am only doing what is in the purview of my job as her psychiatrist,” dismissed Hannibal without batting a second glance at the accusation, legs crossed, leant back. Relaxed; far too relaxed.

   “There are others who would disagree.”

   His eyes narrowed, whetting knives. “And what is it that you believe?”

   “I,” she said with a pause to mull over her answer, “believe you are indulging Emma Darcy’s sudden mania. Whether it is for her sake or your curiosity, that remains to be seen.”

   “You make it seem as if she is some sort of experiment and not my patient.” 

   “If she’s not, then how do you see her?”

   He drifted his glance elsewhere, to the outside world. “A fox running from its home and hanging onto the tails of a wayward bird,” became his response.

   “Foxes are cunning beasts, both predator and prey, able to recognise a trap when they see it and entirely impossible to tame without having bred them to be against their nature. To do the impossible, you would have to be god.”

   “It is not my intention to tame her.” 

   The calculatedness of their conversation was like a game of tennis, hitting back and forth until one rulents, except they used blades instead of rackets and their strikes were prods at each other’s brains. A game which both excelled at for the little undiscerning reactions on their faces. Until right then, when, ever a master at the game, Hannibal’s body language sharpened on all edges, muscles tightening and snapping his attention Bedelia’s way.

   She had struck true and hit a nerve. “Tell me, Hannibal, is she the predator or the prey caught in your snare?” Bedelia questioned. She dared to go further, though knew whatever glimpse she witnessed would subside itself back into the shadows and under designer flesh to never be seen unless necessary. In the mind of Dr Bedelia Du Maurier, Hannibal Lecter was an endangered species, rarely seen but always there. He might do anything to survive.

   Silence filled the room as a bitter aftertaste. Hannibal took his time to answer, for there wasn’t an acceptable one that sprang to mind, other than this: “I want to help her thrive .”

———

When the FBI’s curious consultant exited the newest site for information on the Ghost Writer case, there was very little left to do on an evening so quickly devoured by night’s starry teeth. Most subsided into their humble abodes, away from terror and horror.

   As the moon rolled up on the horizon, Emma envied those working hard in the labs; stuck in the middle of multiple messed-up murders – in turn, she was disgusted by her envy. The case was just as much hers to work on, given the quite personal circumstances, yet instead of helping find a murderer (and Alex), Marcus had her stuck at a charity gala inside a museum, where forced interactions were a necessity – public image and all that. Emma didn’t just represent her sane self but the Darcy Estate, the family name, her father’s legacy. The pressure hung around her neck in the shape of a noose, where all it took was one wrong move and everything would be gone per the clause in her father’s will, back to the original state it was in before his passing. Sometimes she wanted to kick the stool herself and no longer have anything to do with the whole lot. Sometimes, she saw Marcus, who had been entrusted with the Estate’s funds – he who had been the closest thing to an uncle she knew from her father – and thought the better of it. That’s the thing with family, you have obligations beside the physical bodies. All Emma had left were those obligations and, despite everything, she felt a responsibility to see it through. Perhaps it was spite or some weird form of love.

   People that didn’t know better would say money.

   Imported jewels dangled from ears and an ample neck, and a red pooling fabric shifted snugly over Emma’s form as she took Marcus’ hand out of the car. The long satin dress gathered as a puddle around her feet whenever she remained still. Blood-like. Starting, wrapping from one shoulder and ending on the wet ground with a single slice on the leg to allow movement. Much more extravagant than she was used to; perfect for the occasion; suiting the location of the colossal pillared white stone building, carvings of ancient beings hid on the walls, and a gilded, former observatory roof glistened in the centre.

   She fidgeted with her hair, piling it over her shoulder before following her overly-dressed agent up the steps, passing marbled, nude figures that held up the front of the museum in twisting positions. Every step forward brought the building higher and higher to the point of blocking out the moon. Intimidating with an open wooden maw, pouring out golden light and laughter and swarms of human bodies making their way to and fro. She stared down the entrance, stopping mere feet away while others – elite, chin-up, socialites – swerved around her as her mind briefly went to the case, carrying on with their chosen lives and ignoring how close hers was to ending.

   It should have been easier to walk through that vintage glamour, through marble-encased hallways, past grand hung paintings and champagne flute-carrying servers, but it was too much like her old life, pretentious and fake and overwhelming. Here she felt like a prized beast meant for harvesting till every last drop, made to be worth every last cent. Some people stared from paintings and statues, behind silver trays, luxurious clothed tables, centrepieces and drapery, because they heard of the value the Darcy Estate had accumulated and how its sole fortune heir came out of her reclusive burrow as she so occasionally did. To them, she was a rare sight.

   To Emma, she hated it. Hated the way her revealing flesh shivered and her stomach sunk under their eyes. A reaction she shared with her late mother was that these people cared for one thing and one thing only; wealth and who had the most. They couldn't care less about getting to know the person behind it or anyone unless money was at stake, which practically made this gala a hunting ground for the rich. Add that along to the real danger of a serial killer possibly vying for her attention, that Alex, for all intents and purposes, was still missing, and it could not be any worse timing. If Emma intended to survive the night, then she’d have to move through the underbrush of people with care. Tonight was open season, after all.

   “Do I have to do this?” questioned Emma, her head already on a swivel.

   Marcus sighed. “You know better than I do about your requirements, Emma.” Which meant she had to, and that was a lie. He was there when they were read, she wasn’t. “Tell you what, let’s just stick it out until the first piece is sold, then we can head off, okay?” he offered in a move to please her, and she nodded. But it did not ease the crosshairs aimed at her head.

   What unease she felt did not spill over to Marcus, however, he seemed comfortable, soaking in the light with a ravenous hunger that had been left untouched and rewarding his complexion by way of making him glow. It was safe to say he loved it, greedily. He would take whatever he could get, staying by her side through every held conversation, laughing along and grabbing passing refreshments when required, smoothing back his slicked hair to blend in, and adjusting the ivory cufflinks gifted to him by her father, so he remained pristine. Though he never went far from her. One would say that the agent was more her handler as he showed her off to all those who mattered.

   A tight leash. That’s what the painting beside them read, A Tight Leash . Such an exposing piece – Emma found it odd yet very right to her predicament. A fake, surely. Not that the ogling hundreds cared, and not the living skeletons, trophy pairs or wannabes. As each man and woman had their turn, Emma became more and more stifled. The room shrunk, slowly dragging the ceiling down upon her head while Marcus, ever the artist, played oblivious. He tightened his grab of her arm in what he must have thought was encouraging, but it did the opposite. She wanted out. The noises drowned her head, and she wanted out. She was gasping for air, so she pulled back quite hard and stormed towards the nearest balcony, window or door. She tumbled and twisted. At various points, she lost her footing, and then quickly recovered without care. Half a mad woman amongst the sane; she had no clue where she was going, blurred walls and objects tend to look the same after a while. 

   Eventually, a cold breeze brushed her paled parchment cheeks as doors swung close and there was nothing else but the darkness of night and a stone balcony atop the cliff-edge, where she swore she could hear waves lapping even though there was no water in sight. Safe to say, it was peaceful. Just what the doctor would have ordered; away from bodies, dead and alive.

   Emma leaned against the ledge, soaking in the gentle night with closed eyes, and she could almost imagine she was safe. “That was quite… the scene,” spoke another who entered after her. At first, the recognition didn’t register, but she had heard that man’s voice a thousand times in her mind, and immediately, her body tensed in trepidation. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I just.” Muscles tensed turned clenched, fingers burning bright red. “Actually, I don’t care any more, Marcus. I cannot do—”

   Then everything stopped when she turned around. Her quick-found, righteous anger rolled over her as fast as the confidence originally came to her as she realised her mistake. “Dr. Lecter?” she asked like the clear-cut figure dressed in fine black in front of her was not enough to believe his sudden appearance outside work or their sessions. How could she have ever mistaken that rich, velvet accent?

   “We keep doing this,” said Hannibal, the same as ever. Normal.

   “One of us ought to stop it,” responded Emma.

   “Probably.”

   And neither budged under the quiet dark. Constellations witnesses to their reluctance.

   “Marcus?” he quirked his head, confounded.

   New lines contorted around her nose, eyes, brow and mouth while she ran a hand through her hair and she fumbled her words, “Yeah. My agent. A scene?”

   “Quite a few people noticed. It was hard not to. This would be the same man whose house you borrowed that became a crime scene, the ‘close family friend’, correct?”

   “The very one. Who you obviously aren’t because you’re not going to try and kill me. God, this is a mess. I’m so sorry.” 

   The smallest of smiles crested Hannibal’s face, so small yet discernable nonetheless, then it stopped. He smiled ? At what? Her embarrassment, an inside joke or her insanity? A man like him could be thinking a million things, and it wasn’t fair that he knew her thoughts while she knew nothing of what rattled inside him. Then again, she shouldn’t care. She didn’t want to know (but, oh, how she needed to). “What brings you here?” enquired Emma ever so casually without realising she had spoken before the question left her sober(?) lips, and he slowly took up the space on her right.

   “I was concerned about the welfare of one of my patients,” he said.

   “Ah, I see.” she slumped against the carved grey mass. “So we’re patient and doctor this evening then,” commented her as she returned to facing the night horizon.

   “Being colleagues typically requires us to be near a body

   “Being doctor-patient typically requires a hefty bill.”

   “And you are avoiding my point.”

   “You’re avoiding my question. You know what I meant,” said Emma like a stern reminder, because today of all days, she deemed it fair and, plus, if she knew why a man such as himself was here at a charity art gala, then maybe she could avoid running into him at the next one (or maybe not). Hannibal pierced her fair gaze with an ease akin to sharpened metal slicing paper, careful not to let on too much. Never did give much away; everything he did was so subtle you had to really look. Otherwise, everything moved with purpose.

   “Tit for tat. You tell first, then I will… open myself up for an unpaid therapy session, god knows I could probably use one right now,” she suggested after the brief stifling silence like he was the one demanding she spill her guts to him.

   A slight head tilt; a new perspective. “Fairness for an equal footing. It does seem only right, lest we behave like unmannered beasts,” conceded Hannibal.

   “You first.”

   “The art. Out of all the things man has created, it is quite beautiful. It will never die.”

   Emma stood still, more taken aback by the honest answer than she should have been.

   “Not the answer you were expecting?” he asked.

   “No. I mean, kind of. I’ve always had you down for a man with fine taste and the luxury of being able to afford it, but you’re not like them , the savages,” she replied with a pointed look aimed at the high society scoffing caviar, oysters and champagne down their wide open mouths and cackling imprudently behind the closed glass-paned door.

   Hannibal did neither. If he ever did, Emma imagined he’d be more polite, and as he spoke he seemed to share a similar opinion, following her gaze in every way. “They are a different breed of stock. Though, occasionally, one finds the few worthy of sinking one’s teeth into.”

   “That would make you sound superior.” Hannibal gave her pause from the corner of his periphery. “To which I’d have to wholeheartedly agree upon. Being around them suffocates me in mere seconds, they are a rotten lot, and with you, it’s… different, as is a fresh breeze in old lungs. It is how you put it, I am able to sink my teeth into you,” she admitted, and the truth it was. If he allowed, she would take a bite out of him any day to assuage her monstrous brain – which was another truth, since normal people don’t confess such things. Quickly, she picks back up, “which answers your point. I’m okay now, I think I should be. Just needed to get away and…”

   “Stop wearing the facade you’ve so tightly adorned?”

   “Yes.”

   Hazardous winds slash at the joyous moon, dark clouds covering up the pale light in fractured distillation as curled strands of hair whip across Emma’s bared flesh. But she doesn’t feel pain or the cold or anything like she knows she should, except freedom when their sights lined up in each other's view. Dappled moon rays swarmed along his frame, washing the sharp edges of his silhouette in pale holy light and putting him closer to being a piece of art created by the greats and touched by god with the creases on his face the markings of an oil painting’s brush strokes; the kind of art you couldn’t tear away from. Emma watched as those warm maroon eyes of his trailed down her face and neck, her throat bobbing with a hard, silent gulp until he reached the small, discoloured circular burst indented on her shoulder like a star burning a hole through the deep blue cloth of night, a scar. But hers was anything other than a beautiful constellation. It was pain.

   It was a reminder.

   That is when the sound of waves lapping upon rocky teeth reached her ears. Danger. She was getting too close. But there is no water, only dry land. Dry land surrounded them for miles and miles. Is any of this real? Emma questioned herself, reality and him; if he could just be a figment created by her subconscious to calm her in a moment of stress.

   She withdrew back, breaking contact and covering up the age-old scar once again. The line redrawn. Real or not, she couldn’t make the same mistake thrice. This had to remain professional, no matter how good it felt to think there might be someone who spoke the same language as her soul – that was his job, to ‘understand’ . He couldn’t actually understand her. She was messed up. There was no way.

   Thunderous applause drew her attention to the inside where people emptied the floor and searched for their seats as the band took their thanks. “We missed the dance,” murmured Emma solemnly, realising the long passage of time that must have passed.

   “Must have been an elating experience. Do you dance, Emma?” pondered Hannibal, who, thankfully, maintained the distance she had carved.

   “In the sense that I am trained, yes.”

   “Then it seems we both missed out on a good thing.”

   He tried bringing her back, but her mind was caught elsewhere. Reality came crashing so hard it took her a few seconds to catch up as the professional in her recalled the event’s schedule. Drinks, dancing, then…

   Like it was written across her face, Hannibal interfered, “The auction will start soon. Unless you intend on missing that as well?”

   “No. No, I mustn’t,” sighed Emma, and she rubbed her forehead before straightening up and composing herself for what would be hell on earth the second a man declared her a mine to be dug for its gold, that or the berating Marcus was going to lay out on her. Smoothing out the creases of her dress, she reached for the door handle when Hannibal held it open and followed her inside where the warmth smothered them both upon entry.

   For once here, people ignored the pair as they manoeuvred around and a murmuring silence began to fall into place. What could not so easily be ignored was the slickened Marcus, shoving his way through the crowd with veins and a jaw that looked like it would pop at a moment’s notice. Hannibal regarded the man while the sea of people kept them separated. “That agent of yours doesn’t seem to be too happy,” he said.

   “Yeah, well, he doesn’t appreciate being made a fool when my father’s money is at stake. The man enjoys his fake wealth,” said Emma, searching for an escape from both men, but no door, seat or direction would accomplish such a task unless it meant mingling with the unsavoury. No, she had one choice, and she was not in the mood for Marcus’ reminders of duty and inheritance. Plus, time was drawing near when the auction would start and two single seats glistened in the distance, far from Marcus’ reach, close to an audience he wouldn’t dare start anything in front of. “Do me a favour, Dr. Lecter, please. Sit with me,” she implored the doctor, though it was less of an ask and more of a desperate command.

   Hannibal had to admit that it was almost appealing. “I do not think that is a good idea,” he told her, but he did not leave her side.

   Seats were getting full. Her spot was compromised by a couple walking in its direction. She had to come up with something. “Every second I spend here builds up pressure in the mask I wear. If Marcus speaks to me, I’m not sure how long it will last before I lose myself again. But if you join me instead, I will be okay. Which is what you want, right Dr. Lecter? To ensure I am as you intend me to be, better?” Against her better wishes, she tried to appeal to him. He was her psychiatrist, after all. Emma Darcy’s mental health was his concern.

   “Very well, then,” gave in he, and she swore he smiled, but it must have just been a trick of the lights dimming as they made their way to the front table, not a second wasted. They moved past the couple, taking the last seats at the table, each other only an arm’s reach, and Marcus was forced to stay at the back while the first auctioned piece was put into place on the stage with a large red cloth, and the black-suited auctioneer approached the podium, standing front and centre, ready to do the job he was paid so much to do.

   “You never did mention why it is that you are attending, Emma,” whispered Hannibal, leaning towards her.

   “Oh,” she said unexpectedly, like the thought never occurred to her that someone wouldn’t know because everyone else already did, and she gestured Hannibal’s focus towards the veiled object looming behind the auctioneer. “The painting belongs to my mother. My family’s estate donated it for the auction, so we could help raise money for the gala. We’ve been doing it for years now. Only this time, it just so happened that I was in the area, so Marcus insisted that it would be a good idea,” answered her in a fellow hushed voice, and never removed her eyes from the would-be painting. Silence fell over them all, the spotlight gravitating all focus on that shining stage. Their excitement was so palpable one could taste it in the air, like sweat from the back of a pig fed only on truffles. But none felt as Emma did as she sat on the edge of her seat, not in that same excitement. She sat full of nerves, worms wriggling around her stomach. It had been decades since she last saw this painting, and now she would see it again. It was to be a reunion.

   “Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” echoed the auctioneer’s voice.

   Emma’s fingers tapped, restless.

   “Now, we know you’ve been waiting for this moment so let us not keep you waiting any longer and let’s get to donating some money. Tonight we have a very special piece lined up for you, generously provided by long-time supporters of our wonderful cause.”

   Unknowingly, the rhythm became a pacing heartbeat. A hand enveloped her wrist, making hers look ridiculously small. Hannibal meant nothing by it, only that she should stop and stop she did. Emma really was unsuited to these environments. One would be better off throwing her at a crime scene or the morgue.

   The auctioneer carried on, smiling ever so. “For those with religion on their minds and walls, this is an original, never-before-seen, oil painting done by William-Adolphe Bouguereau that was first discovered by Marie Harker in 1925 and passed down her family for generations until now.” A couple of staff stood ready by the painting. Gloved palms grabbed the red cloth. “The Woman in Red!” cheerily announced the man as off went the covering, blood-like rivers billowing from the motion before pilling into a puddle on the marble below.

   It did not get the reaction he hoped.

   Glass shattered. The first sound: a crescendo of champagne flutes breaking. A dozen, maybe, maybe more. But no oohs or ahhs . In fact, the first sound physically made by a human after the unveiling was shrieks so loud they could shatter the already broken glass. People had even run from their seats, and all because of the blood that dripped from the real-life heart stitched into place, held by an all too real hand where dark skin stretched in a manner that could never be replicated without the use of actual skin, and a face. The face with shiny eyes, rosy cheeks, lips plump, and pores so visible, changing by the light and not paint strokes. The face that seemed alive. The face Emma would recognise a mile away, especially when she sat right up close to that red-robed woman stretched onto a canvas, holding heart and dagger, a solar eclipse purifying the action as it christened the black halo that was her hair.

   A reunion it was indeed, for there solved the mystery of missing Alex Bennet, now deceased.

   The pulse in Emma’s throat throbbed.

   Her stomach felt empty at the sight.

   She did not run like the others. She did not cry. Instead, as Hannibal carefully inspected her reaction, her other hand grabbed his and shock took her in a myriad of ways. But mostly due to the one single thought she disgusted herself to think, yet hungered for nonetheless: it was beautiful.

———

“And have you helped her?” was the question brought up by Bedelia, the psychiatrist’s psychiatrist.

   If this had been asked at the beginning of their doctor-patient relationship, Hannibal would merely admit a fleeting fancy to a woman who struggled on the occasion, that she was merely another patient like any other. He had seen a glimpse of who she could be under the facade society forced her to hide under, an endangered species on the verge of extinction. But that did not have to be the case. Not anymore. Not for either of them. And he was interested in seeing what might happen, more than anything, to the woman who dared to be inspired by the Chesapeake Ripper voluntarily and whose mind drank in crimes against human nature like a fine red wine.

   A short smile deigned his face. “I am beginning.”

   “Then this fox must be careful where she steps.” One wrong move, and she would be better off dead. If Bedelia appeared concerned, then she did not show it.

   Hunger struck a cord inside the man, the doctor, the being. He was well and truly intrigued. So much so that inspiration filled a desire.

   And what is desire if not hunger?

[hellsiteacademia]

Shäharah Ðakın - I : Polar Bear - The Snow Desert

ähram baxal bhrum'aim ||

The polar bear is a being whose strength is in solitude and in overcoming adversity. With great patience and in a terrain of absolute desolation, the polar bear is one of the best hunters of the animal kingdom. He is the ðakın of Nurun, the sovereign of the snow desert. The only carnivorous bear in the animal kingdom and the only animal to not show signs of aggression even while hunting, he represents the ferociousness of the wild and the calm calculatedness of his hunt. He represents trusting one's instincts to the absolute fullness, to go through life alone and to make adversity one's home, to embrace the harshness of life and to not just survive but thrive in it. The polar bear does not have the luxury of indulgence, every move he makes has to be calculated and he must endure long distances to nourish himself. However, even when he is an earth being, his powers lie in ice, water and air, teaching you to endure through internal and external hardships, blowing away pain and trauma. Those who embrace the polar bear as their ðakın know the keys to nourishment, to feed oneself in the right manner, whether it be food materially, mentally or spiritually. And his hexagram reflects just that. Thunder over mountain, all of earth encased by heaven, it represents awakening within stillness, just like the polar bear. He warns us to be discerning about what we “swallow”—to feed ourselves only what is true and sustaining. His entire life is an exercise in discernment: when to act, what to hunt, how to conserve energy and he advises us to do the same. Absolute inversion and knowledge in one, the knowledge intuition, introspection, calculation and precision, to go deep within oneself to find the truth. He is the winter fire. His capacity to metabolise even in the harshest winter without hibernation a miraculous feat in and of itself. He contains within him the power of all elements. With black skin and reflective white fur, the duality of being reflected in his very essence.

The Snow Desert - Places of the Winter Court

Toward the west within the winter court, you find the Snow Desert, the land of the polar bear. A vast frozen landscape filled with harsh winds and ice rains like shards of glass. Every time you feel uncontrollable emotions or memories coursing through your mind, you come to this place with a voice saying “let it pass through you” until the winds calm once more and the landscape fills with the diverse spirits of the winter court.

[dissociacrip]

tw/cw for discussion on what qualifies something as child abuse vs. child torture

i get that part of what distinguishes ICT from other forms of child abuse is planning and calculatedness...but that doesn't mean all forms of child abuse that aren't spontaneous emotional decisions qualify as ICT; what i went through was only "torture" in a metaphorical sense

i think generally any implication that methodical abuse of children is outside the norm vs. emotionally-driven abuse of children seriously underestimates how much methodical abuse of children is baked into the ideals of western society

like putting soap and hot sauce in kids' mouths as punishment is falling out of fashion but that's also culturally seen as "discipline," methodical abuse that qualifies as ICT should not be defined by its status as methodical alone; sending a child alone to their room to await being spanked as punishment is abuse & it is deliberate and methodical rather than purely driven by the emotion of the abuser, but it unless it is taken to a certain extent, i'd have a really hard time being convinced it should qualify as ICT

and i cptsd have flashbacks to that exact experience sometimes; the mounting dread that comes with knowing you're going to experience pain at the hands of someone who is supposed to take care of you whenever they decide to come into your room to deliver the punishment vs. the sudden shock of pain when i got suddenly smacked, hit, grabbed, etc. i can see where that would veer into ICT territory depending on how it's practiced, how often it's practiced, what the nature of the punishment is, etc. but that part of my abuse experience alone is not something i would consider ICT

child abuse in general can be "torturous" imo if it's taken to a certain extent even if purely driven by emotion, but i think it's best to operate with a gauge of severity/the extent of the methodology in addition to a basic methodical nature to distinguish btwn ICT vs. other abuse

i'm not talking abt the validity, other people's experiences btw, i'm talking about my own, because whenever i see ICT defined by laypeople as "calculated & methodical whereas regular child abuse is spontaneous and emotionally-driven" i just think that's an overly simplistic way of looking at it, especially when practices like the spanking thing i described above are such common practice but ICT as a concept is understood as being an abnormal experience

[atanx]

I don't think it's problematic to see them romantically, it's just really not my thing.

The game leaves their relationship up to interpretation, and I think a lot of people, probably especially younger ones, immediately think of a father-son relationship and then have a knee-jerk response because they then see hankcon as incest. Because they started out from that father-son relationship mindset. I don't really see them that way myself, I see them more as close friends, but I admit that I do have that father-son backdrop, so I don't ship it personally. But that's what filtering and blocking tags is for.

And I think you do have a point in that there probably is ageism involved for some people. The idea of older people still having sexual and romantic relationships is uncomfortable for some, likely because of societal stigma around those topics, and instead of shutting the fuck up about it and reflecting on their ageism, they spout bs on the internet without thinking about it twice.

Finally, maybe some people feel that there IS an age gap, since at the start of the game Connor has been activated for like just under three months at most from what we know, meaning he has limited life experience. The fandom also tends to infantilise Connor already, treating him like an innocent oblivious bean despite the murders and manipulation (I don't say this to say that he's 'evil' or something but that it's a sign of calculatedness and mental maturity). So I feel like that might combine with ageism in a sort of repulsion in some people that they don't interrogate.

(Of course, there is discussion to be had about how to even apply the concept of 'age' to androids. Connor has the mental faculties of an adult person that can make his own choices, and has demonstrated the ability to make his own choices even if pressured, and as such I don't see a power imbalance here.)

And yes, if they were the same age (again, whatever that means for androids), this would most likely be a popular old man yaoi type ship. And there would probably be more people shipping this if Connor were a woman because unfortunately a good amount of people are still fucking weird in a bad way about female characters and especially female-male platonic relationships.

idea of them having father/son relationship is indeed very adorable and appealing but shipping them (as they are both ADULT men) is not problematic.

everyone can interpret their relationship as they want. now, i know it maybe controversial take but I know if they were both the same age or Connor would be a female character, shipping wouldn't be such a problem.

so, this hankcon controversy smells like ageism to me and maybe even homophobia but I'm NOT throwing that accusation at everyone who has problem with hankcon. I just know some people who would fit in this category... have a nice day/evening, would love to hear y'all's thoughts just don't be disrespectful plz

[soldier--poet--queen]

this is gonna be illegible for anyone who hasn't seen hakumyu but i've always said that teruma was "extra" and mikata ryosuke was "fine" so honestly they just make up two halves of sannan's whole

[idlesuperstar]

Dirk Bogarde (and Michael Bryant) in The Mind Benders [d: Basil Dearden, 1963]

[spiceberrie]

i'm sick of hearing the "i think back to like two or three months ago nobody in the whole world thought we'd be in this position right now let alone make the playoffs" spiel but i do love the mt19 mindgames and calculatedness victory lap going on right now.