#where it could and in this case seems to be unintentional

[pin-k-ink]

cotton candy // oikawa tooru

tw ⇢ none. absolutely none…i think.

wc ⇢ 3k

a/n: there’s no special reason as to why i named this fic ‘cotton candy’ other than the fact that i’m craving cotton candy right now

Oikawa Tooru had been caught staring off into space one too many times lately - a dreamy, uncharacteristically lovestruck expression plastered across his usual smug mug. If his teammates noticed his distractingly dopey smiles during practice, they knew better than to call him out on it. At least, not when the source of Oikawa's endless endearing habits sat just a few rows over in their shared lecture hall.

You'd think after finally landing an actual date - let alone an official girlfriend - with his latest object of affection, the self-proclaimed playboy would have dialed it back a notch or two. But no, your acceptance of Oikawa's advances had only turbocharged his ardor into maximum overdrive.

"Dude, put your tongue back in your mouth before you choke on it," Hanamaki muttered in a tone thick with second-hand embarrassment. He not-so-subtly gestured towards the front of the hall, where you sat obliviously taking notes.

Oikawa blinked dazedly, pulling his sappy gaze away from the back of your head long enough to flash his friend an exaggerated pout. "Iwa-chan, Makki's being crass and horrible again!" he whined petulantly.

From Oikawa's other side, Matsukawa poorly stifled a wheezing laugh into his palm as Iwaizumi simply pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Can't you keep it in your pants for just one goddamn lecture?" he grumbled, side-eying his hopelessly enamored vice-captain.

Rather than seem even remotely chagrined, Oikawa's expression melted back into that same moony, fond look from earlier. He propped his chin in his hand, tracking your every micro-movement with shameless ardor.

"Look at her though," he murmured in a disgustingly affectionate coo. "She's just so gosh darn pretty, especially when she gets that little crinkle between her eyes while concentrating."

A beat of silence passed before Hanamaki made an overly dramatic retching noise into his notes.

"Ugh, get a room already, loverboy!" he griped, shoving at Oikawa's shoulder roughly. "All this love propaganda is gonna leave me single forever."

Oikawa simply waved off his friend's snarky remarks, completely unfazed as his dazzling infatuation remained locked onto you. A blissful little sigh escaped his lips when you politely raised your hand to ask a question, your melodic voice washing over him like a trance.

"I swear, if Shittykawa doesn't quit zoning out every two seconds and lets this thing slip through his grabby little hands..." Iwaizumi grumbled under his breath.

Despite Oikawa's teammates' incessant grumbling over his constant lovestruck ditziness, nothing could shake him from your unintentional thrall. If anything, your radiant presence only seemed to amplify his habit of getting flustered into a stammering, blushing mess.

Case in point: the two of you were supposed to be enjoying a casual study date between classes. Oikawa had whipped out his usual million-watt smile as you'd strolled up, immediately leaning in for what he assumed would be an innocent greeting peck.

Only for his lips to graze your cheek just as you happened to turn at the last second, inadvertently capturing your own soft kiss in a searing, knee-weakening lip-lock.

A strangled squeak tore from Oikawa's throat as he jerked back, eyes blown wide in surprise and cheeks flaring crimson. He stared at you in utter dumbfoundment, utterly disarmed by the sweet intimacy of your momentarily intertwined mouths. Meanwhile, you simply offered a shy giggle and shimmied into the seat beside his frozen form.

"Aren't you smooth?" you teased, nudging his rigid side playfully.

Oikawa's mouth worked uselessly for several moments before he finally spluttered, "I-I, uh...y-yes! The smoothest!"

Somehow, the flustered bravado in his proclamation only made his lingering blush that much more endearing. You shook your head fondly, quite accustomed to his particular brand of cringeworthy flusteredness.

"Come on, Casanova, we've got work to do," you chuckled, slinging an arm around his waist in a casual side-hug.

Oikawa squeaked again - an embarrassingly high-pitched sound for a 6-foot athlete - before hastily clearing his throat into a bodly fist. Still, the bashful smile tugging at his lips refused to fade as he guided you through the study materials with one arm slung around your shoulders. His rich umber eyes kept drifting towards you in unbridled adoration, drinking in every scrunch of concentration furrowing your brow.

Needless to say, not all that much productive studying actually ended up happening thanks to Oikawa's hopelessly distractible infatuation. By the time your group let out for the evening, he could have sworn his heart had galloped a million miles during each accidental brush of your knees or gaze catching his.

Which is why, of course, he naturally defaulted to his favorite brand of pageantry in a bid to impress and fluster you all over again. Oikawa bounded onto the court decked out in his full knee pads and game attire, twirling the volleyball between his palms with unnecessary flair.

"Care to stay and watch your Captain's pre-practice routine, gorgeous?" he lilted, punctuating the invitation with an overexaggerated wink.

Your responding laugh and amused eye roll was like music to his love-addled ears. "I guess I could spare a few minutes," you acquiesced at last. "Maybe cheer for you loudly and embarrass you in front of your teammates?"

Oikawa stumbled mid-flourish, nearly spiking the ball directly into his own startled face. "N-Now you're just being mean!" he pouted, deftly recovering into a theatrically wounded expression.

Still, his eyes sparkled with unabashed glee watching as you settled into the front-row bleachers, utterly enraptured despite your teasing threat. Squaring up that million-watt grin of his, Oikawa gave an overly dramatic courtly bow before bouncing back to bask in the warmth of your full, undivided attention showering over him.

Practice that evening was singularly, gloriously mindless. Each impressive spike, soaring set, and diving defensive dig flowed as naturally as breathing - all simply serving as additional plumage for Oikawa's unending mating ritual aimed directly at you.

By the time his teammates convened for their usual cool-down stretches, Oikawa was practically glowing with gratification and endorphins. Matsu and Makki shot him their usual long-suffering looks of disgruntlement while Iwaizumi merely grumbled something about "extra laps for showing off."

Oikawa paid their eye-rolling no mind whatsoever. He was too busy bounding over to where you lingered by the safety railing, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Grabbing an extra towel, he vigorously scrubbed the perspiration from his brow and neckline.

"So, how did I— mmPH!"

His not-so-smooth attempt at soliciting praise was promptly cut off by your impulsive tug on his practice jersey. The slightly scratchy material went taut as you pulled Oikawa flush against you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that robbed the boastful tease of whatever self-satisfied line he'd been gearing up for.

When you finally released him, Oikawa staggered back on unsteady legs, looking thoroughly kissed into dazed submission. A lopsided, deliriously goofy smile split his flushed face as he gazed at you in absolute awestruck reverence.

"...Perfect," he breathed, fingers skating over his tingling lips in disbelief. "You were...perfect."

In which case, perhaps getting disgustingly, hopelessly whipped was the greatest thing to ever happen to Seijoh's Captain after all.

Oikawa's relentless infatuation showed no signs of waning once you two stepped off campus grounds. If anything, his overwhelming need to dote and fawn over you only amplified in public settings.

Take your first official date night, for instance. Oikawa had insisted on making dinner reservations at the trendiest new fusion restaurant in town - the type of sleekly modern establishment that required sending the hostess a 300-word compelling essay on why you deserved a coveted table.

Despite the unnecessary extravagance, you couldn't help feeling charmed by his transparent eagerness to thoroughly impress you from the moment you stepped through the artisan ceramic entrance. Oikawa was on his A-game from the start, gallantly pulling out your chair with a flourish before showering you with a barrage of flattering compliments.

"Has anyone ever told you how incredible your eyes are in this lighting?" he fawned, chin propped in one hand as he gazed at you with unabashed rapture. "That hue is just...exquisite."

You ducked your head with a bashful giggle, trying to ignore the curious side-eyes from neighboring tables. "You're being ridiculous."

"No, I'm being factual!" Oikawa retorted with a scandalized gasp. He made a show of leaning across the table to brush a lock of hair from your cheek, practically radiating a halo of hopeless doting. "Why, they remind me of a spring meadow sparkling with morning dew. Simply captivating."

By dessert, you were practically melting into a liquefied puddle of second-hand embarrassment over his grand romantic gestures. Because of course Oikawa simply had to sweep you up into a melodramatic ballroom-style dip on the sidewalk outside while bidding you goodnight. Plush lips ghosted a hair's breadth from yours as he cradled you in an effortlessly practised show of strength.

"Until next time, my radiant flower," he breathed in a devastatingly sultry register.

You could only manage a strangled squeak in response, utterly spellbound by Oikawa's smoldering proximity searing away all coherent thought. Right on cue, a chorus of dreamy female sighs echoed from the sidewalk crowd that had gathered - a small live studio audience swooning for his swoon-worthy antics.

As if pre-scripted, Oikawa's decadent mahogany gaze slid sideways to drink in the admiring scene with his trademark self-satisfaction. That confidence only faltered when he realized each enamored female was fixing you, not him, with hopeless looks of envy and yearning.

You watched in slack-jawed awe as those iconic Oikawa brows proceeded to furrow into the most uncharacteristic, childishly bereft pout. Clearly, not being the sole object of infatuation didn't sit well with the former serial flirt. Not anymore.

With a sharp huff, he whipped you both upright before looping a possessive arm around your waist and sweeping you off down the street. Oikawa angled his body like a shield between you and the gaggle of admirers, never once breaking that adorably petulant moue of concentration.

"Pay them no mind," he finally huffed after a full block of your curious side-glances. "They're simply jealous because the most gorgeous person in the universe already belongs to me."

Any reservations over his bold statements were promptly dissolved by the blazing earnestness Oikawa leveled your way. You bit back a goofy grin as he hugged your smaller frame closer against his sturdy warmth, every action simply dripping territorial ardor.

"Of course, my narcissistic darling," you teased, leaning up to brush a chaste kiss against his scowling mouth.

Oikawa's indignant grumbling instantly melted into a dreamy sigh, expression slipping back into shameless infatuation as you two continued merrily on your way. Each flicker of returning humility seemed to last mere seconds before his swaggering self-indulgence and confident preening reasserted itself anew.

It was a never-ending rollercoaster of egoism and moonstruck timidity that you quickly learned to accept as simply...well, your Oikawa being Oikawa. Especially in public forums where he could properly flaunt and cherish you.

One sunny Saturday morning downtown proved to be a veritable whirlwind tour of his bi-polar courting. You had suggested doing some casual windowshopping and small bites touring since the weather was so lovely out. Oikawa readily agreed, perhaps a bit too hastily, given how you ended up spending the first hour looping back and forth across the same three-block radius.

"Oooh, that dress would look stunning on you!" he practically squawked on your fourth lap past the trendy boutique window display. "Hold on, I'll buy it right now."

His sneakered feet worked double-time as Oikawa hustled towards the store entrance, ready to sweep through the intimate garment racks with all the unflappable determination of an Olympic shopper. You stalled him with a giggling tug on his elbow as he reached for the door handle.

"Babe, calm down! I was just admiring the color, I have enough summer dresses as it is."

For a beat, Oikawa simply gaped at you in utter bemusement, as if his earnest attempts at impressing you had once again short-circuited. But it only took a few stuttered blinks before he puffed up that broad chest in a resolutely self-important fashion.

"W-Well, of course! I knew that," he blustered, tossing his chestnut waves with a dismissive huff. "I simply wanted to, uh, gauge your opinion on whether I have worthwhile taste in fashion trends!"

You side-eyed his see-through self-aggrandizing defense with a bemused half-smile. Rather than call him out, you simply linked your arm through his and gave an adoring squeeze.

"Yes, Tooru, you have exquisite taste as always," you soothed with the gentle indulgence usually reserved for humoring small children.

Oikawa preened shamelessly at your praise, completely unfazed by the hint of playful mocking coloring your words. He was far too busy basking in the reflected glory of your undivided admiration.

Honestly, you wouldn't have traded his ridiculously endearing brand of pompous worship for anything. Not when Oikawa's gaze kept flickering back towards you with those soft, melted chocolate eyes of his - utterly smitten adoration etched across every plane and angle as he seared your image into his very soul.

It was enough to make you wonder which one of you had truly been rendered the biggest, most hopelessly lovestruck fan here.

Either way, your exuberant beau seemed determined to double down and stake his indisputable, over-the-top claim as your biggest admirer - both now and for the foreseeable future.

And oddly enough, you found you rather liked him that way - whipped, incorrigibly smitten, and absolutely, irrevocably yours.

Even in the comfort and intimacy of your shared home, Oikawa's relentless infatuation showed no signs of losing its overexcited edge. Case in point: it was a lazy Friday night in, the two of you curled up for a self-indulgent rewatch of some cheesy rom-com you'd both seen a million times already.

Rather than kick back on opposite ends of the sofa like any other regular couple, Oikawa simply would not allow even a millimeter of space to come between your tangled forms. As the opening credits rolled, he immediately slung an arm around your shoulders and tugged you flush against his side with a contented hum.

You tried to bite back a fond smile at his incurably snuggly antics. "Getting cozy there, are we?"

"Shhh," Oikawa hushed without breaking his rapt fixation on the TV. He somehow managed to gather you even closer into his personal bubble, leaving no wandering limb untwined or uncuddled. "I'm simply ensuring optimal viewing conditions for fully appreciating you - I mean, the movie!"

Chuckling under your breath, you relented to his poorly-covered slip of the tongue and wriggled into a more comfortable position nestled against Oikawa's pleasantly warm torso. You'd learned quickly that he was touch-starved in the most ridiculously endearing way when it came to seemingly mundane couple activities. Any opportunity to drown you in unending physical affection was treated like an all-out spa day in the Oikawa household.

Less than ten minutes into the film, you felt the first ticklish puffs of breath skating across the top of your head. Oikawa had abandoned all pretense of following the well-trodden plot in favor of burying his face into your hair and inhaling deeply. An elated sigh whistled from his nose as he nuzzled even closer, calloused fingers tracing idle patterns across your upper arm.

"You smell like strawberries today," he murmured in approval against your roots.

You squirmed with a snort of amusement. "That's because I used the fancy shampoo you got me for my birthday last week."

As if to confirm this fascinating revelation, Oikawa's nose plunged further into your tresses in a bout of unabashed scent-sampling. He let out a dreamy little hum of contentment, seemingly deaf to the tinny dialogue carrying on across the TV screen.

"Mm...that's my favorite. Albeit not as intoxicating as your natural aroma..."

You wrinkled your nose in a halfhearted show of protest. But just like every other time, Oikawa paid no heed to your feigned objections about excessive doting. He was too busy stroking the shampoo-scented strands with painstaking leisure, mapping every silken texture across his cheek like a massage therapist tending to an expensive wig.

Eventually, the gentle ministrations worked their way down to skirting the warm skin of your neck and shoulder blades. Oikawa traced the delicate junctures with tender fascination, leaning down to dust the barest flutter of an openmouthed kiss here and there. An appreciative shiver danced up your spine in response, eliciting a smug hum of male satisfaction.

"You're awfully handsy tonight," you remarked in a tone caught perfectly between flusterment and amusement.

"Can you blame me?" Oikawa crooned without an ounce of shame. His nimble fingers danced a blazing trail across your collarbone and down the sloping curves of your upper chest. "Having this much perfection nestled against me night after night - it's a miracle I don't ravish you more frequently."

You playfully swatted at his wandering hand, unable to stifle a laugh at his signature brand of melodramatic flattery. "Keep it in your pants, Tooru. I'm trying to watch the movie here."

Rather than heed your chiding, Oikawa took the opportunity to expertly unshoulder your shirt even further to better lavish your exposed skin with greedy, smoldering kisses. "Lies and slander," he growled between indulgent nibbles and sweeps of his talented tongue. "You know full well you're my favorite cinematography to indulge in."

"Ugh, you're hopeless!" you groaned through a fresh peal of embarrassed giggles. Squirming in Oikawa's embrace only spurred him on further, his lips working across your jaw and cheeks in utter disregard for how flushed you were turning.

Just when you thought he might finally give in and settle for simply canoodling, his rich amber gaze flickered up to meet yours - burning with a simmering intensity that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. Thick lashes hooded those eyes as Oikawa gave a lopsided, almost predatory grin that screamed "challenge accepted."

"Oh no, lover" he growled in a buttery baritone that brooked no arguments. "For you...I'm perfectly hopeless."

With that, Oikawa proceeded to demonstrate just how hopelessly infatuated he was with you via a searing, breathtaking kiss. It left you dizzied and limp as he eagerly drank in your quiet gasps of submission like an elixir. By the time he pulled away again, the movie lay long forgotten - a distant hum compared to Oikawa's singular worshipful focus claiming you with every heated caress and whispered endearment.

Yup, he was absolutely hopeless. And you deliriously, hopelessly wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

[toddreblogslotf]

This is a dif person asking, but wouldn’t that still be weird because Jack (the character we’re going with in this hypothetical scenario) would have kids and that would literally mean sex right? In their time period the chances of alternatives like adoption or sperm donation are pretty slim. So wouldn’t that still be sexualizing? It still implies children were conceived by sex, and sex is, well, sexual. Genuinely asking!

i more so view it in a way as the anon asking if jack in theory, in a fic, was to grow up into an adult and in theory, in an adult life, was to have kids, would that be wrong to write about. which i personally don’t see an issue with! i believe that the line is crossed when the conception of the kids is the focal point, because while it does imply sex, something as benign as that in jack’s adulthood life WITHOUT it being the focal point of the fic, i’m not quite sure it would be too much of an issue (as in the author would not intentionally be sitting down and attempting to sexualise the kids! it would be a hair to split imo).

personally, i don’t think it would be intentional sexualising, if sexualising at all (albeit, not something i would personally write), if written in the scenario it was proposed in! i do think that it’s a funny situation because i’m not quite sure why anyone would want to age jack up and give him kids, but i dont think it is inherently wrong to do so in nature in this particular situation. there are a lot of situations where the author makes it very wrong, so it’s a thin line to walk along, i completely agree with that!

[carolmunson]

always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time. 

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’  ‘And? It’s my meat.’ 

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste. 

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half.  "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides. 

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week. 

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.” 

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down.  “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.” 

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched  ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.” 

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy. 

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts  between statements. 

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?” 

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?” 

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.” 

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?” 

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn. 

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?” 

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled. 

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo.   “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.” 

thanks for reading. <3

[narcissistshandler]

hello! Can I request a Taehun Seong x Top Male Reader x Yeonu Ji? Where the two compete on who can make the reader cum first? Like they are blowing the reader off in Yeonu bedroom, and the reader is desperately trying to cum but the two makes it hard since they keep unintentionally edging him because they keep arguing.

And then the reader has enough then just force his dick into their mouth and cums (you can pick on who's mouth the reader cums into), and basically ends with the reader fucking them until they can't think anymore, if it's alright with you

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x ji yeonwoo x seong taehoon

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 amab!reader, blowjob (reader receiving), top!reader, bottom!yeonwoo, bottom&top!taehoon, light sub/dom dynamic, unintentional edging

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 I think this was lighter than you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway. Just three more requests, hang in there with me.

Your eyes fell closed, pure darkness filling your vision and a deep moan rising in the throat as you felt soft lips closing around the tip of your cock just above where the calloused fingers gripped the length. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, the sucking gentle and enthusiastic as Yeonwoo did his best to take you all the way into his mouth. His every movement was careful and experimental, as if he had studied up on how to give someone a blowjob and knowing your boyfriend well, you knew this could very well be the case.

As much as you wanted to thrust yourself deep into his soft mouth, to have more of that heat and wetness and those fingers tentatively pulling your cock while licking and sucking you, you didn't. You let him explore, watch your reactions and learn little by little even if the heat growing under your skin demanded otherwise.

After a long twenty minutes of being graced with Yeonwoo's enthusiastic touches and licks, you could no longer contain the urgency bubbling in your stomach. Your breathing quickened and your mouth opened, about to give warning as you felt the tremor start your his legs.

But apparently there was a person there more impatient with Yeonwoo's study than you.

"You're doing this wrong. Breathe through your nose." Came Taehoon's voice, his tone full of amusement despite the twinge of judgment. "Hold it tighter," he said, despite the instructions he seemed to mock your boyfriend. "Open your mouth wider."

And you could tell that even though Yeonwoo might be giving Taehoon an annoyed look, he still promptly followed the instructions, believing the tips given. His fingers tightened around you and your hips threatened to move when just the tip of your cock slid too close to his throat, the need building in your stomach, ready to snap...

Yeonwoo immediately backed away, coughing.

You opened your eyes, ready to make sure he was okay even though that construction had been brutally interrupted and all you wanted was to pull Yeonwoo back to you and push your dick back into his mouth, until you came deep down his throat.

“You don’t need to follow everything Taehoon says,” you reassured him, your voice deep and your breathing slowly slowing down from its labored pace. Your dick twitching in Yeonwoo's hand when you saw his flushed face, the glasses crooked on his nose and the saliva running down the lips.

Yeonwoo and Taehoon were kneeling at your feet. Yeonwoo naked, his own red and hard dick dangling between his legs, Taehoon on the other hand was just shirtless, his firm, well-worked muscles exposed and his tight black pants low on his hips, an obvious erection pressing against the fabric.

"You can do whatever you prefer, don't be in a rush."

Yeonwoo wiped the saliva running down his chin and a sweet smile curved his full lips. "Right."

“And it’s okay to choke,” Taehoon continued as if you hadn’t said anything. "[name] likes it when we choke on his dick."

Yeonwoo looked at you as if he was waiting for confirmation or denial, but Taehoon wasn't wrong, so you diverted the subject so that Yeonwoo wouldn't feel obligated to give you a deep throat. “I like whatever you two do,” you said and looked at your cock twitching between Yeonwoo’s fingers. "Do you want to continue?"

Taehoon smiled, half mocking your response and pressed Yeonwoo to the side with his shoulder. "Move on, my turn."

Yeonwoo rolled his eyes, but moved to the side and let Taehoon take his previous position. The hand that held you was gone, the heat and tightness denying you the pleasure, but Taehoon's larger, more experienced hand soon covered you, thumb pressing against the sensitive head as he pulled you in familiar slow thrusts, so firm, it almost became painful. Oh.

You moaned, Taehoon's warm, amused eyes watching your reactions as he leaned in and licked at the leaking slit.

“Fuck,” you cursed, one hand shooting out to grab a fistful of his brown hair.

Taehoon's pride-filled laugh sent a beam of heat through your stomach, his hot breath hitting your length wet with the mixture of his and Yeonwoo's saliva. Without breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth and took more of your length into his mouth, his outstretched tongue trailing along the bottom in a damn erotic display.

Taehoon was good at this, so good at everything he did, it was almost unfair.

Yeonwoo watched Taehoon's movements, seeming to make mental notes as he was unable to stop doing even at a time like these.

He leaned against your hips, kissing wherever he could reach while focusing his attention on how Taehoon swallowed your cock without much difficulty. Your other hand ran through his dark hair, a gentler reflection contrary to your fingers gripping Taehoon's hair.

"Let me try again," Yeonwoo said, there was a tone in his voice that indicated it wasn't a request at all, his hand shooting out to grab the part of his dick that was exposed when Taehoon pulled away. You inhaled deeply as you tried to push Taehoon back down. You needed this, badly.

Taehoon however, pulled away easily, despite the painful tug on his hair. The muscle in your leg twitched at the lost heat of Taehoon's mouth and you sighed deeply, leaving your boyfriends to argue and negotiate amongst themselves about sucking your cock, even though the urgency and need grew by the second, now having release denied for the second time.

"Wait your turn." Taehoon licked his lower lip, collecting the drop of saliva there, trying to displace Yeonwoo's grip with his free hand.

Yeonwoo didn't pull back, fingers closing tighter around you in response to Taehoon's movement, his short nails dug into your skin and you grunted in response, feeling like you could cum like this, with the pain and the pleasure and Taehoon and Yeonwoo arguing on your feet. They fought for power over your cock like a tug of war, neither of them backing down.

“You’re going to rip my dick off like this,” you growled, pulling both of their hair as a small form of punishment. What you really wanted was to bend them over the bed and spank their asses until they couldn't walk straight.

"Rock, paper and scissors?" Yeonwoo tried.

"Taehoon. Yeonwoo."

"Don't be stupid," was Taehoon's response, both of them ignoring the bite of scolding in your voice.

"So how do you want to do this?" asked Yeonwoo, as he took his hand away with a roll of his eyes. Taehoon also let go of you and seemed to consider a response. "Do you want to take tunes and whoever makes him cum first wins?"

Fuck this, you thought as you grabbed your dick and began to masturbate in quick, urgent jerks. You moaned loudly and their attention immediately turned to you, seeming irritated by your initiative to touch yourself. The displeasure on both their faces dissolved within seconds though, and they both leaned forward with their mouths open, tongues lolling out, and eyes shining expectantly. There was a little personal dispute there, you could say.

The muscle in your thigh pulled, shock traveling down your spine. Your free hand tugged at Yeonwoo's hair, bringing his face closer to Taehoon's, just seconds before your balls tightened and your dick pulsed, shooting thick ropes of cum that landed on Taehoon and Yeonwoo's touching tongues in an erotic scene, on the lenses of Yeonwoo's glasses and on one of Taehoon's sharp cheeks.

Curses left your mouth, feeling beads of sweat roll down your stomach as you continued to masturbate through the orgasm.

"Precocious," Taehoon teased as he swallowed, fingers catching what splashed on his face and bringing it into his mouth.

Yeonwoo just moaned, leaning down to lick the tip of your dick, and then suck, wanting to extract every drop from you. You continued to pull your cock through the hot sensitivity, feeling yourself spill even more into Yeonwoo's soft mouth.

"You two are a tease, you know that?" You grunted between your teeth and pulled Yeonwoo back to take him off your dick, then leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. "Get into bed, boy, my turn to play."

Yeonwoo was eager, getting on all fours in the middle of the bed and shaking his butt in the air. You stood up and gently slapped one of his small ass cheeks, which earned you a moan. Despite the sensitivity, you wanted nothing more than to fuck them into the mattress until your dick could no longer get hard.

“You too, Taehoon,” you ordered then, your voice breathless.

"What should I do?" he questioned, unbuttoning and pushing his pants and underwear down his legs, leaving him completely naked in the middle of the room. His dick was dripping wet, the tip an angry red. And he walked slowly to the bed, letting you drink in his nakedness.

Taehoon climbed onto the bed on his knees, the smile never falling from his lips. It was a little funny how Taehoon always seemed in control, even when asking for instructions and you knew he loved taking orders.

“I want you to enter Yeonwoo.” The reaction to the words were instantaneous, both of your boyfriends groaning at the mere thought of it.

Taehoon was more eager than usual, sticking his slender fingers into Yeonwoo's already stretched and lubricated hole to make sure he was stretched enough, before lining up his cock and pushing inside. The sounds they both made filled the room, overlapping. Taehoon grunted with his fingers squeezing Yeonwoo's slim hips, who promptly rocked back, taking Taehoon as deep as possible.

You had to squeeze your own cock to keep yourself from cumming once again as you watched the sight your boyfriends made together. Taehoon stopped moving once he sank completely into Yeonwoo's heat, panting as he waited for your permission.

Reaching for the bottle of lube, you moved even closer to the bed, standing behind Taehoon's tall, muscular figure. After wetting your fingers, you pulled one of his skinny ass cheeks away and touched his tight, dry hole. A sigh fell from Taehoon's mouth.

Unlike Yeonwoo who used to prepare alone, Taehoon was a little shy when it came to playing with that place and so he always let you or Yeonwoo stretch him.

“Fuck him,” you said, as you slid the first finger inside Taehoon, who clenched tightly around the intrusion. His hips shot out in one thrust, firm and urgent. Yeonwoo shouted. “Slowly,” you scolded him, using your free hand to pull his hips back and against you, letting your finger sink deeper. "Don't be in a rush, we still have plenty of time." And if Yeonwoo's father decided to arrive early from work, then well, he would have a not-so-fun surprise when he entered his son's room.

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE! TEEN TITANS x YAE MIKO / KITTY CHESIRE ! READER SHORT STORY

the kitty chesire bit is mostly her power to disappear and teleport + love for chaos

as always reader is gender neutral!

[sequel to this fic]

“YOU. . . HAVE A FOX FORM ? !”

Your team member, Garfield, shouted into your ear as you untied him and the rest of the members after a battle you won.

Via tricking them of course. You were meant for stealth and illusions, not fighting. Most missions with the Titans had you as a scout or back-up. Rarely were you in the heat of the fight.

It was mostly due to your penchant with being a liability. Whether it was intentional or unintentional, placing you with the main group was a recipe for disaster.

It was a perfect role for you. Cause really, who enjoys sitting back and watching everything unfold? You did.

And after watching your friends getting their asses handed to them and laughing for several minutes while invisible (so that they could definitely hear you but you wouldn’t get captured). You came in to save the day.

“Oh, how could you not know BB. I thought we were friends!” You sighed dramatically while finally untying the last member and leader, Robin.

Despite your close proximity, you fail to notice the rare grin on his face.

“Hey, that’s my line! How could you not tell your best friend, huh?!”

“To be fair, it should have been obvious.” Rachel commented. Her cape had gotten covered in some unknown goop, so her voice came out strained as she tried flicking it off.

“Yeah, Garfield. Kitsune, Fox. It’s hard not to know about it.” Jaime added. The scarab on his back’s eyes glow red in agreement.

“I feel wounded, hurt, unimaginable pained—“ Garfield grasped his chest. “But you know what would make me feel b-“

“In your dreams.” You quickly answered. Already knowing what he’ll request. It wasn’t as if you didn’t like turning into your fox form. But you had a plan,

and that plan was chaos.

“I didn’t even finish!”

“Give or take another hundred years or so, then it’ll be a maybe.”

“But- But why—?”

“My kitsune form is not a party trick or just something that can be shown at a whim. It has to be special, as is the person I show it to.”

“Wait, so that’s why you didn’t show me? I thought it was cause you couldn’t do it for another hundred years or so.” Rachel perked up as soon as she heard your words. The remaining goop on her cape forgotten.

“I thought it was because only humans or other beings from Earth could witness it.” Kori crossed her arms.

“You mean it isn’t dangerous for you to turn into one in case you aren’t able to turn back?!” Dick, Jaime, and Victor all screeched in unison.

“Excuses may vary from person to person.”

“[Y/N]!”

Ah yes, all according to plan.

It wasn’t that long before you all had another mission to accomplish. It wasn’t that hard really, in fact the enemies seemed a lot weaker in comparison to the previous ones.

So why were you and the rest tied up?

“Oh no, we’re at risk of dying. Whatever could we do?” Garfield feigned a moan of pain.

“Maybe if [Y/N] shifted into their Kitsune form and got out of their restraints—“ Victor tried suggesting but, like what you did with Garfield last time, you shut him down immediately.

“No.”

Everyone instantaneously gets out of their restraints. No effort at all.

These goddamn desperate little shits—

It had been a month or so since Garfield and the rest found out you weren’t turning into a fox simply because you didn’t want to and they have yet to lose gas when it came to motivation.

It had even gone to the point where the Justice League and heck, even some villains and other unaffiliated vigilantes joined the mix. It was as if every moment someone was trying to coerce you to transform.

“Guys let’s have dinner!” Dick called out from the tower’s kitchen, not bothering with the intercoms since he knew you were close by. As a Kitsune you had a fantastic sense of smell, as such you were already hovering the kitchen since the start.

“Is that . . . [Favorite Food] and - and [Favorite Drink]?” Your mouth watered as you gazed at the dining table. All of your favorite meals, snacks, and beverages were all laid out. Ready to be consumed—

“Ah, ah! Let us see your Kitsune form first.”

You took one long stare at him before disappearing, literally. “I’m ordering take out.”

“God damn it!” The rest of the team all exit from their hiding spots, absolutely saddened by the lack of reaction and that they couldn’t spoil you with your favorites for once.

(It’s not like they can forget about your fox form and just give you everything on a silver platter. Hell no!)

You trudged to Damian’s room. Still invisible until you were sure you entered without anyone seeing you.

You reappear with a smile before shortly turning into a miniature [Favorite Color] fox.

“Tired?” Damian asked, still focused on his computer while you jumped to his lap and made yourself comfortable.

“Mm. Not really! They’re really funny when they’re like that.”

He nodded at your response and began petting you. His other hand reached forward to his phone, “Hey, are you still open? … Yeah . May I have [Favorite Food] delivered at this address…”

You faked a gasp. You knew he had been watching over you since the beginning. Normal people would have freaked out and questioned how knew but you didn’t. How could you? He is your boyfriend after all. Him knowing everything was expected. At least, that’s what he always says, and you didn’t really mind so . . . “You’re the best, Damey!”

“I know.” He finally gazed at you. The love in his eyes are as clear as day, “Now, get off. We have to pick up our order.”

General Batfam Taglist: @the-sander-fander

[agaypanic]

Enemies to lovers with Chase: he’s obviously a bionic genius but after being enrolled in school he develops a rivalry with the smartest girl in school and he’s constantly competing with her until they get partnered for a project and realize how much they actually like each other.

Swear Not By The Moon (Chase Davenport X Reader)

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Summary: Being a man with bionic super smarts, Chase excelled at everything and was always ahead of everyone. When he first started going to Mission Creek High, he unknowingly became rivals with you, the smartest girl in school. When you have to work together on a project, you realize that Chase Davenport might not be so bad.

A/N: the davenport siblings each have their own room bc (can’t remember if its canon but i dont think it is) i feel like after starting school, they’d get real rooms in case they had friends over and whatever. title inspired by romeo and juliet dialogue teehee. idk if this is giving good academic rivals but i tried lmao

***

It was completely unintentional, Chase constantly competing with you at school. He had bionic super smarts, so it was inevitable that he would climb to the top of the food chain. Academically speaking, of course. 

But before him, you dominated everyone else around you. You had for years. So when Chase Davenport waltzed in and suddenly became the best academic student at Mission Creek High, you felt an intense need to put him in his place.

Because of your high placements, you shared all of your classes together. One AP or Honors class after another, you had to see that stupid grin on his stupid face as he got a question right or corrected a teacher’s mistake. Not that he saw, because he was too busy putting his nose in books, reading chapters ahead of where the class was in the curriculum.

You figured the only way to beat him was to study your ass off. You already devoted a lot of your time to your studies, but that felt like child’s play compared to now. You had your lunch in the library, sneakily taking bites of food so the librarian would see you eating. As soon as you got home, you’d study for at least an hour. Sometimes, you’d even do some reading in the morning before you had to leave the house for school.

Chase finally seemed to notice you when one of your teachers posted the results of your latest tests. He was bewildered to see that someone had scored one point more than him. He looked around the class to try and figure out who it was, and when he saw you smirking at your grade, he knew it was you.

The silent competition between the two of you didn’t stop. Now that Chase was aware that you were rivaling him, he doubled his efforts, no matter how much teasing he got from his siblings. 

Then, one day, the rivalry wasn’t so silent.

“Davenport.” You greeted him with a single word, not even looking at him. 

“L/n.”

The two of you stood next to each other, looking at the grades you and your classmates got on a recent midterm. You lifted a finger, letting it scan over the names until you got to Chase’s.

“One hundred percent! Very good.” You mused, and you could see him smirking out of the corner of your eye.

“It was nothing.” He said with a shrug.

“Now… what did I get?” You asked yourself quietly, moving your finger until you got to your name. You both gasped, you with feigned surprise and him with disbelief. “One hundred and one percent! Wow.”

“How did you…” You finally turned to look at Chase, smiling innocently at him. His mouth hung open slightly, and you couldn’t help but lift his chin to close it.

“Mrs. Roberts told us there’d be a chance for extra credit. I guess you should’ve been more thorough.” The pleasure you felt from seeing Chase’s reaction made the grueling hours of studying immensely worth it. “Better luck next time.”

You walked away, a bit of a pep in your step now. Chase stared at you until you were out of sight, and then he sneered.

“Oh, it is on.”

***

For the rest of the year, you and Chase battled to be at the top of your classes. Extracurriculars just made the fight more intense. You’d win first place at the local science fair, he’d win first place at a debate championship. When one of you placed first, the other grumbled with their second-place trophy and swore they would win gold the next time.

You were actually excited for the end of the school year. The little rivalry you had formed with Chase Davenport was starting to wear you out, although you’d never say that out loud. Especially to him. 

But before the school year could end, you had one more project for your history class. This time, you would be paired off with a classmate, and you’d have to work together to create a presentation on a specific era, highlighting important figures and events of the time.

“Please be someone good.” You muttered to yourself as your teacher read out the list of partners. Eventually, she got to you.

“Y/n L/n and Chase Davenport.”

You froze in your spot, not paying attention as she continued listing people before going into more detail on your project requirements. Your eyes darted to Chase, who was already looking at you. You couldn’t help but sneer at him. The one person you had a strong distaste for, an academic enemy, was now your partner on a month-long project that would greatly affect your final grade.

How could this go wrong?

“So…” The teacher gave you the last five minutes of class to talk to your partner. Chase stood next to your desk, looking down at you. “Do you want to go to your house or mine? For the project.”

“I don’t care.” You answered while packing your belongings into your backpack.

“How about my place then? We can go today after school.”

“Fine by me.”

***

You knew that the Davenports, their father to be more specific, were wealthy. But that information didn’t make you any less stunned when you saw the mansion at the end of your slightly uncomfortable and awkward walk with Chase. And you were even more taken aback when you walked inside. Sleek designs, attractive decor, and a beautiful view out of windows that made up an entire wall.

“We can go to my room,” Chase suggested as you took in your surroundings. “I have a lot of desk space there.”

“Okay.” You replied. You figured that the very least you could do was try to be civil with Chase. After all, this was an important grade, and you’d have to work with him for a whole month.

Chase pulled a stool to his desk for you to sit on while he settled into his desk chair. You took out your notebook and a pen, flipping to a blank page. Chase did the same.

“Do you have any ideas?” You asked, tapping the tip of your pen against the paper.

It took a while, but you eventually settled on the Elizabethan era. Considered a golden age and famous for different creative ventures such as theater and literature. It would be easy to fill a presentation with quality and interesting information. The two of you brainstormed different topics to bring up, writing them down in your notebooks when your pen suddenly stopped working.

“Damn.” You muttered, scribbling in the corner to try to get the ink to reappear.

“What’s wrong?” Chase asked, looking up from his paper to see you drop your pen in your bag and look around for a replacement.

“I ran out of ink.” You sighed in frustration, unable to find another writing utensil. You pulled your bag onto your lap for a closer look. “I swear I had-”

You cut yourself off when Chase’s hand came into view. He held a pen, waiting for you to take it. After a moment of hesitation, you grabbed it, setting your backpack down on the floor.

“Thanks.” You said, looking at the pen for a brief moment before getting back to writing.

***

Wanting to get as much useful information as possible, you decided to go to the library after school the next day. You didn’t know what Chase was doing, but you hoped that he would put as much effort into this as you were. 

You headed straight for the classics section, knowing that Shakespeare was prominent during the time period you and Chase were looking into. You’ve had to read a few of his plays for different English classes, but you were eager to read them again.

Searching the bookshelves, you soon saw that Shakespeare’s plays were on the top shelf, which you could reach without a step stool. There were a few scattered around the library, but a quick glance showed that there wasn’t one in your section. You went to the next book aisle, hoping to find one.

“Y/n?” Chase’s voice startled you. He was in the next aisle, seeing you before you saw him. Although surprised by your presence, he offered you a polite smile. “What are you doing here?”

You had to tell yourself to hold back a snarky response. Although you didn’t care much for Chase inside of school, that didn’t mean you had to be a bitch to him outside of it. Besides, he was being pleasant to you. It confused you, but you decided not to ask him about it.

“Same as you, I’m thinking.” You finally say, noticing some books about English history stacked in his hands. “I’m looking for a stool to get the books I need.”

Spotting one at the end of the aisle, Chase grabbed the stool, balancing the small pile of books he had in one hand.

“Where’s your books?” He asked, waiting for you to lead the way. It stunned you a little that he didn’t just give you the stool or let you grab it yourself, but you decided not to overthink it.

Back in your section, he set the stool down where you needed it. Instead of saying goodbye and leaving, Chase stood by the bookcase, watching you stand on the footstool.

You started grabbing books, becoming more excited with each title you looked over. Now, having your own stack of books, you looked down and tried to carefully lower yourself to the ground.

“Careful,” Chase murmured, and you felt the warmth of his hand hover against your back. He didn’t touch you, but his hand stayed close until you were stable on the ground. “Don’t wanna, you know, ruin the books if you fall.”

You rolled your eyes before looking up at Chase, not realizing how close you were to him until now.

“Thanks.” You said a bit hesitantly.

“No problem.” He responded. The two of you stood in silence, not knowing how to continue. You wondered if you’d keep having moments like this with him. No glares or sour thoughts. Just a bit of silence caused by some friendly action. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow?”

“What?” You asked, not expecting the question.

“For the project.” Chase clarified. 

“Oh. Sure, I think I’m free.”

“Great.” Chase smiled at you. “See you tomorrow then.”

***

You don’t know what was happening to you. It had been two weeks since you started working on this project with Chase, and he was gradually becoming the only thing on your mind. Sure, you thought about him often before this. But those thoughts were always accompanied by feelings of annoyance when he’d get a higher grade than you or disgust when he’d give you his signature smirk of condescension. 

What you felt now was something hard to describe. It was something warm and enjoyable, but as enjoyable as it was, it made you slightly dread seeing Chase because you didn’t know what the feeling meant. 

He didn’t even have to be around you for you to feel it. The other day you remembered that you still had the pen he let you borrow the first time you worked together. Looking at the pen and thinking about the memory made you smile, which you covered with your hand as you wondered why the small object got such a reaction out of you.

Suddenly remembering where you were, you pushed thoughts of Chase and the pen and how he was starting to make you feel out of your mind. You had to focus.

You were sat on Chase’s bed, supposed to be rereading Romeo and Juliet until you got distracted by your thoughts. Chase was at his desk, skimming through a history textbook. You played with the edge of the page you were on, about to return to reading, when Chase looked over his shoulder at you.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re still reading that.” He said, leaning back in his chair, deciding to take a break from studying. “Big, old-timey words. Thought that’d be too strenuous for you to handle.”

That was another change you noticed. You still poked and teased at each other. But lately, when Chase would do it, your cheeks would grow hot from some kind of feeling that was entirely unlike the anger and annoyance you usually felt.

“Very funny.” You deadpanned, yet you couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit. “I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word ‘strenuous.’ Considering your size, you’d think your brain would be just as tiny.”

Chase kicked at your leg, rolling his eyes as you laughed. 

“You’re hilarious.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Seriously, though, I don’t know how you’re not bored of that by now. Especially since you’ve read it before.”

“It’s considered a classic for a reason, Chase.” You said. “I mean, I obviously have problems with the story, like the age gap and the suicide without really checking if Juliet is dead. But you have to admit that some of the writing’s nice. Beautiful even.” You shifted into a more comfortable position. “I mean, listen to this. ‘O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.’” Before you could continue, Chase interrupted you.

“‘What shall I swear by?’” He recited, standing from his desk chair and moving to lay down on his side, a foot or two away from you. You looked at him with a questioning look. 

“Since when could you recite Shakespeare?”

“I dunno, just can.” He answered with a shrug. “Keep going.”

You looked at him curiously for a few more seconds before turning back to the book.

“‘Do not swear at all; or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I’ll believe thee.’”

“‘If my heart’s dear love-’”

“‘Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say ‘It lightens.’ Sweet, good night!’” You paused to catch your breath, and you felt Chase’s eyes on you. Either you were crazy, or he was slowly inching closer to you. He looked at you expectantly but patiently, and you took another deep breath before returning to the page. “‘This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast!’”

Chase was even closer to you now, using his hands to keep himself stable as he raised from his laying position. Without meaning to, you leaned forward, closing the already shortening distance between you.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’” Chase’s voice was quiet, but the words rang in your ears. You must have imagined it, you must have, but you could’ve sworn that for a second, his eyes were on your lips instead of locking with yours.

“‘What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?’” You recited softly. But you started to have a feeling that this was becoming less of a recitation and more of something else. Some kind of confession, you secretly hoped, disguised as casual quoting of someone else’s words of romance.

“‘The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”’

“‘I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: and yet I would it were to give again.’” As you spoke the words, you realized that they indeed rang with truth. 

Chase was now fully sitting up, and your breath hitched when you felt his hand snake around you to cup the back of your neck. You dropped the book in your lap, gaze fully fixated on his.

“‘Wouldst thou withdraw it?”’ Chase asked, using his other hand to hold your cheek, thumb sweeping over the bone. “‘For what purpose, love?’”

“I like when you call me that.” You whispered, too overwhelmed by his hands to continue reading the play.

“That’s not the line,” Chase responded, smiling before pulling your face to his and kissing you. 

It was soft at first, as if you were both scared the other would realize they didn’t want this. But when that passed, the tension from the past two weeks, honestly the past year, made you hungry for each other. It wasn’t long until you were straddling Chase’s lap, book and project long forgotten. Chase’s hands trailed down your body, squeezing your hips before pulling away just enough to speak.

“So…” He started, needing to catch his breath. “Am I the god of your idolatry?” 

You giggled, slapping his shoulder before wrapping your arms around them.

“I’m surprised you know how to pronounce ‘idolatry.’” Chase squeezed your hip once more at your teasing before kissing you again.

[j2lx]

Holding Hands With Them (headcanons)

Warnings: gojo is a tease (to no one's surprise smh), mentions of nightmares in Maki's, messy kissing in Toji's =P, pet names (darling, pretty baby), none really this one's just wholesome fluff

A/n: I went very overboard writing this one so it's pretty long… yeah. Anyways, here are some fluffy headcanons to hopefully make you feel happier! <3 Enjoy reading!

Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Sukuna has his own body in this but isn't in his OG form and he's a jujutsu sorcerer), Zenin Maki, Okkotsu Yuuta, Inumaki Toge, Suguru Geto (basically high school Geto, before he became all you know), Toji Fushiguro, Naoya Zenin (he isn't misogynistic (for Fem!readers) cuz he loves you a lot!) x Gender Neutral!reader

Itadori Yuuji

He's so pure and cute omg ahhh he loves holding your hand anywhere, anytime. He doesn't feel that he needs a reason to do it at all, since you're precious to him and naturally, he'll want to hold onto something he wants to protect.

He's the kind of boyfriend who would hold your hand in public, private, even on missions. It gives him comfort that you're there, right next to him, and it's easier for him to make sure you're safe (especially on missions when he can pull you to the side in case of danger)

One of his favourite things to do when the two of you are holding hands is to swing the hand that's holding yours up and down. Yes it's a little childish and the last time you did it was probably it in kindergarten or something, but trust me with Yuuji it's going to be a norm 🥺

Because of how much he holds your hand, he can tell the smallest differences on your hand. You got a shallow cut on your finger? He can feel it when he starts to intertwine his hand with yours. Your hands are a little dry from the weather? He'll rub the area a little before finding cream to help relieve the pain really soon. Holding hands with you helps him look out for you, and it might not seem like much but he really does care a lot about your physical wellbeing, even if he's only checking your hands!

He likes fidgeting a lot with your fingers and it often leads to unintentional finger fights. It's random but also really cute at the same time because he gets really competitive about it and tries to win but if he doesn't, he gives you your prize, which is a kiss on your "winning" finger from him.

His hands are always so nice and warm, so he offers to be your personal hand warmer in the winter when the two of you are in either one of your dorm rooms. He'll hold both of your hands between his and it seriously does help warm your hands up instantly. He doesn't mind how cold his hands might feel after that, he loves being able to hold your hands no matter the situation <3

Overall, holding hands with Yuuji is a sweet and affectionate thing that you both indulge in everyday. It gives both of you so much comfort and never fails to put a smile on both your faces!

Fushiguro Megumi

He doesn't show affection in public much because well it's not really his thing. But holding hands? Yeah that's an exception. He'll never let go of your hand, even more so in public places where it could be crowded and busy.

He doesn't mind being teased by some people (cough cough Gojo) about holding your hand because it's just another way for him to show his affection and love for you. He knows he's not that good with words sometimes so he uses these opportunities to show how much you mean to him!

He squeezes your hand a lot and it's almost like there are different "codes" for when he squeezes your hand. If he squeezes your hand gently, it's probably him asking if you're alright. If he squeezes it a little harder than usual, it's probably because he feels uncomfortable in the situation you both are in. It's a silent yet efficient way of communicating and it's like a secret code between the both of you

He likes running his thumb up and down your hand but he does it in the most ticklish way possible? Like he does it so gently that it becomes ticklish and you start giggling sometimes, which confuses him because he was just trying to be gentle with you 🥺

His hands are cold. Just really cold most of the time. And he knows it and will use it to his advantage should he deem it necessary (when you're being mischievous =P). Otherwise, he always makes sure to warm his hands up before holding your hand so you won't get cold! And the best part about that is that after that, the warmth from your hands would warm his hands up, so he doesn't have to worry about his "cold hands" problem anymore.

He has really nice hands. Like they're a nice size, smooth and just overall really pretty and beautiful (just like him =)). And you love holding his hands up to your eye level and admiring them, which always causes him to show a small smile! Of course he'll return the favour and bring your hand up to his lips and press a kiss on it as a way of telling you how much he loves your hands too <3

Overall, he's really sweet and gentle when holding your hand! He's not that good with expressing his feelings and he knows it, so holding hands often is one way he feels he can express just how much he loves you!

Kugisaki Nobara

Holding hands comes easy to the two of you. It's been a part of your relationship since the start and the two of you absolutely adore doing it! It gives the both of you comfort that you're both there for each other.

She loves holding your hand anywhere, anytime. It's one of those things she considers "basic" in a relationship, and it just comes naturally for her to be holding your hand whenever she can. Whether it be going out with her, in the car before missions, and at night when the two of you are watching movies together, the two of you will always be holding hands.

When shopping with her, your hand will definitely be intertwined with hers. And she really likes it since it's really easy for her to just tug on your hand a little or straight up pull you to what she's looking at when shopping! She has the tendency to squeeze your hand when she gets excited while the two of you shop too. It's easy to tell what excites her the most (which is basically what she wants the most) by how hard she squeezes your hand!

If you are keen, she would love to have manicures with you to match the colours on both of your nails! She makes sure to choose colours according to both of your tastes, and makes sure that they don't clash too much. She wants to make sure that when the two of you hold hands, the colour of your nails complement each other nicely!

Most of the time (when not shopping), she holds your hand really gently! The two of you hold hands in a way that it's loose and comfortable for the both of you, but not too loose that your hands will separate! And your palms don't always have to be touching each other, just intertwining fingers with you is enough to make her happy <3

Her hands are really well taken care of, and she puts in quite a bit of effort to make sure that her hands are smooth and nice. Please kiss her hands after holding them and tell her how much you love her beautiful hands, she literally gets so flustered and shy 🥺

Overall, she really loves holding hands with you and it's a norm in your relationship for sure! It gives her a sense of comfort and safety, your interlocking fingers reassuring her that you are just next to her.

Satoru Gojo

He absolutely loves holding your hand! Like no matter what he does he feels the need to have your hand in his, as a form of affection and reassurance to him that you're still by his side.

Will hold your hand no matter what. Showering together? He'll hold your hand when the two of you are chilling in the bathtub. On a mission together? He holds your hand to keep you close to him and to pull you out of danger if needed. Folding laundry with him? You'll have to settle it with one of your hands and one of his hands only.

He'll turn on his infinity just as you reach out to hold his hand, and tell you to "profess your undying love" for him before he'll let your hand reach his. If you choose to do as he says, he'll definitely smile at you and then press a kiss on your hand before placing it in his own. If you choose to ignore, he'll pout and whine, but will still reach out to hold your hand because he wants to hold your hand too much. So either way, he'll end up holding your hand <3 (if he's been annoying don't be afraid to do the latter, he knows how annoying he can be so he'll accept his fate)

He always caresses the back of your hand with his fingers! It's like his way of telling you that he loves you, that he's thankful to have you by his side and that he's happy that he gets to hold your hand. And if you do the same to his hand, you'll see a large and loving smile on his face, one that you see whenever you show how much you love him 🥺

Will kiss each one of your knuckles when holding hands with you! He does it at the most random times, and for no reason most of the time. He just wants you to know that he loves you (and your hands) a lot and expresses it that way! He likes seeing your cheeks flush red from the sudden affectionate gesture.

He loves making his hands cold on purpose before holding your hand. If he ever holds your hand without teasing you about it (basically by not turning on his infinity), he's either touch starved after being away from you for a long time (which to him is more than 8 hours), or he has something up his sleeve. He'll take an ice cube and let it melt on his hands, dry his hands and then immediately go to hold your hands. He loves watching the way you jump up from the sudden coldness of his hands and he always laughs at your reaction.

Overall, he doesn't stop being a tease before holding your hand, but he makes sure to make sure you know how loved you are when your hands are actually in his and your fingers are intertwined.

Nanami Kento

This man is so… perfect. He holds your hand not just as a sign of affection and love, but to protect you and make sure that you're ok every now and then. He always treats you with so much care and when holding hands with him, you can be assured that he treats you like the most precious thing in existence.

He isn't much into PDA, but his immediate priority and need is to protect you and make sure that you're next to him. So he always makes sure to hold your hand in crowded places and during the missions the two of you go on together (before engaging in combat because he prefers giving you freedom to use your technique properly, without him potentially being in the way).

He's the kind of boyfriend who'll kiss your hand before and after holding it. He'll ask you for permission to hold your hand and when you give him consent to, he'll raise it to his lips and press a soft kiss on it as a way of saying "thank you". And before he lets go of your hand, he does the same thing and always mutters a quiet "thank you for letting me hold your hand, darling" <3

His favourite thing to do is to hold your hand when the two of you are at home, cuddling or just resting on the couch together! His hand will always be intertwined with yours, no matter what. If he's reading a book, he'll be using one hand to hold it and to flip the pages while the other is holding your hand. And if the two of you are watching a show together, he places both of your hands in his!

His hands are super smooth and beautiful. Like his fingernails are a nice length, and his fingers are just so long, slender and pretty. He has super nice hands, and you always hold one of his hands in both of yours and just admire it quietly when the two of you are cuddling on the couch together. He'll always notice and bring your hands to his lips as a way of telling you that he thinks your hands are equally beautiful 🥺

Whenever it gets cold, Kento will definitely be holding onto at least one of your hands. It's a way for him to tell if you're feeling too cold, and also a way for him to warm you up. He has really nice and warm hands, so he uses that to his advantage to help your hands feel less cold. If your hands get really cold though, he'll ask you to put on some gloves. Don't worry, he still holds onto your gloved hand afterwards!

Overall, holding hands with him is a super sweet aspect of your relationship! He takes it as a chance to express his affection while looking out for you and making sure that you're alright!

Ryomen Sukuna

He loves holding your hand and feels the need to do so every given moment. He likes that it gives him some control over you (in case anything happens to you), and at the same time is an affectionate and sweet gesture.

He holds your hand mostly in public, since he prefers other intimacies when the two of you are alone, like cuddling. He'll hold your hand especially tight in crowded places and when going around the mission site to find the curses you have to defeat. He still treats you like glass though, and he never holds your hand to the point that it hurts!

Yes, Sukuna gets possessive and jealous easily, especially if you're talking to people who you don't know for no apparent reason. Whenever he sees someone approach you, be it to get directions or to flirt with you, he grips onto your hand tightly and glares at them until they get intimidated and walk away. He'll loosen his grip on your hand afterwards and kiss your hand as an apology for being possessive and a little rough with you.

He finds it fun how the two of you manage to hold hands while doing all sorts of things. When making dinner for the both of you, you tend to sneak up behind your boyfriend and hold his hand. He doesn't mind though, because most of the time, you only hold his hand when he doesn't need to use both of his hands. He'll use one of his hands to stir and mix the food while the other is intertwined with one of your hands. He's super used since it's been like a tradition ever since the two of you started being in a relationship together <3

Likes to prank you by putting cling wrap on his hand before holding your hand. It happens a lot especially after he washes up and is waiting for the food to finish cooking! He'll just put a thin layer of cling wrap on his hand and since he knows that you never look down at his hands when he moves to hold your hand, he knows that his plan will work. It always makes him laugh when he sees your surprised and annoyed expression, but you don't stop him from pulling this prank almost every other day, since you want to see him laugh 🥺

He loves bringing your hands to his eye level and admiring your hands for at least a few minutes each time. He really loves you so much, and he can't help but want to admire every part of your body over and over again. He'll always press kisses all over each of your hands after he's done looking at them, and calls you his "pretty baby".

Overall, Sukuna truly makes sure that you feel loved when holding your hand. Yes, he might get possessive and yes, he might prank you from time to time, but he really just wants you to be safe and happy!

Zenin Maki

She absolutely adores holding hands with you! She might not be super comfortable with all forms of affection since she's still getting used to it, but holding hands is something she absolutely loves!

She doesn't initiate hand holding most of the time though, despite the fact that she enjoys it a lot. It just doesn't come as naturally to her, so most of the time she doesn't process that she can just reach for your hand and hold it. You'll have to initiate it most of the time; she'll always be happy to hold onto your hand as long as you offer it to her.

She mostly initiates hand holding when she senses that you're feeling upset or sad. She knows what it's like to have no one to turn to and not having any hand to hold on to when feeling all those negative emotions, and she doesn't want you to go through that. The moment she sees a frown on your face, or tears well up in your eyes, your hand will be in hers. She'll stroke your hand with her thumb to try to calm you down too.

She doesn't hold your hand before going to sleep, but your hands are always near each other's. And somehow, her hand always gravitates towards yours in the middle of the night and the two of you wake up to find your hands intertwined. It happens mostly when Maki gets nightmares. She senses the warmth of your hand and her hand will just move to hold yours as a source of comfort and reassurance that you're still next to her 🥺

Hand holding before bed is a must though! The two of you make sure to cuddle and relax in bed before going to sleep, and your hands are always intertwined no matter what you both are doing. Be it watching a movie together, or scrolling through your phones, you both will be holding hands!

She especially enjoys holding hands with you before, during and after training! Your hands are intertwined until the two of you reach the training venue, and then you both press a kiss on each other's hand as a form of encouragement! In between training, when the two of you get a break, her hand will be in yours as you both hydrate. And after training, no matter how sweaty both of your hands are, you and Maki will walk back to the dorms hand in hand, ready to relax and chill together <3

Overall, holding hands with Maki is something that happens everyday, and you both like it a lot, even if she won't admit it out loud. The two of you are often seen holding hands, and you both bask in each of those moments, enjoying the feeling of your hands being pressed against each other and your both of your fingers interlocking.

Okkotsu Yuuta

Yuuta is a super sweet boyfriend! He'll take any opportunity to be affectionate with you and he definitely loves physical touch! He's going to be holding onto your hand as much as possible, as long as you're comfortable with it.

Pinky holding that turns into hand holding! He always starts by linking and interlocking both of your pinkies together. Slowly but surely, he'll start to slip his hand into yours and intertwine them, his thumb stroking your hand gently. It's more of a habit from the start of your relationship when he didn't know if you wanted to hold hands or not, but he's continued it and he still does it.

He might be a special grade sorcerer with loads of experience, but he still gets nervous before missions, especially if he's on a mission with you. On the way to the mission site, he'll hold onto your hand and squeeze it every now and then, just as a way to reassure and comfort himself, and you as well. Your touch is more than enough to make him feel safe and sound <3

Expect lots and lots of hand holding during movies! No matter what kind of movie it is, Yuuta's hand would always be intertwined with yours, squeezing it from time to time. When you're watching a really scary horror movie, he'll hold on to your hand like his life depends on it, and watching a romance movie, his thumb would be stroking your hand gently. Just expect hand holding as long as you both are watching a movie!

He's the kind of boyfriend who likes to hold your hand up to your lips and say things like "your hands are so beautiful, just like you", or "how are your hands so perfect, my darling?" while kissing your hand in between each of his words. He really just wants you to realise how beautiful he thinks you and your hands are 🥺

He loves holding your hand in public and he's so cute about it. If he sees something that interests or excites him, he'll tug your hand gently and bring you to look at it. Most of the time, it's related to you and he just gets really eager to show you!

Overall, he's such a sweet boyfriend when it comes to holding your hand! Yuuta loves holding your hand as much as possible, since holding your hand gives him lots of comfort and makes him really happy to have someone like you love him!

Inumaki Toge

Toge loves holding hands so much! He can't exactly express his feelings for you through his words because of his cursed speech, so physical affection has become his default way of making you feel loved.

He holds your hand whenever it's free, and he always holds it close to him as a way of asking for permission to hold it! The two of you hold hands when taking a break during training, on dates, and practically any time you don't need both your hands to function.

He loves twirling you around when the two of you are holding hands! Yes, it's random and the both of you don't really dance together, but he just enjoys doing it! Sometimes, he just stops in the middle of nowhere randomly and kisses your forehead before twirling you around like you're a ballerina, with his hand still intertwined with yours. He seldom does it in front of people though, it's mostly when the two of you are alone <3

When he holds your hand, he has the habit of tracing small drawings on the back of your hand with his fingers. He especially loves tracing onigiri! It's become a game between the two of you too, and the two of you take turns tracing patterns on the back of each other's hands while the other person has to guess what was drawn!

He really likes holding hands with you when you wear one of his oversized hoodies! The sleeves are too long and reach down to around your knuckles, and Toge loves holding hands with that small portion of his hoodie… just there. It makes him feel really lucky to have you by his side, wearing his hoodie and holding his hand! He loves that his fingers can reach the inside of the sleeve when he holds your hands, it just gives him a sense of comfort that he can't exactly explain.

He holds your hand to sleep every single night! It reassures him that you're right by his side as he sleeps, and the warmth of your hand in his helps lull him to sleep too! No matter how close your bodies are, your hands will find their way to each other (and will rest in a comfortable position) and will stay intertwined throughout the night 🥺

Overall, holding hands is one of his favourite things to do with you! It's sweet and provides the both of you with each other's warmth and comfort! Toge definitely sees holding hands as one of the most important things in your relationship, and he truly enjoys it a lot!

Suguru Geto

Suguru is someone who loves holding hands, but won't openly express it. He doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by his overwhelming need to have your hand in his all the time, but you've told him time and time again that it's fine to hold your hand whenever he wants.

As a result, your hand is almost always intertwined with your boyfriend's. The both of you just really enjoy the feeling of your skin being in contact with each other and the warmth radiating from each other's hands. And even if it's cold and the two of you wear gloves, the two of you will still be seen walking hand in hand despite not being able to feel each other's skin and warmth. It's just the feeling of having each other close that makes the two of you happy, really 🥺

He's always so polite and asks for permission to hold your hand every time. It was more of a matter of consent at the start of your relationship, but now he uses it to tease you, since he knows that you're more than fine with him holding your hand anytime he wants. He'll still place your hand on top of his and ask, "May I hold your hand?" in the most teasing way possible every time he wants to hold your hand.

Whenever the two of you go shopping together, he'll hold onto your shopping bags for you. He honestly just wants to make sure that your hands are free for him to hold onto no matter what. And once you find out, you offer to hold some of the shopping bags in the hand your boyfriend isn't holding onto just to lessen the load on your boyfriend!

When it rains, he likes to hold onto your hand and either stick both of your hands out from under the umbrella or run around in the rain with you. Of course, he knows that the latter could cause you to fall sick, which is why he hardly does it. But sticking out your intertwined hands out into the rain? Absolutely yes. It's calming for him to feel the raindrops fall onto his hand, and with your hand in his, it makes the whole experience even more fun and relaxing.

Likes holding your hand and placing it right in between both of you at night, before you both go to sleep. He'll bring your hand closer to his and place kisses from your fingertips to your knuckles on each and every single one of your fingers, before placing 3 kisses on the back of your hand. He never fails to do this every single night, and he loves seeing your eyes light up everytime he does it <3

Overall, hand holding is something Suguru loves and craves really often. But no matter how many times the both of you hold hands, you both make sure that you can feel each other's love behind the seemingly simple, yet meaningful, action.

Toji Fushiguro

He loves holding your hand! It gives him the sense that he has someone to hold onto and rely on. He's been through way too much, and the fact that he's able to hold your hand makes him feel that maybe, all the pain he went through in the past was worth going through if he had you to hold onto now.

He holds your hand all the time and doesn't let go unless you do. He takes hand holding seriously, and to him, it's a way to protect you and pull you away from any danger. After he realises that danger isn't always around the corner, he starts to feel the enjoyment and intimacy of holding hands with you.

He didn't always start out by holding your hand though. At the start of your relationship, he used to grab you by the wrist instead of intertwining his hand with yours. It was partially because he wasn't used to hand holding and felt that it was awkward to initiate, and also partially because he felt that he didn't deserve to hold your hand at the start of your relationship. He wanted you to be sure that you wanted to be with him before holding hands with him. Of course, you had to reassure him that you truly did love him and wanted him to hold hands with you multiple times before he got used to it.

His hands are large and really nice to hold! They're calloused and rough, and there are many small scars littered all over his hands from everything he went through. If you ever bring his hands close to your lips and press soft kisses all over his scars, he'll melt on the inside for sure! He won't show it, or admit it out loud, but he feels that it's a very sweet gesture and he definitely feels really loved whenever you do it. It reminds him that you love all of him, scars and bruises included 🥺

He loves it when you're sitting on the couch or on the bed with him and he just holds onto your hand really tight before bringing it to his lips. He'll place wet and messy kisses all over your hand while you squeeze his hand to encourage him to keep going. He'll switch over to your other hand not long after and give it an equal amount of love and kisses <3

Secretly enjoys it when you're holding his hand, but your fingers aren't interlocked and are gripping the side of his hand instead. And when you drag him around to look at different things while holding his hand like that, he feels like he's in a dream. He's only ever seen such a thing happen in romance movies, but to be able to experience it with you… he truly feels like the luckiest person on earth.

Overall, he loves holding hands with you so, so much! Your hand in his makes him feel safe and protected, and he hopes that he can make you feel the same way whenever he holds your hand!

Naoya Zenin

He's not good at being affectionate, he knows that. But he's trying his very best! One thing he makes sure of is that in your relationship, both of you are comfortable with holding hands with each other.

He tries his best to pick up on your body language and decides if he should hold your hand or not from that. If he senses that you're scared or upset, he'll try to reach for your hand and let you hold his hand if you want. Otherwise, you'll have to initiate most of the time because he genuinely doesn't know if he'll piss you off by holding your hand without asking you.

He always touches your hands with his fingers before holding your hand. It's his way of asking for permission to hold hands with you, and the last thing he'll want is for you to push him away because he didn't realise that you didn't want to hold hands. He'll use his index finger and try to link it with your own, and slowly but surely, it leads to full out hand holding.

He's quite insecure and scared to initiate hand holding with you because "what if it's not convenient for them?". Naoya gets that thought really often and sometimes, he doesn't try to initiate any hand holding in fear that he's annoying you. So then it's up to you to initiate it! When he gets extra fidgety and starts playing with the hem of his shirt or fidgeting his hands in his pants pockets, that probably means that he wants to hold your hand, but is too scared to initiate it. Please please hold his hands if that happens, he'll smile and mutter a quiet "I love you" <3

Likes it when you squeeze his hand from time to time. It doesn't have to be for any particular reason at all, it just gives him the reassurance that you're still next to him. He's been through a lot in the past and lots of people have left his side because of how he used to be, but with your hand in his and your gentle squeezes, he doesn't feel lonely and alone 🥺

He especially loves holding hands with you in the rain. He'll use his other hand to hold the umbrella and shelter the both of you, while the hand closer to you is intertwined with yours, his hold on you gentle and comforting. He loves the whole atmosphere of walking together in the rain while you're holding hands so much, it's very magical to him!

Overall, he's still trying his best to initiate hand holding, and he's getting better at it slowly but surely. In the meantime, you'll have to take the initiative and fulfil his desire to have your hand in his.

My headcanons are seriously getting longer and longer without me even realising as I write them lol. But it's too fun writing them ehehe =)) Hope you enjoyed reading!

© @j2lx, 2022

[purgatory-if]

demo (tba) | faq | masterpost (you are here.) | art cred @aykaypee

You’re in danger, and every fiber of you knows it.

You’re sure, by now, that no matter what you do you won’t be able to stop it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

...This is the end.

You wish you had something that would remember you.

... YOUR life is a mystery to you when you wake up in the sunny fields of Purgatory. Apparently death isn't supposed to be a full memory wipe to the soul, but that's no problem, right? There's usually some sort of record kept of this kind of thing. If not for special cases like yours, then at the very least for organizational purposes. You're told all of that, assured that nothing is wrong and that this jsut 'happens' sometimes up until the moment they look for yur death and find nothing to speak of. Nothing of your life, either, just to make a bad time even worse.

Without knowing anything like this, it's safe to say that it'll be impossible to pass on. The underworld isn't built for fringe cases like you and even if it was, not even knowing who you were is disconcerting at best and cause for crisis at worst.

So alright. It shouldn't be too hard to find out how one person died, right? Detectives and story characters do it all the time- and now you have all the time in the world.

You should, anyways.

... FEATURES include:

play as a seriously unlucky pc whose cause of death depends on which route you decide to pursue

be whoever you want to be! standard for ifs nowadays; things such as pronouns, general appearance, personality all that jazz

8 romance options (mostly fem/non-binary, 1 option you can choose the gender of) and the ability to play as aro and/or ace

at least 4 poly romance routes!

love me some good vanity stats! vanity stats

get recruited (read: forced) into a 9-5 where time isn't real

beat up time

really symbolic mythology! i could write a goddamn essay on these fuckers

... PURGATORY is recommended for players over the age of 15, though I’m not going to police what you do on the internet. The game will contain major character death and death of all kinds, what is probably sacrilege, memory loss, fantasy violence, potentially sexually suggestive scenes and dialogue (hi ama.), morally dubious behaviour, and more. In-depth content warnings for each chapter and specific routes will be released at a later date.

... 'MAIN' CHARACTERS

THE DIVINE.

Angel (prns selectable) / Witty, charismatic, more than a little bloodthirsty, there's a certain volatility about someone who is Fate embodied. While they take their time on the many, many field missions necessary for stability in the multiverse or whatever very seriously, they'll put their restless passion into anything if it catches their eye for long enough.

Achlys (they/them) / Death itself, stoic and sharp and more than a little intimidating, it's hard not to let their mere presence get under your skin. While it would be nice to say that's not an intentional effect, the only unintentional thing about them is the fact that they're down here, of all places. They seem to be making the best of it.

Esme (they/them) / An angel in what is certainly an analogy for hell, classic, isn't it? They're little more than a shambling mess in a skirt if we're being honest, oh so scared of any shadow that moves in the corner of their vision. They truly do wear their heart on their sleeve, which seems to be an invitation for some to try and stop its frantic beat.

Amaterasu (she/they) / Don't let her meet your parents, is the only advice I'd give, because she'd be gunning for at least a threesome by the time starters are served. Unflinchingly forward and seductive, they're horribly charming in the most impermanant of ways. There's nothing she'll shy away from trying sooner or later, it seems, in or out of the bedroom.

THE MORTALS.

Viviana Alatorre (she/her) / Businesslike. Some people really don't change when they die, and going to this office just means you see the sun less on your coimmute. She doesn't appear to be dead, or alive, something in the middle. Out of everyone here, she's probably the most terrifying. Even more than the death god, probably because she's actively working towards terror.

Ailbhe Kahinu (she/it) / There's nothing that troubles Ailbhe, and it wouldn't be concerning if she was... y'know, dead. In the face of certain terror, it faces things with a shrug and a sigh. At least she's good-natured about this whole thing, being dragged down here by both her girlfriend (Vivi) and her sister (Rahley). The prices here are better than aboveground, anyways.

Rahley Kahinu (she/her) / Rahley's been compared to a robot more than one time, and while the comparison probably wasn't in good faith that doesn't mean it was necessarily wrong. She's intensely focused on her work, and her skill in that department seems to have drained her ability in things like basic conversation and empathy. So it goes.

M Blankenship (prns selectable) / Previously called 'Hit 'N Run' in the world of roller derby, the violent nickname seems odd on someone as cheerful as M. They act as a sort of tour guide for souls entering the Underworld proper instead of hanging around Purgatory, and it's hard to say their easy extroversion makes them anything worse than great at their job.

THE CONSTANTS.

Stratos C. Lusse (he/him) / The eternal guide to Purgatory for souls lost, souls found and all who are inbetween. He seems to have been here the longest--minus all of the deities, of course.

Octavia Hardin (she/her) / The part-time guide to Purgatory. She seems more likely to throw your soul into damnation if you cross her or anybody she cares about. Stay on her good side!

Salem Astor (she/her) / She would be a romance option if I had the energy to code in a shop feature. But I don't. So she runs free through the city.

Abbadon (prns selectable) / Personification of the past. If anyone can help you figure out what the hell happened to you, then they should be the one to go to. Sometime in the next 5 centuries would be ideal.

Maliel (prns selectable) / Personification of the future. Again, probably someone who can find out in a second what you'll know when you figure out this mystery, if you're able to find them at a good time. The woes of being a primordial deity.

...and more! Probably. Co-workers, pirates, other deities but this is running long.

[soobnny]

drunk in love — seo changbin.

trope. best friends to lovers. college au. mutual pining.

synopsis. getting drunk for the first time with the one person you trust the most doesn’t sound like a bad idea, right? even if you’re madly in love with them?

word count. 2.2k words

warnings. drinking, puking, and just everything that comes with being drunk, curse words

note. been in a changbin mood recently

Everything looks so hazy.

With a shot glass clumsily in hand, you tilt your hand to look around Changbin’s living room in wonder. Everything looks as it has always been, the same pieces of furniture in the same places, and yet it felt totally different.

The walls look a different color, and the television seems to have grown a new pair. How silly to keep two TVs side by side each other.

You giggle at the thought, eyes unfocused as you keep staring at his television with curiosity. Your best friend, currently seated beside you on the couch, carefully grabs the shot glass from your hand to prevent any accidents – taking advantage of the moment where you’re distracted.

A few minutes ago, when he had attempted the same thing, you had gotten upset. Changbin would rather roll down multiple flights of stairs than have you be upset with him again, even if it was unintentional and under the influence of alcohol.

He doesn’t even know what had prompted you to drink in the first place. You had just texted him, completely out of the blue; can we drink tonight lol

And before he could even respond, you were already knocking on his door with a bottle of tequila in hand and a sheepish smile painted on your features. He accepts the offer. For one, he could never say no to you. And secondly, he had no classes tomorrow and he hadn’t drank in a while.

He could use the taste of alcohol to hide behind when it comes to his feelings for you. It’s grown tenfold over the past few weeks, and although he could never trust himself drunk around you (he knows his blabber mouth would confess in one way or another), a few shots wouldn’t hurt.

Plus, he has never drank with you either. To his information, you’ve never drank before either. At all.

Changbin had asked if you wanted to invite any of your friends over, even the guys, but you had asked if it was alright that it was just the two of you for tonight.

It’s because you trust him the most, but you don’t need to tell him that.

If you did, he would’ve exploded. But you didn’t have to know that either.

With the shot glass successfully out of your reach, Changbin doesn’t even try to understand what you’re giggling about. He knows you’re hit, and the wholesome way you’re smiling is too adorable to question. He just lets you stare at his television like it was a Nobel prize winning discovery.

After gawking for a few minutes, you turn your attention to Changbin, scooting so much closer that your knees are pressed together now. Leaning in with a hand covering your mouth, you whisper into his ear.

“Why do you have two TVs?”

Changbin feels like crying at how cute you are.

“I think you might’ve had too much to drink.” You pull away from his face, eyebrows knit as you shake your head in disagreement. You’re too shy to admit you’ve already been hit hours ago.

“I’m dizzy, but I can still understand what’s happening around me. So, I’m just tipsy, right?” You don’t even give him a chance to respond when you start talking about something entirely different, abruptly getting up from your seat to point at the walls.

Changbin follows suit with his hands stretched out in case you fall over.

“When did you get the time to repaint your walls? I liked the old one better.” Eyes blinking rapidly, you step forward a little unsteadily and Changbin has an arm hovering around you in record time. “It changed again just now!”

“Think you’re really drunk, darling.”

“‘M not drunk. Your wall’s being weird.” You brush his statement dismissively, attempting to stumble towards the painted walls to see them up close.

Though, you don’t think your feet want to cooperate with you very much.

Changbin has to pull you to his side before you can trip over your own feet, and you can feel the heat spreading from your neck to your face but you’re unsure if it’s from the alcohol or the close proximity to your best friend.

“Okay. You’re not drunk. I believe you.” His grip tightens around you, and you smile victoriously at the small accomplishment of convincing him you aren’t drunk, even though he knows otherwise.

“Thank you.” You politely respond, bowing unsteadily before looking up at him with your crescent eyes and your crooked grin, and the boy really has to try his best not to get carried away with the overwhelming amount of feelings he has for you.

Especially when you’re looking at him like that.

He fails, of course, hearing his own heartbeat quicken and his palms start to sweat, but at least he tried anyway. In trial of calming himself down, he places his palm on the entirety of your face and pushes you back down to sit on the couch.

Changbin hears nothing but muffled protests from you, but he takes the limited time he has with your eyes peeled to clear his throat and recompose himself before he pulls his hand back.

Get it together, Changbin.

Though, even after having calmed himself, he still finds himself thinking about the way you perfectly fit by his side, like he has always been meant to wrap an arm around your waist.

He wants you so fucking bad, and it really doesn’t help that your cuteness has heightened from the silly lens you’re viewing the world in right now.

Preparing himself for your scolding, he finds that you’ve completely forgotten the way he had manhandled you back on the couch. Instead, you’re gripping at your shirt with your eyebrows twisted, lips pressed in a thin line as if you’re trying to discern the way you’re feeling right now.

“Binnie, I’m a little dizzy now.”

And then you’re getting up again.

“Careful.” He mumbles under his breath, stepping forward. You always trust Changbin to be there before you fall.

Though, ironically, you’ve been falling for a few years now. But you haven’t crashed yet and there’s still time for Changbin to open his arms and catch you if he wanted to.

You can tell he’s tired. You don’t even know what time it is anymore. Everything’s so distorted and it’s all just static to you now. All you know is that you have to get home so Changbin can get his much needed rest.

“Gotta get home now.” You hiccup, body swaying in an alarming way as you try to make a run for his front door.

“Not so fast.” He pulls you back, allowing you to rest most of your weight on him when you stumble back. “You’re sleeping here tonight. Can’t let you go home like this. Hmm? Who’s gonna take care of you?”

“You gonna take care of me?” Your voice has grown incredibly soft now, hands gripping his arms to keep yourself standing.

“Mhm.” He leans forward to brush away the hair falling in front of your face, tucking the loose strands behind your ear so it doesn’t bother you so much.

“Thank you, Binnie. You always take care of me.”

Changbin thinks he’s gonna pass out again because here you are, looking at him again. In some delusional way, it makes him think you feel the same as him, even though he thinks it’s just wishful thinking.

“Stop looking at me like that. Makes it really hard for me.”

“Makes it hard to what?” You’re standing on your tiptoes to try and mirror his height so your face is directly in front of his now, and Changbin has to hold both of your arms to prevent you from falling on top of him completely.

“Not to kiss you.” He mumbles begrudgingly. It’s okay, you won’t remember this tomorrow. He thinks. Or, he hopes.

But if you do, he’s equally hoping you admit you’ve always wanted to kiss him too.

“What’s stopping you?” Another hiccup.

“You’re drunk.” Changbin deadpans, pinching your cheeks, and immediately regretting his decision when a pout sports your lips and your eyebrows knit together in the most adorable way possible.

“I told you ‘m not drunk!” You let your head fall on his shoulder.

Only a few seconds of silence pass before you’re speaking again. Although, your tone’s a little more troubled. “Uh oh. I don’t feel too good.”

You don’t really remember how you got to the bathroom. The only thing you can feel is a hand rubbing your back and another pulling your hair back as you’re hunched over his toilet seat, vomiting out whatever you had for dinner earlier.

Tears prick in your eyes, and then you’re hurling again, coughing out as if it’ll help you feel any better about the circumstance you’re under. You don’t even notice Changbin has left your side until he comes back with a glass of water, making sure you drink all of it after wiping away the corners of your mouth.

“Sorry.” You frown, lips starting to tremble as you stare down at the floor, clearly dejected and ashamed.

Changbin sits down on his bathroom floor next to you, continuing to rub your back like he did earlier. “It’s okay. This kind of thing happens.”

“But it’s gross, and now you’ll never like me. You’ll like someone else who doesn’t vomit in your toilet.” He lets out a breathy laugh at how sad you sound, and you’re starting to feel embarrassed.

“Hey. I like you even when you vomit in my toilet.”

You look up at him with doe eyes, and you suddenly feel so much better. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Mkay. Thank you.” You smile stupid to yourself, playing with your fingers and suddenly feeling shy.

Changbin finds the sight endearing, and feels his heart expand in fondness every time you say ‘thank you’ at even the most minuscule thing – when he “believed” you were drunk, when he had let you stay the night, when he told you he still liked you even when you puke.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he catches you yawning.

“You tired? Gonna get you some clothes to change into, okay?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Not gonna let you sleep in that. You’ll be uncomfortable.” He pats your head once he’s stood up from having sat on the bathroom floor next to you.

“Oh. You’re right.”

You don’t protest further, humming to yourself as you wait for him to come back.

He returns with some of his spare clothes and a damp face towel. After wiping your face, he allows you to change into your clothes after having convinced him you could do it. He can’t help but laugh when you walk out of his bathroom with his shirt on backwards.

You immediately fall face first on his bed, groaning out at how comfortable his bed was. Changbin smiles fondly at the sight, helping you tuck yourself in comfortably. You blink up at him, patting the space next to you.

“Come to bed now.”

“Gotta change too, okay? Give me a few minutes.”

You whine childishly when he makes his way to his bathroom. “Binnie, where are you?”

“Just a few more minutes.”

“But Binnie! I’m cold. And.. and… what if someone suddenly came in and took me away! It’ll be all your fault.” You try to play with the cards that you’re dealt with, scheming to say anything that could guilt trip Changbin into speeding up in the bathroom so he could be beside you right now.

“Okay, okay. I’m here, I’m done.”

You’re grumpy now, even with his favorite blanket wrapped around you. When he sits down beside you on his bed, you’re scooting away slightly to really sell the part.

“You mad at me?” He whispers, smiling to himself when you nod your head.

“You left me all alone.”

“Just so I’m wearing clean clothes when I cuddle you.”

“You’re gonna cuddle me?” You ask with wide eyes.

“You said you were cold, hm?”

It doesn’t take much after that before you’re wrapped in his arms instead, head resting comfortably on his chest as you sigh out in relief. This feels nice. His arms feel warm and comfortable. It’s warmer than it was when you were just under the covers.

“You still mad?”

“‘M not mad anymore. You’re forgiven.” Changbin grins, threading his fingers through your hair gently to help you sleep quicker. He knows you’re tired, from the way you drawl out your words, and the way you simply collapse into him.

He rests his free arm around you comfortably, just by your hips, and he continues to look down at you attentively in case you jolt awake in need of something. He only completely relaxes when he hears soft snores from you.

Placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, Changbin allows himself to shut his own tired eyes closed. Even though he had been exhausted from the events of the day prior, he finds he’d do it all over again for you if you asked him to.

As for you, you’re not quite sure you want to drink as hard as you did today. One thing you are sure of is you never want to leave, with your head resting just below Changbin’s neck, and his hand running through your hair.

You don’t wanna be anywhere else but with the one person you trust the most.

[jiejies-corner-store]

his reaction to you getting hurt (nsfw)

§ pairing: zandik (il dottore) x fem!reader

§ summary: il dottore while only tolerate to see cuts and bruises on you done by his own hand. so when you are retrieved after being kidnapped, he will expend all of himself to fix such a grevious error.

§ tags/cw: spoilers for genshin sumeru interactibles, use of dottore’s speculated name, nsfw, unintentional self-harm, ptsd, anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of torture, body horror, dottore himself, kidnapping, broken bones, medical content, unintentional gaslighting (?), slight medical fetish, cunnilingus, spit-swallowing, cum eating, breeding (probably), possessiveness, biting, dottore’s fat kok, desk sex, office sex, belly-bulge, sex written by an asexual virgin.

§ notes: this is atrocious i’m sorry

§ word count: 3.9k

IL DOTTORE (ZANDIK)

• In all honestly, if it were Dottore’s choice, he wouldn’t be standing in his lab this late at night watching as the Treasure Hoarder’s organs was being replaced with a ruin guard’s inner working when he could be in bed with you.

• The thing kept whimpering incessantly. The work was messy, even by his standards. The wires weren’t perfectly aligned nor were the cuts he had made. He didn’t care at this point. All he wanted was for you to be in his arms.

• It’d been a long week, but if it meant you would be able to look at him without having violent flashbacks of being attacked, kidnapped, and tortured, then it would all be worth it.

• Speaking of,

“Are you ready to croak?” Dottore hummed, running the scapel along some veins in the treasure hoarder’s chest. “It would be a deal more convient if you went ahead started talking. Your friends didn’t hold up so well when it came to this part and I don’t have high hopes you would either.”

The treasure hoarder’s eyes had glazed over slightly from the hours of pain. Most of his less vital veins and nervous system had been replaced with oil tubes and wires. Dried blood decorated the table from where Dottore took his sweet time cauterizing each incision.

He scowled. The Treasure Hoarder had stopped begging for mercy a while ago and now he wasn’t sure if it was still lucid enough to speak. His blood boiled thinking about you. How long was it before you stopped calling out for help? How long had you cried for him to come save you, only for there to be no response? Sure, he did find you and he did save you eventually, but by then it was too late. They had already bruised your beautiful face, and cuts littered your skin. The ones that hadn’t turned tail and fled the second they heard he was coming were not spared from his wrath when he arrived. There was no body to identify when he had left the scene.

Annoying whimpers came from the Treasure Hoarder’s chest. Dottore ripped the adhesive cloth off its mouth. This was one of the ones that had run. Of course, Dottore hunted down each and every one of the filthy rats who had a hand in your suffering. For the ones who fled like cowards, he managed to control himself and prolong their torture by letting them become test subjects. The weaker ones he sent to Arlecchino for the children’s target practice. A gesture of goodwill for her assistance in tracking them down.

The Treasure Hoarder started yammering out nonsense and Dottore scoffed, pressing the scapel down into its chest to prepare for some remodelling. It shrieked like a stuck boar and then started making sense of its words.

▪ What Dottore heard from the test subject did not make him happy in the slightest, neither did it surprise him, but he was really hanging onto the hope that it would be a simple, clear cut case—that he’d be able to shower the blood off himself and find you in bed while his segments finished up the work.

▪ Unfortunately it seemed it would be a long, long night. The treasure horder finally revealed that it was in fact someone else who had put them up to it. Planted the idea that they could profit off of the entire endeavor, and even gave them all of the intel they needed to carry it out.

▪ After cleaning the blood and viscera from his body and changing clothing, Dottore stopped by your shared bedroom and peered at your bandages. He held his breath waiting to see yours. Only when he saw the slight rise and fall of your chest did he relax. He carefully changed the bandages and examined the deep gashes in your sides and arms. Those, were not from the Treasure Hoarders.

▪ The memory still played fresh in his mind:

“No—no no! I’m sorry—“ you had sobbed, curling yourself into a corner of the bedroom. Your eyes darted from side to side like a wild animal. It was a sight he was used to seeing from his test subjects but not you—never you. He would never raise a hand to you. “I promise I won’t—I won’t cause problems please just—don’t—“

“My love,” Dottore said, his voice barely carrying through to you. He held one hand out as he slowly approached, trying to ease you back into bed where he could calm down. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was upset the papers were moved. I didn’t mean anything by it please just—“

His words weren’t getting through to you whatsoever. The more he spoke the faster your breathing got, and the tighter the knot in his chest got. He was getting anxious waiting for you to come back to him. He took one step toward you and you just lost it. Your breathing was in triple time as you rushed towards the glass window, hurdling your full body’s strength and weight at it and shattering through the panes. Everything from there happened in slow motion. He was helpless to watch you—you, his one vulnerability—fall from the second story of his manor, glass shards creating deep gashes in your arms and legs all to be met his a sickening crunch as your body hit the snow.

Guards and waitstaff immediately swarmed you like ants and Dottore stepped away from the window. He didn’t care about the price of the stained glass, or how much of a mess there was on the floor. Your body lying on the pristine white snow—your blood seeping out into the surrounding ice—was branded onto his memory.

• It was at that point Dottore knew that he had to do more than just find the men who hurt you. He had to annihilate them. Any trace of them would be wiped clean from this earth. Everything for that matter, and he meant everything, that threatened your safety would be eradicated. That was the only way he could ensure that what happened that snowy morning never happened again.

• So as he watched you sleeping figure, arms and legs wrapped in casts and bandages he couldn’t help but feel even more stirred on to complete his goal. He hazarded a gentle kiss onto your forehead and went back to his lab to do more research. He would find out who dared threaten a harbinger’s darling and he would make them pay.

Days went by, then weeks, then it was a whole two months since the treasure hoarder had spilled all of his secrets. The pathetic thing didn’t last long after that. Dottore’s Segments ripped him to shreds. If there was one thing that was universal about all Dottore clones was a fiercely protective love for you. Of course, there was no one on all of Teyvat who could possibly love you more than Dottore Prime. However, for the entire stint of your recovery, only the younger segments of himself could even get near you. Dottore himself and all of his older segments made you clam up. It put you on the brink of another attack. Worst of all and what made the least sense was that Dottore Prime, the original, THE Dottore, made all of these anxieties hit their vaporizing point. As badly as it hurt him to have to allow his other segments to take care of you, he let them because it was in your best interest.

However, surely as the night must give over to day, you began to heal. In both senses. That morning he helped you dress and suggested that the two of you spend a day out together.

He knew you were getting cabin fever, and there was only so many things he could do to entertain you in his lab. So on this rare day that he gave himself off he decided to take you to the capital for a relaxing date out of the house. You seemed calm. Not exactly happy, but at least you weren’t on the brink of another panic attack. That much Dottore was grateful for.

Ever since that day, Dottore had been extremely careful about what he said around you. He wasn’t sure what happened in that stint that you were kidnapped, but whatever it was it left you haunted. He made sure not to say anything about messes, needing to fix something in the lab, or—strangely enough—being home for dinner. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was about those three things that set you off, but he made damn sure he didn’t ever bring it up in conversation.

You reached out to pick up a small trinket while Dottore kept his eyes on the vendor. Just as you had leaned forward enough to be vulnerable, Dottore the vendor move. He immediately pushed you back into your wheelchair and pulled you away from the vendor.

“Zandik!”

The man blinked. How many times had you called his name? He’d completely blacked out. His actions had gone to autopilot. Your eyebrows were knit with concern and you slumped back down. “Maybe we should just go home. I didn’t mean for this to be stressful for you. I only asked because I thought…” you trailed off, “Nevermind… let’s just go home.”

Zandik opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it when he saw the tired expression in your eyes, and he didn’t have it in himself to argue with you.

• He began returning much later in the night, long after you’d gone to sleep. The bags under his eyes only grew heavier with each passing week. He grit his teeth and began unbuttoning his dress shirt to yank his tie off. Each time he had a promising lead, it was like it set him back another week. One step forward and two steps back.

• As he climbed into bed he noticed dried streaks on your cheeks. He carefully thumbed one and watched as you whined and shifted away from his touch, fresh tears springing to your eyes. You subconciously turned away from him, and even though he knew you didn’t mean to, his heart shattered all the more.

• He got up out of bed and pulled his labcoat on over his shoulders, heading to his office. He would not allow himself to sleep until he could tell you that this world was safe for you. Until he could say every thing that could possibly harm you was wiped from existence. He would not allow you to die. He would not allow you to be taken away from him like the rest of the good things in his life had been. You were his only vulnerability. The only person who didn’t shun him. And come abyss or high water, he would fucking protect you.

• Maybe then when he laid in bed with you, you wouldn’t cower away from his touch. Maybe then you’d know that he was your protector. Your guardian devil. He would burn down the whole of Teyvat and Celestia to ensure your safety.

• Various papers were scattered around his desk. Each a profile of a potential threat. Each one opening the door to a whole new world of profiles. He picked up his pen and began working.

He wasn’t sure when, but the door creaked open. It wasn’t until he heard your feet padding across the wood parquetry did he notice you. And Archons, did he notice you. Standing in his rumpled dresshirt and just a pair of your underwear, his breath stole itself away from him. For the past few months he’d been so caught up in his work that he hadn’t seen you. Not really. Not like this. Your arms were still wrapped up in bandages, but the casts had been removed and you’d regained a good deal of your strength.

You said nothing as you approached him and crawled onto his lap. He set his pen down and held you, scooting away from the desk slightly to properly accommodate you in his lap. You curled in sideways, bracing yourself with your back to one armrest and your feet anchoring you in on the other. He brought his hand up to brush some hair out of your eyes and you grabbed it. You flipped his palm over and ran a thumb over the gold band on his ring finger.

There was a bloated pause, before you took in a shaky breath and asked in a fragile voice: “Zandik. Do you still love me?”

Before he could even respond, you continued.

“I… I keep having nightmares. I had another one tonight,” you whispered, continuing to trace his wedding band, “…I keep dreaming that you leave me. That… you just decide one day that I’m too much trouble, and you leave.”

He felt like he’d been suckerpunched by a ruin guard.

Your body began trembling, “This is all my fault… if… I just—I don’t know. If I hadn’t run away that night none of this would have ever happened. You wouldn’t be in your office all of the time and we’d be okay. I never should have said anything—everything was fine and then I had to just go and open my stupid fucking mou—“

“Stop.”

You trembled harder and gripped the lapels of his lab coat.

“Don’t talk like that. Do you understand me?” Zandik asked, taking your face into his hands, “You are the only person on all of Teyvat worth my time.”

“B-but… you’ve been drowning yourself in work… I thought it was so that you—you would have time away from me,” you hiccuped, fat tears rolling down your face.

Zandik shook his head, handing you some of the profiles of the people who he’d deemed a threat. You recognized some of them, some of them were the ones who were your attackers. “This is what I’ve been working on.”

You gripped the papers harder. “You’ve been—that’s why you were so paranoid when we went into the city,” you looked at him with a pitiful expression. “I thought… I just…”

“Everything I do is for you. Don’t you see that?”

“But—whenever I try to work through things—it always ends up in a fight and that’s… that’s why I—”

Zandik’s eyes widened. He barely even recalled what happened before you were kidnapped that night. All he remembered was the sheer panic—the way his consciousness seemed to be so distant from his body—then the blazing hot rage he felt seeing you beaten within an inch of your life nearly four days later.

“I just—all I wanted was to talk to you. I know you’re a doctor, a scientist. You fix things but—it’s like instead of just being with me, all you do is drown yourself in your work, trying to fix things,” you said, setting the papers aside. “I don’t need you to fix things, I just… I just need you. To be with me. That’s all I need.”

Zandik paused. Trying to take in all of the information. He remembered now. That night before you were kidnapped.

• He was home late from the labratory again. You were sitting at the table looking dejected when he came into the dining room. The meal had long gone cold, yet you still sat there with a cup of your preferred comfort beverage. He hung his lab coat and mask over the back of his chair, sitting down as he took note of the tense atmosphere.

• “We need to talk, Zandik,” you said finally, polishing off the last sip of your drink and setting the cup down. “This is the third week that you’ve not been home for dinner. Is there something going on that I should know about?”

• “It’s nothing. I’ll be home for dinner from now on.” he responded sharply. The new trainees at the lab were driving him insane. Of course, not that he would tell you that. He didn’t want your pretty little head to worry about anything.

• “Would you please just tell me what’s going on?”

• Zandik exhaled out his nose in frustration, “I’ve already told you. Nothing. Can we please proceed into our evening?”

• “Not until you tell me what’s been bothering you,” you persisted

• “I’ve already given you an answer. I said I’d be home for dinner from now on—what else do you need to hear?!”

• “Archons, Zandik! That’s not the problem! I don’t care if you’re home for dinner on time or not! I just want to know what’s going on!” you had moved and sat up straighter.

• “If being home in time for dinner wasn’t the problem, then why in Celestia did you feel the need to bring it up? If you would just tell me what the problem is, then I can fix it,” he huffed.

• “You—ugh! You just—can’t…” your hands had balled themselves up as you struggled for words. You hated how he always managed to do this. It made you feel stupid. He always had words for what he was feeling, and it was like you couldn’t ever get a word in edge-wise. On one hand you loved his brains, on the other, it made him a pain in the ass to talk to.

That night, after your argument, you’d stormed out of the manor to clear your head. That’s when some treasure hoarders had kidnapped you and dragged you off, thinking they could ransom you off or sell you into the black market slave.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about that night,” Zandik realized and you nodded weakly.

“I just… I love you so much, but it’s times like that when I feel like we’re not really married…” you admitted, “I never know how to bring up stuff like that. I feel like I know you so well and then it’s like you’re a completely foreign being to me. You know everything about me, but I feel like I just… I…”

Zandik pressed his lips to your forehead, taking in the smell of your shampoo as he littered kisses along the crown of your head. A silent vow that he would try. For you, he’d try.

Carefully, he set you up on his desk, shoving the smattering of papers onto the floor. He stood up from his chair and positioned himself between your legs, trailing a line of kisses from your shoulder blade to your lips. When you pulled away for air, your lips were glossy with his saliva, parted slightly as you tried to regain your breath.

“Then let me give you everything I have,” he mumbled, pushing his dress shirt off his shoulders as he pulled your body close. Your fingers slipped themselves under the fabric and pushed it further down, spreading warmth across his cold torso.

He put a hand on your back as he pushed you down further onto the desk, lowering you until you were fully presented to him on the dark oak. Your panties came off and thrown somewhere in the darkness. He kneeled down, blowing cold air teasingly as your thigh went to snap shut around him, but were stoppped by his hands gripping both of your legs.

His tongue probed around the entrance of your seeping cunt, licking up all of the slick that had already begun to gather there. After that, he didn’t give you much more time to prepare yourself as he had already began to dig in. His tongue worked at teasing the spot he knew made you weak, all while he gripped to bruise, shoving your sex closer to his face. Each time you tried to squirm he only went faster, and he let his pointy teeth graze your clit, sending warning shocks up your spine. The knot in your stomach burst and you began to quiver while his tongue kept working your insides, lapping up your orgasm until you had nothing left to give.

Keeping his grip on your legs, he dragged his body against yours until he was leering over you. He tapped your cheek, signaling you to open your mouth. When you did, he let the mixture of his saliva and your cum dribble into your mouth.

“Swallow. Consider it your new medicine. Don’t you want to make a fast and speedy recovery?” he hummed, holding your face in his hand. Too blissed out on your last orgasm, you didn’t responsd, which earned you a click of his tongue, and his cock’s head smacked against your clit.

You made a stifled noise as you retreated from the sensation, and finally reacted, swallowing the viscious mixture and responding in breathy pants, “Y-yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Yes—yes, doctor.”

“Good… now be a good patient and hold still. This treatment method is still experimental,” he ordered, taking his cock into his fist and lining it up before bottoming out in one smooth movement. The impact left you reeling and panting out his name. “Shhh… you’re alright, darling.“ His hand carefully brushed some hair stuck to your forehead off. When you had stopped spasming around him, he took his index finger and carefully traced the outline that his dick had made on your belly.

“Look at you, being such a good girl,” he praised, pulling himself out and teasing your entrance once again before he split you open on his cock again. “You’re made for this, aren’t you? Custom molded to my body.”

After stretching you out on the complete length of his cock, he pulled you in closer to the edge of the desk, cradling your body closer to his. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You bit back a moan as his angle changed and he once again started abusing that spot deep inside of you that had you seeing stars “—‘m yours Zandik! Only yours—need you. Need your cock…”

Something akin to a growl ripped itself out of the scientist’s throat as he bit down on your shoulder, sucking red marks into the soft flesh there. His thrusts got faster and shallower and he pulled back only slightly to look down at the place you were connected, listening as your wetness made erotic noises that filled the nighttime atmosphere of his office. A thick white ring had formed around his cock as he kept drilling into you, making his movements quicker and more frantic.

“P-please—inside,” you moaned, feeling him twitch as you desperately grasped onto his back, leaving red trails where your fingernails tried to find purchase in his milky white skin. “Need you—fill me up.”

It only egged him on more. Feeling your silken walls start to tighten on him, making it harder to bully his full length up into you. He pushed a hand against the bulge on your belly as he snapped his hips harder, making your body tense up as you whined out his name, pushing him to his own edge. His body seized slightly as he filled up your insides with his seed. He kept himself there for a moment, plugging it up as it began to seep out and leak back down around his cock and onto the desk.

He slid himself out, watching as his spend seeped out, only to be gathered up by his fingers and coaxed into your mouth..

“You’re all mine, no one will ever take you from me,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours as your eyes began to flutter closed.

[frankingsteinery]

been sitting on this for awhile because its a bit controversial, but its one of the main reasons i was pushed into the frankenstein fandom space so i figured it was high time to talk about it

ive noticed that theres this general opinion, both among scholars and present in more fandom-y spaces, that victor is somehow effeminate for what are ultimately symptoms of disability (fainting spells, being bedridden, hysteria, etc) as if being physically or mentally ill is something that is inherently feminine. i have read articles published by academics that victor’s sickness is proof of his “femininity,” which is why he wants to take on the traditional part of a woman, that is, childbirth (via creature)

even in general, and not on an academic level, it emerges in jokes or memes all over the place — people poking at victor for being weak, or sick, or a gay little UWU bean sub, because aw hes fainting all the time XD and he’s sooo dramatic! as if these things were somehow both his choice, and somehow innately feminine

so, not only is there this weird link people are attempting to draw between disability and femininity, but also queerness (particularly, ive noticed, being a “bottom” or “sub” — but thats a whole separate can of worms) and femininity. as if being either of these things is inherently girly or cutesy and thus worthy of being made fun of

there comes a point (particularly when these interpretations leak into broader understandings of something via pop culture), where, for lack of a better word, it comes off as fetishizing or romanticizing queerness and/or queer relationships

and while this may seem relatively harmless on the surface and comes off as just thoughtless jokes made in bad taste, it IS serious. not just within the context of frankenstein, but the general premise of the severity that even subconscious reinforcement of detrimental and stereotypical ideas should be treated with. its a slippery slope from jokes to notions that affect you and how you see the world

this is obviously part of a broader problem with the way disability, gender, identity and etc is thought about and taught, which results in people harboring all sorts of these types of underlying prejudices. its just that victor happens to be a particularly good example, wherein he is a feminized man that is ascribed as “weak,” and the attribute “weak” is ascribed to someone who has been historically analyzed as both disabled and queer. this has been reinforced for decades, and i feel like this treatment of his character in this way is so blatantly obvious and runs rampant while it goes nearly entirely unchecked — and also in the case of frankenstein discourse, its often a quadruple whammy (ableism, misogyny, transphobia, homophobia)

and the worst part is that it is so often completely unintentional, and the bulk of this sort of content are well-meaning jokes. i genuinely don’t think people do this in bad faith or out of malice, but spreading these concepts even in formats that appear to be harmless (jokes, memes) just contribute to and continue to spread these ideas and stereotypes. its frustrating because its hard to point out and bring attention to without coming off as nitpicky or overly sensitive because this sort of thing is just so SUBTLE, and these beliefs are so gradually learned and then reinforced on a subconscious level

i could go on but for risk of sounding redundant ill digress, however to be clear this is not me saying you cant view victor as transfem, or disabled, or queer (i do!), or to view him as feminine, or etc, but that you should look at the reasons for WHY you think so, and how you or others treat the subject when talking about it.

[deanwritings]

Never Let You Go

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request:

Word Count: 2,609

Gif:

A/N: Just some fluff for your Friday! Big thanks to @deanwinchesterwifesstufff for the adorable request 🥰💍

Dean’s knee taps wildly under the steering wheel as the Impala waits at a red light. If he was someone who chewed his fingernails, he would absolutely be tearing them apart right now as he focuses very hard on trying to keep his breathing steady. 

This was not an emotion Dean was used to. Sure, he usually got nervous before a hunt, but it was the type of nervous he was familiar with, one that helped keep him sharp before taking on the big bad of the week.

But this, this was full on panic. Dean hadn’t felt this type of anxiety since he was cursed with that ghost sickness from years ago. And that almost killed him. But the way his heart is pounding against his ribs, this might too. 

“Uh, Dean?” Your voice rings out and he whips his head to you. “Light’s green.” You point out the window. Dean follows your direction and sees the light has indeed changed, and he completely missed it. 

Without a word he lets his foot fall heavily to the gas, sending you both back into the seats at the sudden momentum. 

“Jesus, Dean you okay?” You brace one hand on the dashboard in front of you with a frown. Dean never hit the gas like that unless you were being chased. Not to mention the man looked paler than a ghost. Something was clearly wrong.

“Fine.” Is all he offers you without letting his eyes leave the road. You continue to stare him down, hoping your targeted gaze would force him to look at you, but he continues to either not see you or ignore you. 

With a deep breath you settle back into your seat as the car returns to a normal speed and turn out the window, a small smile gracing your lips at the passing scenery. You were happy to be back, even if it was for another hunt.  

You were in Colorado, a small town in the northwest corner that you had visited years ago. You had been hunting a Cacus, and after dodging fireballs and decapitating the thing, Dean Winchester decided to finally share his feelings for you. Those three little words you never thought you’d hear coming from the hunter, directed at you. 

Since then, you’ve been nearly inseparable. You moved your things into his room, you had movie nights in the Dean Cave, date nights at the local watering hole where you finally beat him at both darts and pool, and you two just seemed glued to each other’s side, completely unintentional, but like two souls tethered together that could never wander far from the other. 

And when things were good, life was great. It wasn't always perfect, nothing ever was, but no matter how bad things got, you two always came back to each other. And that’s what mattered. Every single time, no matter the argument, or how bad a hunt was, Dean Winchester chose you, and you chose him. 

It was more than most hunters ever got. Sure, some did the whole marriage and family thing, but those were outlying cases. Most ended up in a shallow grave or on top of a pyre. You were just happy to have Dean by your side, and you would take whatever you could with your time with him. 

You had no expectations of marriage or settling down. That wasn’t Dean’s thing, and to be honest, it wasn’t really yours. Once upon a time, a younger version of you would have dreamed of a chance of marrying Dean Winchester, but years of hunting taught you to take what you have and enjoy it, because you never knew if it was going to be stolen away. 

You shake your memories away as you pull up to a motel — no, a cabin — the facade covered in large birch logs and black shutters, and the roof slated sharply at both ends, meeting pointedly at the top. 

You turn to ask Dean what you’re doing here but he’s already out of the car, his door closing softly before he makes his way to the trunk and begins unloading. With another look through the windshield at your unexpected stay, you step out, taking a moment to take in the greenery-filled property, pine trees hiding you away from the rest of the world. 

As you look around, Dean steps up besides you, both of your bags in hand. 

“This isn’t a motel.” You cross your arms at him. His lips part but then he shuts them and shrugs. You didn’t like being surprised. Dean knew that. And he conveniently forgot to tell you that instead of some run-of-the-mill motel, you would be staying in this charming cabin in the middle of the White River National Forest. 

“Ask Sammy. Said somethin’ about the local place having reviews ‘bout bed bugs so he booked this for us instead.” Is all he offers you before he steps onto the porch and places a bag down to enter a code into the keypad lock.

Sam had found a case a few days ago, a suspected demon, based on the local crops and livestock dying. Though he had found the case, he decided to hang back at the bunker, stating his sudden, onset cold would make him more of a liability than a help. 

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but the weight in your stomach was saying something was off. Between Dean’s odd behavior, this cabin, and now you realizing Sam backed out of this hunt, something was definitely going on. You just had no idea what it was. 

After taking in the cabin and unpacking your bag, you head back out into the living room, leaving Dean to finish his very slow unpacking. He had to wait until you were gone. He couldn’t risk you noticing something unusual in his duffle. Then the whole trip would have been for nothing. Not to mention all of Sam’s hard work at faking documents and newspaper clippings. 

It was a hard thing surprising a hunter. Hunters had to always be observing, aware of anything that was amiss, otherwise it could get them killed. So sneaking around and lying was a hard thing to pull off, but so far, Dean had managed. He was in the home stretch now, just a few more hours. 

He peeks through the open door, seeing you in the kitchen, your back to him as you start a pot of complimentary coffee. 

Dean returns to his bag and pulls out the small box, his thumb rubbing over the velvet. He doesn’t open it. He doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what’s inside, and he smiles, his racing heart calming just a bit.

He shouldn’t be nervous. He was never more sure of anything he’s ever done in his life. But when happiness has been stolen away from Dean so many times before, he has to wonder if he’s the common denominator. If by asking you this, he was asking you to sign your life away. 

But you had told him so many times over the years that none of that was true, assured him through his self doubt that he wasn’t to blame, even when he was pretty sure you were lying to make him feel better. 

So he wanted you to have more. You were his everything, and he wanted you to know it. He wasn’t the best with words. “I love you,” didn’t fall from his lips as often as it did from you. And it wasn’t because he didn’t love you, hell, he never knew he could love one person so much, it just wasn’t something he was used to. So he made sure, every damn day, to show you how much he loved you, whether it was cooking your favorite dinner, to holding you tight at night, to making sure you were safe after every hunt. 

And there was no greater way to show just how much he loved you than this. 

Anyone who had known him would have laughed, thinking it was a joke, that the perpetually single, can’t commit to anyone, Dean Winchester was going to propose. But you took away his fears and replaced them with love and comfort. Instead of running for the door, Dean ran head first to you. And he wasn’t going to let you go. 

After you both got settled in, Dean managed to pull you away from the fake research to go with him into town to get groceries and supplies for your stay. He made sure to pick ingredients for your favorite dish and while you were buying wood for the fireplace, he snuck away to the liquor store to buy the best bottle of whiskey they had, neither of you enjoying champagne, even if this moment would call for it. 

Once you got back, Dean nodded and hummed as you shared your plan for the next day over dinner; interviewing witnesses, checking out the fake dead crops and animals, and Dean had to bite back his smile knowing he had successfully tricked you. He was worried you may have started catching on, but you seemed to be status quo. 

Once dinner was done and cleaned up, Dean built a fire in the stone hearth and convinced you to relax with him and put hunting away for the night. 

“There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow.” He falsely reminded you. Tonight, he wanted you to relax and enjoy not being in a motel that was older than the both of you. 

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?” Dean breaks the silence as the two of you cuddled on the couch, watching the flames with Dean’s arm draped around your shoulders, your hand holding his. You shake your head against his chest.

Dean licks his lips and takes a deep breath. This was it.

“Not gonna lie, I was pissed when you first showed up.” You both laugh. That was probably an understatement. “I thought what the hell is this lady doing here and she’s just going to screw everything up and get in the way. Which you did.” He looks down at you pointedly. 

“And then I saved your ass.” You remind him with a cheeky grin. Dean just scoffs, but he knows it’s true.

“Anyway, after it was over, I looked at you and I remember thinking ‘god damn now that’s a woman.’” You laugh again, your fingers tightening around his. 

“I never thought I’d see you again. Figured it was one and done. Besides, I could already tell then you were too good for me.” This time you take in the deep breath, familiar with Dean’s self deprecation. To you, that’s always been his biggest enemy, one you regularly fought so he would finally see the amazing man you saw every single day.  

“But then we ran into you in Alabama, then New Mexico, Indiana, North Carolina. It’s like I couldn’t escape you.” Dean takes a breath. Again, he wasn’t one for words or feelings. But he’s faced Heaven, Hell, and everything in between. He could do this. 

“Every time I saw you, it got harder and harder to say goodbye. And these last few years, well, I couldn’t imagine my life without you by my side, sweetheart.” He smiles down at you, and you return the gesture. 

Dean lets go of your hand and unwraps himself from around you, turning in his seat to face you before taking your hand, your left hand, back in his. 

“We don’t get a lot of good things in this life, but you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’d do everything again, if it means you ending up right here besides me.” In the light of the fire, Dean can see the glossiness in your eyes. You weren’t a crier, so he must be doing a good job. 

“I know I don’t say it much, and I’m not the best at words, but I love you, more than anythin’ in this life. And I’ll take on heaven, hell, and whoever else to make sure you’re safe. Because you mean everything to me.” Dean swallows as his eyes begin to mirror yours. He reaches behind him, sitting up slightly as he reaches into this back pocket, but instead of returning to the couch, his left knee rests against the floor and he pulls the box in front of him. Your eyes go wide and mouth falls open at the movement. 

“So,” he pops the lid open, revealing the gold band and solitaire diamond, the same one his mother wore. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, any chance you wanna marry me?” 

Without a word or a shake of your head, you fling yourself into Dean, toppling him over as you wrap your arms around his neck as you both hit the ground. 

“Christ,” Dean wheezes from your sudden attack. “Is that a yes?” 

“That’s a hell yes.” You beam before you crash your lips to his. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you tight against him, not wanting to let go. But after a moment he pulls away, there’s still something he needs to do.

He sits the two of you up, your legs stretching out behind him as you settle onto his lap. He grabs your hand away from his neck, his fingers rubbing along your knuckles before he gently pulls the ring from the box and slides it up your finger.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, bringing your hand to your face. You never imagined a ring would ever be sitting there. Let alone his mother’s ring, and you feel warm tears run down your cheeks. 

“Like it?” You look over to Dean. Though he’s smiling, you know him well enough to see the nervousness in his eyes.

“It’s absolutely perfect.” You assure him quietly, your voice getting caught in your throat. Because not only did Dean Winchester, the world’s most famous bachelor hunter, want to marry you, he was doing it with his mother’s ring, which spoke more words than Dean ever could. 

You cup his cheeks, the cool gold an unfamiliar sensation against his skin, as you lean in and leave a soft kiss against his lips. 

“Wait,” you pull back suddenly, still holding his face, and Dean frowns. “What about the hunt?” 

Dean laughs and shakes his head and your eyes narrow.

“There is no hunt, is there?” There’s a slight edge to your voice, and you realize all those weird things you noticed earlier finally made sense. 

“You tricked me!” You drop your hands and point at him accusingly. He just takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze. 

“For a good reason.” He rubs the ring on your finger, giving it a little wiggle.

You huff, hoping your frown holds up, but you can feel the corners of your lips starting to give away.

“I suppose I can forgive you.” You make a show of shrugging your shoulders, acting like you’re doing him a favor. Dean just rolls his eyes and tsks.

“Well I hope so, cause I got another surprise for you.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and you catch the mischief in his green eyes. 

Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and stands the both of you up. Your legs tighten around his waist and his hands grasp beneath you, giving an extra squeeze as he walks you both to the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot as the empty velvet box sits discarded in front of the fire.

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @deansgoddess @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373

[mangoshorthand]

Hello, I wasn't sure if you weren't taking requests or not but I didn't see anything saying you weren't so if your not ignore this pls :) But if you are I had an idea for five x yn in an established relationship where five finds out for the first time that reader is really ticklish and it's really fluffy and cute. Thank you

Oh...um this is my first request...Yeah, I guess I'll consider requests on a case-by-case basis. Maybe less fluffy than you'd hoped for but, then again, I am a smut author so old habits die hard. I tried my best I promise. 🥺

Tickle War | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader Words: 1.5k

Five had a number of bad habits: his tendencies to obsess, binge drink and snap at his siblings were the worst. These, when unchecked, were real character flaws. You tolerated these as far as was reasonable and he gave you the same benefit for the character flaws you swore up and down you didn't have. After all, when you love someone, you love them warts and all. But not all of Five’s bad habits were flaws: some just skirted the border between endearing and annoying. 

For example, despite always placing his shoes exactly adjacent to one another, (toes facing the wall, laces tucked in), somehow his socks never seemed to find their way into the laundry hamper. Instead, you’d unearth them from odd places: stuffed down the side of the couch, under the dining table and once, (somehow), in a kitchen cupboard. 

He also had a teasing side which would be unsuspected by anyone who knew him outside the context of a romantic relationship. He took a mischievous, slightly sadistic pleasure in messing with you. This, in certain contexts, was a huge plus, but his love of using his power to sneak up on you was often less attractive. 

On one such occasion, you emerged from a shower and had just finished wrapping a towel around yourself when, from behind you, a single finger swept rapidly from your collarbone, up your neck and finished behind your ear. You jumped, pulling away immediately, snorting with laughter and retreating into yourself like a snail into their shell.

“Five!” you said, indignantly, re-wrapping the towel. You straightened up and tried to retain a sense of dignity, “You scared me.”

He chuckled and placed a hand on each side of your waist. Pressing himself up against you, he murmured into your ear, lips brushing you gently. 

“That was interesting.”

“What, asshole?” you said, belying your words by leaning backwards into his touch and laying your head on his shoulder.

“You’re…ticklish,” he whispered. 

And suddenly his fingers were wriggling against your ribs, feather light but merciless. You bent, trying to force him away with your ass but he held you fast. You were laughing helplessly, writhing in his arms. 

“Stop it!” you wheezed out.

“No,” he said, and you could hear the evil smile in his voice. “Not until you admit that you’re ticklish.”

He upped the intensity, capturing you under the arms, the sides of the neck and the stomach, you folding into yourself to get away from him each time, but still held too tightly to effect full escape. He was tickling you too much for you to be able to speak and was clearly fully aware of the fact- doing it deliberately. All your nerves were on fire. His words, between quiet laughter of his own, were still spoken into your ear in a way that was ticklish itself. “I don't hear you.”

“F-fuck you,” you wheezed between attacks of giggles.

He kissed your neck and slowed down, though still tickling you enough to keep you on the edge of breathlessness. At some point in all that struggle, you dropped the towel and now his fingers were skating across bare skin.

“I’m obviously ticklish!” you said, with annoyance you didn’t really feel, “So stop.”

He obeyed, arms crossed over your stomach still holding you in place and body swaying slightly, bringing yours along with it. He nuzzled at your neck affectionately, but your skin was overstimulated and spread heavily with gooseflesh, so even these touches unintentionally made you cringe away with a little squeak.

He laughed softly, clearly unable to resist this level of sensitivity. 

“So ticklish.”

With a flash of light and a nauseous turn of your stomach, you were lying flat on your bed with him sitting astride you. The colder air outside of the steamy bathroom gave you a sudden chill.

He’d been dressed for most of the day in a suit, having spent a portion of the day at Commission HQ where, with Herb’s (rather coerced) permission, he’d been permitted to dismantle part of the infinite switch board to determine how it operated. Since getting home though, he’d stripped off his jacket, tie and waistcoat so that now he sat on top of you with his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. His socks, thankfully, were still on. This gave them half a chance of at least ending up near the laundry hamper, rather than in the microwave or god-knew-where. It was the first time you’d seen his face since he made his discovery regarding your ticklishness and (no surprises) he looked like the cat who got the cream. He looked down at you, hair partially shielding his eyes with a smile that showed all his teeth.  Though he may physically appear to be in his early twenties, he rarely looks like it to you. Often, you don’t really think about it, Five is just Five. RIght now, however, he looks younger than you’ve ever seen him. Like one of those shit-eating boys in the schoolyard who used to tease you instead of asking you on a date.

He raised his eyebrows, his smile turning into a satisfied smirk as he noted you getting tenser in anticipation of his attack. You smiled then, unable to help it: seeing his eyes gleam that way at your expense should irritate you, but instead it made you feel gooey inside. Not for the first time, you mentally scolded yourself for the shit he got away with just by giving you a look like that. 

His eyes softened and he leaned forward, slowly laying his body against yours: inch by inch and fraction by fraction until your torsos were pressed together. Eyes locked on his, he brushed his nose against yours and kissed your mouth gently. He didn’t try to deepen the kiss, just pecked at your lips sweetly with his own. 

“Love you,” he whispered against your mouth. 

“You too,” you replied, petting his back in long, lazy caresses down his spine. 

His cheek came to rest against your shoulder, the perfect curve of his jawline fitting exactly above your collarbone. He was relaxed, content and blissfully warm against your cold body. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly into your ear. Even his breath was warming. Your arms wrapped around him automatically, one resting over his shoulder blades and the other on his head. Your fingers laced themselves in his hair, stroking and kneading the soft, dark locks. With every movement of your hand, you could smell his shampoo. 

After a minute or so, the urge to give him a taste of his own medicine overtook your affection. Gradually, you felt your own evil smile curling your lips as, under the guise of stroking him, you positioned your hands: one on his neck and one in his armpit. Ready, you waited until his breathing was particularly slow and deep.

When you tickled him, he responded only by tensing up slightly. 

“Nice try,” he said, opening his eyes and sitting up again. He looked down at you with a look of fond pity, “but you see, I've got a modicum of self control.”

You huffed out a sigh. Of course he wouldn't be ticklish. Now you didn’t even have the threat of mutually assured destruction on your side.

“At least I've got self control when there’s a bottle of bourbon concerned,” you said, giving him a sarcastic smile. 

He gave a small disbelieving scoff at your cheek. 

“Oh, okay,” he said, “we’re going there, are we? You're gonna regret that, darling.”

And then he grinned again, clearly thankful for a decent excuse to exact ‘revenge’. Quick as a flash, he positioned his hands beneath your armpits so that you couldn't remove them. 

“So,” he continued, eyes flashing, “let’s see how long you  can stand it without moving or laughing.”

“Five…” you whined, but he only grinned more broadly and began to lightly tickle you again.

Again, your body lit up with confusing signals. You breathed through it as best you could, trying hard to keep yourself still but wanting to kick out, struggle and writhe. You kept your eyes locked on his, willing yourself not to give in. 

“Hm,” he said, approvingly, “well done.”

And then he skimmed his fingers down to your ribs. You bucked and suppressed a squeak, but it was too much: soon you were laughing and wriggling. He laughed and shook his head, even as he had you laughing painfully.

“That’s goddamn pathetic.” he said, looking down at you with amused disappointment, “Can’t even keep still?"

“S-stop i-t, asshole!” you laughed.

“What was that?” he said, leaning in and cocking his head, “I don’t understand you.”

“D-dickhead.”

He stopped then and again leaned forward, this time kissing your cheek. His pupils were slightly dilated as he did so, green obscured by black. You noticed he was breathing a little harder than usual.

“Is this… turning you on?” you asked, laughing in disbelief now.  “No, of course not,” he said eyebrows raised again, “why would you, lying there helpless between my thighs, turn me on? You have the weirdest ideas.”

You laugh, and again he rests his head on you.

“Tickle war’s over now.” he murmured.

“That wasn’t a war,” you said, “that was an act of aggression.”

“You loved it,” he sniggered, pressing kiss after kiss to your shoulder, occasionally grazing it with his teeth. 

He was right: you did.  Request masterlist >> HERE

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

[the3rddenialist]

The Unreliable Narrators of

The Somewhat Incredible Jackie-Boy Man & Void Silver

And their capacity to deceive us in the future.

Dramatic Youtube Thumbnail lol

Major #0 spoilers

Gotta say, I really love when a story comes with a sister story with it, this being the two Altrverse comics. As I personally love having two texts to compare and contrast, as it can really help highlight what they share, what's different, and what's missing.

And wow there is some things in each story that look a lot more suspicious due to their sister text existing.

While Sister Stories do many things, in this case it highlights the unreliable narrators of each text. I hope after this look into these aspect, and if these aspects continue into the next comics, will implore you to keep an eyebrow raise in regards to Marvin and Jackie.

But first, what is an unreliable narrator? At the most basic, an unreliable narrator is a storyteller whose perspective isn't totally reliable if we want to get the full picture. They can be intentional, unintentional, aim to wrongfully mislead or give a happier story. But even unreliable narrators with good intention still can alter the story to its viewers in a way that will lead us to the wrong conclusions.

Now do I think the Volume #0 are unreliable? Not really, but it had the capacity to be, which means in future comics, they may become more and more unreliable.

I will explore how each comic is unreliable by the perspective of each story and what we are shown (or more importantly not shown).

First we'll start with

Perspective: Who is their story being told by?

From the first page of The Somewhat Incredible Jackie-Boy Man, and by the second page of Void Silver, it is already establish that these narratives will be unreliable.

First we have Jackie. Who straight out of the gate acknowledges the viewer.

SO LET'S JUST GET OUT THERE--

And continues to narrate the rest of his story.

Now this probably doesn't seem important at first, don't a lot of comics do that? Spiderman does it! Which TSIJBM draws inspiration from. But remember what I said about Sister Stories? While this doesn't seem strange when by itself, it's strange when you look at VS.

Unlike TSIJBM, who has Jackie address the viewer, we instead have a completely different character, Higgins the Cat, introduce Marvin to us. And boy does Higgins know we're watching.

So while in TSIJBM, Jackie introduces himself to us, in VS, Higgins introduced Marvin to us.

Giving us two different protagonists, Jackie, who knows he's telling a story, and in the role of storyteller, and Marvin, unaware his story is being told and the role of storyteller belongs to Higgins.

This shows that these stories have unreliable narrators.

Shown: What do we get see?

This is also evident in the structure of the comics.

In TSIJBM, the entire story we are following Jackie, as we get his input and thoughts. The only exception being the first couple pages and the final couple panels. This also limits what we see of Jackie. As we only see what he sees/cares about, having an entire page dedicated to his thought process, because he decided that to be of most important than what else is going on around him. His story is heavily skewed by his perspective of things. Which seems to be a theme in TSIJBM, as he mistakes CyberMass' demo to be a Robot Apocalypse. We even have a minor time skip in the comic with a flashback, as we see why JBM was late to an order, but this flashback is used to bring out sympathy. It's why we only see him come out of the dumpster, not into it, it's what is more important to recall to him.

This is oppose to VS, where we don't follow Marvin the entire time, he's not even in his first page. And have an entire section dedicated to the Twins. You could say it's still Marvin's perspective because he learns of what the Twins do, but we don't learn it at the same time as Marvin. We see what happens and he learns afterwards. If we saw him go home, pick up the mask, and then see what the twins did, that would be more accurate to Marvin's experience. But Marvin, while the protagonist of his comic, is not the narrator, which belongs to Higgins. And so we see in the order of how Higgins wants us to see.

Higgins controls the perspective in Marvin's narrative. Jackie controls his own.

This means Jackie has the capacity to deceive the viewer in TSIJBM. Will he? Well we don't know him well enough in this version to know for sure. But we need to know he does have that card at his disposal.

But Higgins has the capacity to decisive the viewer in VS, and a part of me feels like he wouldn't be above that. What is especially interesting though is that it makes Marvin's story appear a lot more authentic, due to his lack of knowledge of his story being told, as we need to worry more of what Higgins shows us of Marvin.

All of this shows how Jackie is the narrator of his story, whilst Higgins is the narrator of Marvin's, both storytellers having the ability to mislead us in the future. We've already touch on a bit about what is shown in each narrative due to their narrators. But Great Sister stories highlight what they don't show.

Shown: Marvin doesn't think

There is almost 0 thought bubbles in VS. I implore you to look yourself. The only thing resembling a thought bubble is Marvin recalling what was mention in the previous pages and the statement that "Everything this masks sees, it records", which doesn't seem to be his own thoughts but just recalling statements said to him.

There are pages in VS, where if Jackie was in the situation, would be scattered with thought bubbles, like the two pages of Jackie moving while he comments on social aspects that dehumanises people. But there is none in VS. This makes sense of course, Higgins is the narrator, not Marvin, why would Higgins know what Marvin is thinking? He at best can show us what he's doing, or doesn't want us to know what Marvin's thinking.

This does highlight that Jackie is his own narrator with the lack of though bubbles in VS, if thought bubbles are a tool only for the storyteller. I mean look at these pages and tell me it wouldn't have thought bubbles if Marvin was the narrator.

If this was in TSIJBM, we would probably see Marvin's thoughts of frustration, not just his face.

This page especially.

We didn't know why Marvin recognised the insignia until later, when Higgins showed us a flashback. Because we don't know Marvin's thoughts.

So while Marvin is more authentic than JBM, he's more secretive, not of his own volition, but because he's not his own narrator.

While they aren't both unreliable narrators, since Marvin isn't his own, they are both unreliable protagonist. One which can alter his own story, the other which has his thoughts concealed.

Similar to how there is a theme for Jackie of his perspective being skewed to what he deems reality is, there is a theme of Marvin just not knowing what's actually happening, having to rely on others to inform him (Sunday, his mask, Ramesses). Marvin is a lot less aware that he's in a story and his role in his own story.

The viewer can only trust what Jackie decided is more important for us, and the viewer has to be informed by Higgins what is important for us. This makes both comics of TSIJBM and VS have unreliable narrators, and that we should be careful at taking everything at face value in the future.

I have no clue if these aspect will continue in #1, perhaps these things only a apply to #0. But is they do continue in the next comics, I hope this has help you approach the next comic with more suspicion.

Thanks for reading. And remember that you can't always trust what is shown.

[twistedbloodstain]

keith toshko x reader: and you feel like home. | what’s love for us?

plot: the one where keith meets the one.

warnings: grumpy! reader, sensitive language (just cursing yall), pining from keith, himself and there’s no happy ending. (ambiguous)

masterlist

keith watches her.

a sweet melody produced from the violin and the bow echoes from the cavernous hall. she sat on a monoblock chair as she played the tune printed on the sheet paper. fur elise dances through his ears as he stands on the second floor, mesmerized with her movements. her eyes were shut, but her hands were focused on the instrument on her hands, as if she and the object were one.

he watches her in admiration. he always enjoyed watching people play their thing, there was always a certain aura that passionate musicians bring whenever they were in their element. this was no different, he could feel the devotion radiating through the place as you played.

her posture was stiff and composed, like her grip on the musical instrument, her hands gripped the instrument almost too tightly as if it was bound to her like chains. but there was lovely passion it emitted, like the violin was her lifeline. she was focused, extremely focused. right now, no one could deter her from playing.

as the music slowly comes to an end, she flutters her eyes open and her shoulders relax. she gets up on her feet and reaches for her case slinged on the chair to delicately place the violin back to its proper space when unused, keith feels tempted to clap and applaud for her piece because indeed, it was beautiful but he was afraid he might come off as a creep stalking on you.

he was already awkward to talk to, fumbling and rambling his words and often saying the wrong things or being excessively blunt with who he was speaking to, it was all unintentional but if that wasn’t enough it would be really bad if he came across as another dude ogling at a girl from the second floor, primarily as it doesn’t leave a good impression when initiating conversation.

he’s supposed to leave but he can’t. there’s a pull in him that wants to converse with her even if he’s not really good with it, he can at least try. he always welcomed an exchange of a fellow musician’s words and talent. but he contemplated wondering how would he even approach her or what words he’d say to her that wouldn’t lead to an unpleasant strain floating through the air.

silence always meant neutrality. not in his case though, silence often deepened the grave of awkwardness, making him contemplate to himself with the next set of words he would say but only for the person he’s addressing to completely lose interest and cough up an excuse to leave.

keith knows how to converse, there are several people who are proof of that excluding his family. he has spoken comfortably and smoothly with strangers that sometimes lead to intriguing conversations, it’s just that when it comes to speaking with him. you need to be patient, to hear and listen to what he has to say. the people who lost interest when speaking to him were often straightforward people who rolled their eyes at his rambling which only makes him ramble even more, when he visibly sees their annoyance.

nevertheless,he does know his worth as a person. he knows that if they’re not interested with what he has to say then they’re not worth hearing it. but with you he might be willing to make an exception,he really wants to speak with you.

he decides to just wave at her when she turns around. simple. then maybe he can catch up on her at the exit, foolproof.

he feels like a wildlife photographer attempting to take a picture with a deer, except it’s a trap of conversation with little to no chances of failing.

his plan makes him smile, glad that somehow he might not fuck up his first impression with you but fate seems to always have it out for him, whenever he has a chance to do something simple in his life some inevitable force out there comes back to throttle his neck and ruin everything.

because before he can make the friendly gesture you’ve already turned around to face the sea of chairs and him on the terrace of the second floor. your face is slightly astounded from the sight of him, likely confused why he was watching you, staring at him hardly with a firm curiosity in your eyes.

for a moment keith panics and freezes from your stare, you don’t seem pleased to see him. out of dismay, keith suddenly raises his hand and waves, too eagerly.

you blink at him and raise your eyebrows then just gaze at him. like really hard, your frown deepens at his gesture, still frozen on your spot with bow and violin on hand. your frozen state is nothing out of shock though, not like a deer in headlights but something like a lion awakened from slumber in their cave.

as if that wasn’t making him more nervous than he already is, the worst thing is you made no friendly gesture to reciprocate his wave and he realizes that it basically cemented that his presence was unwanted by you.

he flinches on the inside and slowly backs away, he can feel your eyes wander on him as he disappears.

he stumbles through the rows of books in deep thought, searching for the specific textbook his friend asked him to fetch. he was already looking for it for the past thirty minutes, he began to doubt the sharp memory of the librarian since she mentioned that it would be easy to find. she’d told him that he’d find it nearly five rows behind, every row looking more and more ancient than his own grandparents.

as he trudged through, he couldn’t help but reminisce of what happened earlier. annoyance and shame filling his veins as he remembers the details of the short encounter.

idiot, of course she didn’t like that. why the hell would she wave back at a stranger? he muses to himself.

he realizes that maybe that approach didn’t seem as friendly as he'd envisioned in his head. perhaps, he should’ve done that somewhere closer so you wouldn’t immediately shut down his approach. your silence was quiet but it spoke volumes, there were always things that even words cannot do justice.

he checks the titles in the spines of the previous books he saw, maybe he missed it and he was already wasting his time. it’s not like he was in a rush, after all today was some sort of a self imposed day off. right now, he has all the time in the world. however the current shame he possessed right now made the day feel longer than it should be and the desire to hide himself in his room and sleep off the shame was tempting.

he hears the voices of students chatting about certain academic tasks or homeworks a terror professor had assigned and the footfalls of exhausted learners as they searched for a book containing a piece of information that the internet doesn’t offer. looks near impossible, but the chances are low but never zero.

he senses someone enter the aisle between the two rows of books, he doesn’t look back, probably another stressed out and sleep deprived college student that wants to drop out. he feels the individual walk past behind him, he focuses back to the books lined up on the shelf, double checking if he missed the proper textbook he was looking for.

he hears someone clear their throat.

he ignores it and focuses on the books.

dry throat, probably. likely, not trying to get his attention.

someone clears their throat again.

this time, he uninterestedly spares a quick glance to the source of that sound then returns to the textbooks.

wait.

holy shit.

he hastily snaps his gaze back up.

god, it’s you.

no. not like god from heaven.

but you. the one playing the violin earlier.

you stand several paces before him, with a strap across your torso, your violin case strapped behind your back out of his sight. your face is stern and unreadable, your hands clasped together in a composed structure.

his eyes widen and the hold he has with the books slowly weakens, almost dropping one of them on the floor. it’s not until he reminds himself that earlier he’d embarrassed himself to you and that cannot happen again. he won’t afford looking like a fool to you for the second time, once is a coincidence and twice is an insult.

his jaw slightly drops from shock and confusion, he blinks a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating you because that would make it even worse and more embarrassing for him.

“hi.” he breaks the silence, slowly waving his hand to you for the second time that day.

you don’t return the gesture or verbalize a reply, for a second keith wonders if he actually conjured you out of thin air because of his shame with how quiet and still you are. which would be even weirder if he saw it as an opportunity to redeem himself, still unsure with the fact if you are standing in front of him right now.

“who are you?” you finally sternly ask, although not a greeting keith is glad that you’re actually speaking to him and he didn’t hallucinate you being here.

“i’m..keith.” he hesitantly replies at the strictness evident in your tone. as a friendly gesture he extends his hand for a polite handshake, you carefully eye his movement and stare at his hand then back at his face.

“..okay.” you mutter slightly in confusion, “you from here?” you question him, the strict tone maintained in your voice.

“um, no actually. i used to go here but..it was years ago.” he meekly replies ending with a chuckle to lighten the mood. your face slightly squints from that piece of information. he deduces that you are not currently studying here as well, maybe a college graduate just like him or a teacher. you didn’t seem too young to be fresh out of school or sleep deprived like most college students are.

in fact, you were confident, in a quiet sense. anyone could read that with the way you carried yourself. the effect that you carry was an accomplished and determined aura that radiated strong enough to momentarily stun everyone in the room and enough to catch someone’s pair of eyes and intimidate if you were to speak to them.

the polished and elegant impact you have oozes through every patch of skin you wield, it numbs him as well. your aura demanded the utmost attention like it was speaking to a god.

“that so? what are you doing here?” you follow up. keith starts to feel he’s being interrogated for information, he doesn’t know what goal you're aiming at but he’s happy to comply.

“just visiting with a friend.” he replies.

“i mean, what were you doing in the theater room?” you clear up, accentuating every word with intimidation as your voice hardens, you raise your eyebrow at him with your arms crossed.

you were definitely not making friendly conversation.

“i was just watching..you play.” he mutters softly, that isn’t something he’s proud of but it’s the truth. there wasn’t wrong with that, he hadn’t done anything wrong. it felt like being stabbed when you already didn’t look pleased to see him watching you play in the theater, any brunt of your irritation would definitely feel like twisting the knife.

“and?” you follow up.

“you played really great, to be honest.” he smiles as he compliments you. a sweet compliment for a pretty girl.

…get it together keith, he reminds himself.

“there.” you harshly point out, your voice slightly rising. keith’s eyes widened once again, with the burst of tone emitting from that single word. this makes him frown as the intended effect for that compliment gave an undesired result.

“what?” he asks out of confusion.

“you were watching me play. you said it yourself.” you assert to him.

“i was…i was watching you play fur elise. something wrong with that?” he repeats once again, still not catching your drift.

“oh? don’t play dumb with me. i know your fucking game, are you one of irene’s new toys for this month? you were spying on me for that good for nothing bitch!” you mercilessly yammer at him, this takes him off guard. shock and confusion envelops his senses as you quickly spit out your bitterness at him.

the deer didn’t fall into the trap and shot him instead.

why in the world were you accusing him of something deplorable? at least to you it seems, he doesn’t even know anyone named irene, much less spying for someone? completely absurd, you were borderline insane.

he always had this inside joke with himself where most violinists are insane overachievers, always seeking to please the almost high to perfect standards of their parents which lead them to seek and mold perfection into everything as they grow into their life. like the instrument, violins require a strict precision of understanding and time to master to achieve perfection, and like their parents they’ll need to hit the right tune to make their parents play the sweet sound of validation.

everything in their life from their image and daily routine must be flawless and according to their will. a single disruption that occurs to them completely throws them off track breaking down their walls revealing their uncontrolled anger.

anger for what he could not tell. but right now he could tell you might fit into that stereotype.

“hey-hey. i don’t know anyone named irene, i have no idea what you’re talking about.” he clears up as he explains to you and raises one of his hands.

“don’t fucking lie to me.” you retort in anger.

“miss. i don’t know what you’re talking about, i watched you because you did great. i did nothing wrong and i’m not lying to you.” he defends himself, at the end he couldn’t help but laugh. clearly, there’s nothing funny about invoking rage from someone but he laughed and honestly he shouldn’t have.

“are you laughing at me?!” your voice slightly raises, full of anger and fury. bad move, christ there’s literally a saying hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“i’m-i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to, but i’m telling you the truth.” he shuts his laugh down and reassures you.

you stare at him and scoff. you eye him from top to bottom, your arms still folded on your chest. you turn away from him and walk away.

that went worse than earlier.

keith’s hand slowly shakes as he raises the glass of water to his lips, he takes a short sip of the water before delicately placing it back down. a friend inquires how he was and his current agendas in life, he politely answers a little more carefully with his words than he usually replies, his friend notices and laughs at this raising his eyebrow in a teasing suspicious manner, his eyes darting then nudging his head to the person to his right.

he hopes you don’t look at his friend. please don’t.

you were currently sitting across from him, knife and fork on hand as you nibbled away on your dinner, momentarily lifting your gaze at him. probably scrutinizing him as he sat across from the dinner table.

this was unexpected.

he couldn’t forget how wide your eyes went when you entered the dining room and saw him sitting beside your brother,

what were the chances of him eating dinner in your brother’s house? the chances of eating the dinner you and your brother made?

little…very little.

yet it’s happened.

fate really has it out for him.

earlier he was merely watching you play from yards and one floor away, you had him mesmerized and amazed with your musical talent, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even during the talk in the library.

you were even more magnificent to see up close with only a few meters away from him, albeit the exchange ended rather unpleasant but he feels like it’s something to be thankful for, maybe it’s your aura or words that have a magnetic pull on him to keep his attention focused on you and you only.

or maybe because he finds you really intriguing.

or maybe he’s festering a little crush on you.

whatever.

now you are at least half a meter away from him and he can’t bear to look upon you. he wants to look up, so badly. but whenever he sneaked a glance , his sight was greeted with a mouth turned into a frown and eyes full of judgment, it made him hastily drop his gaze back onto the plate of food in front of him.

you, your brother and another friend of his were seated by the table, it had been lively at first. intoxicating stories and diatribes filled the room that made him forget the awkward encounter he had earlier. it felt good to talk and listen with them. he got to know about the current stuff in their life and it was nice to catch up with them. it was nice to air out thoughts he felt during tight situations that he often shoved down into the back of his head.

he began to tell them about his encounter with a girl earlier, when a click of the door creaked through the hall. the voices in the dining room began to stop, the brother called someone into the living room but no reply indicated a presence aside from the sound of entry and the thudding footsteps clicking on the floor.

he knew that his friend had family currently living in the house, he was slightly pleased with the thought of meeting the anonymous member since his friend had spoken highly of them. he often guessed it might be a sibling or cousin but no further detail was given due to how sacred you saw privacy was to you, to recount his friend’s words he said,

“i can’t tell you more than that, we’re related but they’re insanely private. like obsessed with it, they don’t want anyone to know about them unless they had met you firsthand but you’re meeting them tonight. think you’ll like them the most keith.” he says with a smile at the end.

who was to doubt that? he liked that friend very much and if this privacy obsessed mysterious person was someone he would’ve liked then it shouldn’t be a problem.

he had this vision that this stranger might be a welcoming and sweet person that would be easy to get along with, like his friend. he expected someone shy and anxious like most privacy obsessed people are. people, who are frightful of people getting to know them so hopefully it wouldn’t feel forced and still he was eager to meet said person.

but then you went through the door and broke his fantasy.

he feels his heart drop and his throat go dry.

your feet stay stationary by the entrance of the dining room, the voices of his peers slowly tuning out his ears as dread and shame sinks into his gut. your eyes filled with curiosity and sternness. once again his presence was unwelcome to you.

your right hand clasps your left wrist as you redirect your attention to his friend who is making his way to you. the formal stature you’ve reformed yourself to, soon cracked as his friend greets you to a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

oh god. had he been crushing on a friend’s girlfriend? he panics.

of course you had a boyfriend, even he was smitten with you before he even spoke a word to you. he wasn’t the only one attracted to the way you carry yourself, the way you spoke and the way you played. it had left his mind as the unexpected interactions with you jumped into his face.

his friend places his hand on your shoulder, further cementing his assumption that you two were together, until his friend speaks.

“boys, this is my lovely sister.” he cheerily introduces, “that’s james and that’s keith.” he adds, gesturing to the both of them.

his friend that remained sat on the chair, james greeted you and waved as you turned your gaze at him, when it was his turn he couldn’t help but force a tight smile for you, gripping the cutlery from discomfort.

he waits for you to speak as you take them in.

he doesn’t know what to expect from you. he doesn’t know what you were going to say.

he slightly expects you to call him out as the guy earlier in the theater and in the library. he expects you to confront him and maybe…just maybe kick him out of the house.

“i don’t think you’ve ever mentioned them to me.” you utter out.

he exhales.

okay, maybe he can salvage this.

but salvage what exactly?

your brother laughs at this and insists he did. he jokes about you being too immersed in your current engagements while he was talking about them, he motions for you to sit down with them.

now he found himself sitting across from you.

the dinner he previously enjoyed now felt like acid in his mouth as he forced it down his throat. your presence had shocked him to his core, as much as he wants to relish in this get together. the sight of you made his hands shake and his heart beat a little faster than normal.

he feels like a child when he’s around you.

that somehow and somewhat the way he breathes is wrong to you.

you reach out for the pitcher of water near him, he grabs it and you look up on him in surprise. your eyes dilate from his sudden movement and you stare at him for a while. thankfully, james and your brother were busy talking with each other and they didn’t notice the both of you.

you were still hesitant of him. that’s okay, he understands.

right now, you probably saw him as a stalker that creeped on you while playing the violin and you were probably frightened that he was now in your house and your brother’s friend.

you slowly present the intricately designed glass cup in your hand, he smiles to himself at this while he pours the water into your cup. you quietly thank him and resume eating your meal.

maybe he can fix this. maybe the both of you can talk this out.

the next time he sees you is at a christmas party, back in your house.

he knows much more about you during that and he saw you several more times when he visited your place. the interactions were much more polite and courteous compared to the first and second time.

people have always been greedy. greedy for money, power and for love, it turns them into monsters when greed looms behind them, because of that he’s learned to be content with what he hashas and know the differences between greed and ambition.

so why does he want to hear more of you?

yes, the both of you are “talking.” if you count simple pleasantries and courtesies but it feels forced and unpleasant for you. he feels like you’re only speaking but not talking, if that makes sense.

the heavy chatter of conversation is present through the living room, he notices a few friends and some of your family speaking away to their peers.

you aren’t there.

i mean, you were but you left,when people started to surge into the room.

you don’t like crowds.

and loud noises.

a grain of what your brother told you was true, you are privacy obsessed. no wonder you’re absent in the living room.

keith’s not talking to anyone right now,

not when you’re the person he wants to talk to and the only person he knows other than your brother.

he’s also drunk.

he’s been sitting here for several minutes hoping you’d come down to the living roomroom and maybe he could catch up with you.

he contemplates just leaving,seeing that you’re not going to come down.

before he can get up to leave, he hears a soft tune above the room. it’s you.

he knows it is.

he looks around and looks around but nobody except him seems to hear it, too immersed in conversation to hear the sound of the gates of heaven above them.

he slowly gets up with his drink in hand and makes his way to the stairs. he’s getting alcohol induced to function and think properly, he doesn’t get this bold much.

he softly walks up making sure not to step on the creaking wood of the stairs, as the tune sounds more clear to his ears. he doesn’t know where he’s headed but all he knows he needs to hear it.

it’s like a siren’s song to a weak-willed sailor, like a sleeping beauty being lured into her demise as he gets to the second floor and follows the sound of music to one of the rooms. once he realizes that he might be entering your room, he stops his movement and opts to just listen outside. he can learn to be content with the small opening of your door as long as he hears you play.

he leans his back to the wall, relishing in the piece as you come to an end. this forces him back to reality and realizes he needs to go should you come out of the room. he’s had a taste of your anger and rejection, he doesn’t need a spoonful again.

“you can come in.” a voice calls out.

he freezes, you know he’s there. he wonders if he should speak up or keep his mouth shut for a while and leave or come inside to you. he decided the former, so much for wanting to talk to her that he chickens out in the chance she’s given him.

“are you gonna come in or not?” you said getting annoyed with the lack of his reply.

fuck, fuck, fuck. how did you know? he’s sure he was silent when he made his way up here. did you have an extra set of senses he wasn’t aware of? you didn’t notice him the first time, what made you notice it now?

he’s still frozen on his feet, in a deep dilemma with what to do next. he keeps his eyes on the wall in front of him and doesn’t make a single sound.

“hey.” the voice calls out again.

he keeps quiet.

until something makes contact on his shoulder. a nudge. someone nudged him.

he looks back and sees you beside the door. in all your glory, your hand on the door knob slightly opening it for enough space for someone to pass through. he didn’t hear you walk up or the door creaking for entry. your eyes were on him, gone was the scrutiny and judgment but the annoyance was still there with a tinge of softness.

you look beautiful.

you look..nice, his breath hitches on his throat as his words are unable to leave. you stare at him in confusion so he walks in, with no words to reply at you.

as he enters he sees your bedroom, some clutter on the floor he notices your violin perched on the chair and some books scattered on the ground. he looks back and sees you standing there, motionless and silent.

he waits for you to say something before he does something. you leisurely make your way towards him and he stands to the side to make way for you. you don’t say anything as you kneel down into the floor and start opening the books with the lamplight on the side table illuminating luminescence for light reading.

“you can sit down.”

keith contemplates where to sit down. on the floor with you? on your bed? or on that loveseat beside the side table. keith decides to sit down next to you, just to be polite.

silence fills the air into your room. none of you speak a word, too nervous or too awkward to converse. keith realizes that this is the third time the both of you were alone and the second time you sought his company.

he assumes that his presence doesn’t agitate you, at least right now. right now, he’s sitting on the floor, his knees pressed up to his chest and his drink abandoned beside him.

you flip through the books,your back in front of him as you knelt. he notices that they were fictional books. mostly filled with fantasy as he observes the whimsical glossy covers full of intricate symbolism of medieval and magical content. bright tabs are trapped between the pages, you’ve read them before, he realizes. he doesn’t see any books that he’s read before, all unfamiliar to him maybe he can introduce you to a few jane eyre books if you haven’t read them yet.

he perceives that you know his eyes are on you. you look back at him and stare at him. devoid of emotion but there was softness seen in it, keith fiddles with the button of his shirt, nervous under your gaze. you observe this and return your attention to the books.

“keith.” you call out to him.

“..yeah?”

“i wanted..i wanted to apologize. for what i said the other day.” you apologize to him.

keith is..a bit stunned. he expected you to just shove and forget it ever happened considering it had happened a few months ago. your apology has taken too long to arrive, making him assume it would never arrive yet it has just appeared, it’s in your lowly illuminated room and won’t face him.

“it’s okay.” he replies, not adding much to it. what was there to say? you were rude to him that day, for someone to randomly accuse you of something you didn’t do.

“no, it’s not.” you retort, suddenly facing him.

“honestly, it’s okay. i don’t mind.” he assures you. it kinda hurts, he has time to thank for that since it doesn’t ache as much.

“well, you should mind.” you whisper to him as you scoot your way towards him. keith moves over to make space for you on the floor.

holy shit. you’re moving close to him. to him.

the both of you stay silent for a while. your backs pressed on the footboard of your bed. your legs crossed and his remaining pressed to his chest. silence is good. right now it is, the silent aftermath of your apology was like serenity after the storm.

“who’s irene?” keith asks out of nowhere.

your head snaps at him and your face turns unpleasant, like he said the spell to break the curse. forcing you to tear apart your walls and reveal yourself, fuck maybe he did that too early. if you didn’t hate him then maybe you surely do right now.

the burst of anger never comes. you shakily take a breath and ask him.

“you..really don’t know her? irene?” you question your voice slowly getting lower. he’s not sure if he’s seeing this correctly but he can see your eyes slowly tearing up. a sheen of glossiness fills your eye. this was much worse.

you were crying. crying, because of him.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

“i don’t.” he responds honestly, he doesn’t know how to comfort you other than offering you the truth. touching you was certainly out of the table, you look at the floor and toy with the edges of the skirt of your dress.

“fuck it. i really hope you’re telling the truth.” you mutter, “irene was…a friend. we used to play in the same orchestra together, until there was this new first chair position for the theater nearby the campus,” you add.

“i was going to audition for it. so i practiced, i put it a lot of blood,sweat and tears for this piece of..fucking wood. only for it to be botched, by her.” you explain anger and annoyance oozing your tone.

“you wanna know the worst part about that? there was this guy i liked and he’d insist on watching me play and i found it so sweet. i told him all about the audition and everything i was going to do…and he fucking told her.” you ramble, “turns out they were fucking each other, before i found out he stalled me on the day of the audition and the moment i arrived, she was playing. same fucking piece, on my fucking time.”

“i’m sorry. you don’t deserve that.”

“it’s not an excuse for my actions that day but it’s a reason why i’m..wary of everyone around me. especially people who loom on the second floor watching me play. it’s..just that..” you exhale, “ever since that happened i feel angry with everyone, that i didn’t see that coming, that i couldn’t prevent it.” you expound to him.

“i get it, but there’s no way you could’ve” he reassures, you frown at him and scoff “i mean, they had it out for you too.” he adds to his defense.

“it doesn’t matter, i shouldve watched out for myself. there were signs and i was too fucking stupid and lovesick to see it.” you retort, “and i feel more fucking dumb because i look insane when i think someone’s after me, and i just can’t help it because i don’t feel..safe.”

“i understand but it’s not your fault. sometimes people want to bring down great people.” keith does. he had invaded your private space and laughed at your reaction in the library, his invasion and amusement was probably like a flash of the past to your eyes.

the most precious thing to you was ruined by jealous assholes, something that should make you feel free and strong has turned you vulnerable.

“i understand the entire thing but..don’t you think it’s unlikely to happen again?” he ponders to you. the next thing almost breaks him apart.

you smile at him for the first time and it’s the saddest thing ever.

your smile doesn’t reach your ears, it’s sad and remorseful before you deliver the blow.

“it happened more than once.” you quietly say to him.

keith can’t believe his eyes sometimes.

you’re in his apartment for a new year’s day party.

the both of you seemed to have found the floor with his arm searching under the couch for his wallet that got kicked in during the party while you were sweeping the diverse color of confetti splayed on the floor.

he can’t believe that you’re here with him. not that the help is unappreciated but he hadn’t expected you to silently volunteer to come and stay over to help clean up.

he’d invited you, your brother and james to his little party. he was quite ecstatic when he saw you come through the door along with some fancy wine that your brother insisted “bought together” which you rolled your eyes at.

you friendship is better than ever. there was a visible development that he expected that might’ve happened in years but occurred in weeks. in the days after your brother’s christmas party, you two have shared your interest for books and he had attended a few of your shows nearby. sometimes when he came over at your brother’s house you two would talk about stuff…mostly about other people with a few sneaks of memories from the past.

although you were still quiet with him, it wasn’t out of disinterest but simply because you’re quiet and you have nothing to say to him. if you did have something to say you never keep it shut. that was nice and keith actually feels like the both of you are getting somewhere ever since you confessed your unpleasant past to him.

after dinner and some words exchanged while hours passed by, everyone found themselves searching for their which keith did not hold up against them. however when he thought everyone had left, he heard a clink of bottles on the floor in the living room and as he went to check it, he saw you quietly cleaning up the mess.

he called out to you saying that you should go home and he’s got the entire mess covered but you simply ignored him as his words fell on deaf ears.

keith finally feels the familiar leather of his wallet then pulls his arm out of the couch and sighs then reaches for the half finished wine on the coffee table. he calls out to you and urges you to come over.

the both of you are exhausted and should probably rest. he can clean all of this up tomorrow.

you look back at him and hesitate, you don’t look at him like before anymore. there was no annoyance and anger, just softness. it was still devoid of emotion, he thinks that you’re not sure how to behave yourself around him with the fact that first, he wasn’t family and second he’s not an opponent of yours.

to you, he’s just keith.

keith, the guy who likes to watch you play and applauds you every time you finish playing. keith who's been to one of your shows and sometimes treats you to an ice cream session after the event then sometimes shares his favorite parts during the event. keith, the dude who lets your borrow his stash of books and lets your share your thoughts on them for hours and hours. you share to him the parts of the story you liked and your criticisms from the plot.

keith, the guy who has a crush on you.

but you don’t know that, at least he hopes you don’t.

you walk over to him and plop yourself on the floor, next to him. he takes a chug of the wine from the bottle before passing it over to you. you reluctantly take it from him and take a drink, he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt before setting it down on his lap.

“did you like the party?” he inquires.

“yeah, the food was nice. did you make it all by yourself?” you reply full of curiosity.

“i had a few friends help me over.”

“wise.”

silence occupied them again. a comfortable kind of silence though, the type that didn’t make him feel like he’d said or done something wrong. the time both of you spent together had warped the dynamics of your friendship. you weren’t judging him when you were silent just unsure with what to do, something he picked up along the way.

“how did your date go the other day?” you ask.

your talks together began with your simple interests to the current agendas shared from both ends, he can’t remember if he had told you about it or if you overheard from your brother.

“i don’t think i remember telling you about that.” he chuckles at your question.

“you didn’t, i overheard it from him.” you answer with no remorse.

“overheard? eavesdropping on me aren’t you?” he teases, you immediately scoff and retort in your defense,

“he has a big mouth that keeps chattering day and night. i bet our neighbors know about your date too.” you retort with a little joke at the end. he laughs at this and you chuckle with him.

“well shit. i don’t need your entire neighborhood knowing i’m a loser.” he jokes.

“she shouldn’t have done that.” you frown at his jest and comment when your laughter dies down. keith looks at you from that disclosure and disappointment emerges into his head again.

“well..some things just don’t work out and that’s okay.” he shakes off the dismay from his failed date.

“i mean she could’ve at least informed you she wasn’t going to show up.” you reply ignoring his words,

“why do you sound more angry than i am? what in the world did she ever do to you?” he teases again in false wonder. you scoff at this and face him, clasping his arm with a tight grip.

“you’re a good person, keith.” you state.

“sure, i didn’t see it right away but-that doesn’t matter, anyways what i’m trying to say is that, you’re always too eager to see the good in people. too forgiving that you ignore your own grievances. that’s not okay.” you whisper looking into his eyes.

“i think that eagerness led you here.”

“i know and i’m thankful for that. i’m glad that you’re my friend, i’m glad you gave me a second chance but forgiveness is a two way street. i earned your forgiveness because i confessed my mistake and apologized. you don’t even wait for an apology before you hand out forgiveness!” you exclaim. keith tries to speak but you interrupt him.

“i know you probably think it’s naive and stupid.” he jokes and looks away, not wanting to delve into the topic of conversation.

“i never said that.” you gasp slightly in mortification, you grasp his jaw and force his gaze back to you.

“i know that we should be kind and that holding on to anger doesn’t lead anywhere good but you don’t deserve that. you deserve so much better and things sweeter than life.”

he already has something sweeter than life.

you.

you make every pleasure in life look dull the moment he sees you enter his sight.

he knows you’ll never be his, he can never have you because you’ll never have him. it’s okay, he’ll learn to be okay.

“yes ma’am.. i will listen to that.” he smiles,

you smile at him and it’s so sweet, he wants to hold you and twirl your hair. he wants to be with at all times, so he can see you and watch you play. he wants to know every minute detail about you. he’s just filled with this yearning to love you. he hoped that his affection might dwindle down as soon the platonic structure of friendship hit him on the face.

but the deeper your friendship delved into the more he fell for you. he always said to himself and to others that what he felt for you was just a fleeting moment, he knows he shouldn’t feel anything like this because he knows that you won’t reciprocate his feelings. he knows that he’ll just get hurt and he should stop it at once.

but how? how could he have known?

how could he prevent it when stars glimmered in your eyes as if they were jewels glimmering in the sky? how can he call it fleeting when he fell for you the moment he saw you in the theater?

he exhales and smiles at you.

and shoves his feelings back down.

and tried to forget how his heart beats for you.

you scoot closer to him than you already are, his breath hitches in apprehension with how near you are to him. he takes you in all your glory, he can smell the sweet scent that you carry that used to intimidate him but now brought comfort and safety to him.

you smell like home.

he’s afraid you might hear the heartbeat in his chest that is pumping so loud now that it’s source comes closer and closer to him, like a moth to a flame he’ll burn out if you come any closer to the warmth of your body.

he’s afraid that if you see his fidgeting and breathlessness you might catch up on him and realize he’s in love with you.

he can never let you know that.

not when he sees how far your relationship has developed, not when you’ve welcomed him into your world, not when you’ve shared some of your secrets with him.

not when you make feel complete when you’re within his reach.

he can’t afford to lose all of that in a single stroke of words. he can never confess to you because he doesn’t know how you’ll take it, but he can only assume the worst. he can only assume that you’ll refuse him.

a popular and encouraging saying that’s often associated in his situation “the worst thing she could say is no.” is incorrect. the worst thing you could say is to turn him away and break your friendship. you would leave his life and he would have to go back living it without you. how can he do that?

and the worst part? he’s not even sure you’d even bother to say all that. he’s half sure you would abandon him with no message or explanation but your silence would speak enough more than those four words could ever say.

you don’t want him.

he can’t go back to that, your tranquility used to bring him anxiety but as time progressed it brought him solace and he felt like he could be himself with you, his stuttering and apprehensiveness had disappeared and you greeted it with eagerness.

he’ll keep it down for you. he’ll shut his mouth if you ever fall in love with someone and he loses his chance with you, he’ll keep quiet because it means having you. the best thing he ever gave you was making you feel safe around him. he can never afford to let the opposite happen in the future.

because that means staying in your life and yours in his. it means keeping you close and that’ll keep him happy enough.

it has to.

he feels something on his lap, more like someone. a tingling sensation wrangling itself to his hands, he looks down and sees a glint of jewel shining back at him. he realizes it’s your adorned hand, he looks back up at you where you’ve laid your head on his shoulder.

you feel his gaze on you, you always do and look back at him in curiosity expecting him to say something. keith doesn’t know what to say, he’s afraid that he might spill his heart out to you with the recent train of thoughts his mind has occupied, so he smiles at you.

you smile in return and he wishes he could he could see that forever.

his hand is tangled with yours as he lays his head back on you.

a life with you is all he wants.

he wants to stay like this with you forever, just the both of you indulging in each other’s company and living life with no abandon.

keith watches you.

you squeeze his hand three times to make sure he’s alright.

he squeezes it back in return.

“happy new year’s keith.” you mutter to him and pull your head back under him as he looks at you. you bring yourself to him and softly press a kiss on his cheek, with your hand on his jaw.

keith does his best to hide his surprise as he feels happiness burst inside him. you put your head back to its previous stance along with your hands. keith does the same.

this is okay. this is perfect.

love isn’t always butterflies and grand gestures with happy endings but sometimes love can be wine drunk, holding each other’s hands and splayed on the floor next to confetti.

and pain.

there’s still love even if it’s gut wrenching pain.

author’s note: this took so long i’m so sorry. i had a keith brainrot before my exam and it had to go because i need to pass. (which paid off : D ) i couldn’t choose a happy or sad ending because..i want to. jk i can’t envision a smooth sailing path for keith and the reader because it really needs to take some time and CONFESS. they don’t know how to act on that because they’re careful around each other with the rough start they began with. or maybe because i just wanted to write about a pining keith and an oblivious reader that doesn’t know how to manage their feelings. i am a staunch believer of finding ur lover in a friend soo anyways thank you for reading and feel free to like and reblog!

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck as an allegory for disability

I can’t say for sure if it was intentional on Tozuka’s part, but much like Jenny from My Life as a Teenage Robot coincidentally being readable as a trans character, the lives of the various Negators have a lot of opportunities for parallels with disability

Of course we have the obvious ones where the characters are literally disabled; Billy is blind, Juiz loses a hand and uses a prosthetic, Rip has prosthetic legs, an arm, and a false eye, and as we recently learned, Phil has an entirely prosthetic body save for his brain. Phil’s case is definitely exaggerated as that’s not medically possible yet, but having an illness at age 3 that causes the body to cease functioning properly is definitely something that can unfortunately feasibly happen

Then there are the characters whose disabilities come from their Negator abilities: again, Phil’s Unfeel makes him unable to feel emotions or physical sensations; Tella’s Untell makes him mute; Tatiana literally lives in a bubble, preventing her from having contact with others as if she were immunocompromised; Ichico’s Unsleep is an exaggerated form of insomnia; Nico’s Unforgettable at first seems to be eidetic memory, but when you consider that it degrades his memories from prior to gaining Unforgettable, it starts to resemble Alzheimer’s; deactivating Unstoppable requires Top break a bone, resulting in him wearing a cast at all times, which indirectly makes him an allegory for osteogenesis imperfecta (brittle bone disease)

Fuuko herself refers to her Unluck as a disease in the beginning of the story; sure, she was lying to make the concept easier for normal people to understand, but the fact that she can’t make physical contact with others without killing them, necessitating that she isolate herself for however many years, certainly does bring to mind several diseases

Andy’s sense of pain is described as radio static, which is similar to how it’s described by people with chronic pain. Even Andy’s inability to die can be viewed as a disability in and of itself; his ability to die was literally disabled by God. In fact, Negator abilities, being powers defined by a lack or erasure of a target concept, are all semantically disabilities

Appropriate, then, that the Negator power system is not about overcoming or simply getting rid of the Negator abilities, but working with and navigating through them to improve one’s quality of life. Through their own mental fortitude and personal perspectives, every Negator found the will to live and the ability to turn their disabilities into strengths

It reminds me of the early responses to Yuki Yuna is a Hero, where fans were excited that the girl in the wheelchair wasn’t suddenly able to walk when she was in magical girl form, but instead her magical girl uniform had supports that allowed her to stay upright and moved for her. I’m not going to discuss the greater implications of disability in Yuki Yuna here, only that its power system heavily focuses on providing support for the cast’s disabilities. In a similar vain, Undead Unluck’s story does not in any way imply that the disabilities of the cast make them any lesser or incapable of living well, but instead demonstrates that there’s no shame in relying on others or using assistive devices

Of course the metaphor breaks down a little when you remember that the goal is to defeat the God that disabled the cast so that they will regain their able bodies, which I think reinforces the idea that this was likely unintentional, but I do think that a disabled reader could identify with and take inspiration from Undead Unluck in the same way that they could from something like FMA where a high proportion of the cast have prosthetics

In fact, aside from FMA, I can’t think of another manga that has such a high count of disabled characters. I’m sure there are plenty, but I really can’t think of any off the top of my head. Either way, I’m glad to see a Jump title that can potentially serve as representation for the disabled community, and this is just another reason that UU is absolutely worth checking out