#because she's a symbol for something he hates and fears

[cuntylouis]

2.07 made it more clear than ever that everyone in the story (except perhaps Madeleine) views Claudia as a symbol for something rather than really seeing her. The scene where Louis is dragging Claudia on the floor like a doll begging Lestat to look at their 'beautiful little daughter' is both heartbreaking and deeply unsettling. This young girl who Louis doesn't even know is given the impossible weight of being everything to Louis; his light and redemption, replacement for his sister, fulfilling his longing to have children and to take care of something, his friend and confidante, fixing his relationship with Lestat, proving that living as a vampire could be worth it, giving him happiness and purpose. She called Louis an angel and saw something good and beautiful in him when Louis himself felt there was none, so Louis desperately hopes that he can be her savior and she can be his.

For Lestat she's something that keeps Louis tied to him, and to the world and vampirism and existence itself. He spitefully tells Claudia to come home and make Louis happy - because it's her purpose. Lestat sees himself in Claudia and detests it, but as he says he also sees his best vampiric self in her and is proud of it. Louis and Lestat both love Claudia deeply but i think they also see her as a living physical symbol of their eternal connection to each other, their union and its breakdown, and all their shame and guilt. In the modern day Louis' house in Dubai is like a mausoleum built for the memory of Claudia - and himself.

In Paris she's forced to assume the role of a little girl over and over again, the audience loving her but only the image of her that doesn't really exist. To the coven she ends up meaning everything they despise and on her last day she's completely dehumanized. In the book Armand says "I never loved her. I didn't know how", and i think that's reflected in the show too. I don't think Armand felt much toward Claudia other than resentment and something almost like fear, and that's what allows him to kill her with such coldness. Claudia is a living obstacle to his relationship with Louis, and like Lestat i think he's uncomfortable with seeing himself and his trauma and pain in Claudia.

But i think above all Armand too sees her as the embodiment of the connection and love between Louis and Lestat. I think Armand views Claudia first and foremost as Lestat's child and an extension of him, particularly obvious from the scene where he calls her Claudia de Lioncourt, and he's reminded of Lestat every time he looks at her. It doesn't matter if Claudia was going to leave with Madeleine, even if she and Louis never met again. As long as Claudia exists Louis will never be fully his, because he's connected to Lestat through her and thus belongs to Lestat. Claudia must be destroyed so that connection can be severed

[sugar-grigri]

Pochita, if you can read, why don't you speak ?

Wouldn't it be humane to protect humanity and demonic to protect the underworld? And what if... it was actually the other way around.

The interweaving of questions and answers is exactly what this chapter does.

While Yoru sordidly states that children are nothing more than the property of their parents, the one who can't speak, instead of devouring a human as he did with all those demons, decides to go to the blood drive.

Pochita understood what the sign meant. He knows how to talk. But he'd rather hold up that sign and roar than make any demands.

Worse still, he does not decide to give any orders.

It's not words that symbolise order, it's that raised index finger that already in Roman times expressed command.

In the United States, arms are a constitutional right (as recently reiterated by the Supreme Court, which does not admit of any restrictions), a fundamental freedom but also a means of preserving one's freedom, allowing organised militias to fight and protect the State.

You can see how it's all a construction, the weapons are a technological creation, the State is an administrative and political creation.

And that's where things get interesting. First of all, this chapter is highly symbolic and has a very strong political message (oh my god, political interpretation in a manga, impossible..........)

Yoru has sliced off the index fingers of those who support the right to bear arms in the United States. Or campaign for that freedom. But what Yoru is doing. In fact, it's taking it away from them. How can I shoot without this index finger? You can't do it.

It's by taking weapons away from men that they actually regain their freedom.

But it goes even further than that. Why does Yoru sacrifice these fingers? Because it reinforces the fear of weapons. Let's say I point a gun at you (sorry). You'd be less scared if you were as armed as I am. Especially when you're trained, know how to defend yourself and aren't afraid to shoot.

Yoru makes those who thought they were invincible with weapons vulnerable. She strengthens the Gun Devil's power. She contracts with them through her sacrificed child.

Weapons,

freedom,

deprivation of childhood,

of loved ones,

obsession with a mentor,

To think that a god created them.

Remind you of anyone?

Infanticide is what makes you immortal.

The sacrificed demons become weapons, lost between humanity and the demons. Not being human, nor demon, because they have no parents. Even artificial weapons like Reze and Katana display these characteristics. Isn't loneliness one of the ingredients?

Humanity sacrifices its children. As Fujimoto confirmed, they were prepared to do it for eternal youth.

And now you're going to say to me. NOOOO! Yoru too! Just as Makima wouldn't hesitate to do. The demons are also ready to do it.

Yes, because they are influenced by men.

Yoru speaks, uniting with humanity to say horrible things. Whereas Pochita doesn't speak. Worse still, he has chosen not to speak. Worst of the worst, even worse. He'd rather be a dog than a human. That's his choice.

Pochita fights for those he loves, he doesn't sacrifice them.

The demon of birth, it swallows but can spit out. Suspending existence, giving it new life, denying none of it.

Wasn't Makima devoured by Denji proof of this?

Nayuta is the symbol of this rebirth. A perpetual love that surpasses hate.

Pochita loves demons. He also loves those who mean something to him, like Denji. But he also knows that when we become too human, we can end up sacrificing ourselves out of vanity rather than love.

Pochita has sacrificed himself for love, without expecting anything in return as he waits permanently for Denji's dreams.

He is also Denji's lock, preventing him from fully adapting to men.

That's why killing Black CSM was Denji's wish come true. Because Pochita is preventing Denji from becoming normal.

Because he wants to protect him from humanity. Pochita has never been for humanity.

He is simply the guardian of the underworld, all those demons whose existence he guards, a supreme mother. Humanity must endure in order to continue to be afraid. But if humanity is prepared to overcome the ultimate fear of losing its child, then fear is scorned.

So Pochita tried to wipe out the weapons' existence, to devour them. But they still existed. Why? Because they are already the result of infanticide.

being devoured by the demon of birth, mother of the underworld, actually reinforces their existence.

Being devoured by their mother is the reason for their nature.

Whereas weapons are beings born because their mother has killed them.

Denji is the result of the death of the Supreme Mother.

It's not a weapon.

He's a wall.

Hero of the underworld.

A hero of the underworld who has been fighting from the start for the victory of love, sacrificing himself for those he loves and not sacrificing them. So he asks for blood.

And I'm sorry. If weapons really are born like that, they have to look human, and I think this is the last possessed human.

Someone's been ringing the doorbell.....for 100 chapters… it's time to answer it, isn't it?

[shanastoryteller]

Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother’s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

���Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[thelosers-club]

STOP MAKING THE LOSERS NORMAL. stop making beverly have a popular, “normal” fashion sense. stop making them fit in. stop. i do not want to hear it THEY ARE CALLED LOSERS FOR A REASON.

this is mostly about the kid losers but the adult losers ALSO ARE NOT NORMAL. NONE OF THEM ARE. In my mind beverlys fashion is so weird, so out of the ordinary and different that shes famous for it being interesting, not pretty or wearable, but something to put on display. (symbolizing ahem ahem)

richie is not a famous comedian that is only slightly different from any other comedian because hes inappropriate, hes WEIRD AND HE DOES WEIRD VOICES AND HE SAYS WEIRD THINGS and people are uncomfortable but theyre uncomfortable in an interested way. they want to see more. this man is so weird I have to see what happens next. and goddamnit how is he so paranormally good at this?

Ben is weird. he doesn’t talk much. people are scared of him since hes tall and strong and doesnt talk much. he is funny but people arent drawn to him. hes handsome in a slightly Different way. he doesnt show his personality a lot because hes uncomfortable with the rich, rude people hes always around. people love and hate him for the communications tower, but everyone can agree it’s unusual and its built in a strong but weird way. bill is famous and popular for his books but when people talk to him they are uncomfortable. he has an air of fear and held back horror. i mean, what else do you expect? he tries not to talk and he masks his personality with a friendly, quiet man, but people still find him off. they admire him but they dont like him. stan is admired but he is found weird, like the rest of his friends. he talks in a weird rhythm and the only person hes himself around is his wife. people dont like his humor and the way he thinks but they are around him because he is a coworker. hes fine with this, he has his wife

mike ❤️ ohhh mikey. my boy. he knows nobody and he knows everybody. no one bothers to talk to him but he knows about them through the people he Does talk to, and people find him weird for that too.

eddie is too scared to talk to people. he doesnt make eye contact and hes a generally jittery man. people understand that and they pity him. they see him as weak and small and Weird. but hes rich and an entrepreneur they suppose.

No matter what the losers do or are they are Losers. (and they always will be)

[leychin]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Could be seen as a continuation to All of It, but the idea came from @tenkomura, bc when am i ever not thinking about something she said

Maybe you hate your younger self for being so naive.

Perhaps its because you cling to the memories of before, when everything was so much simpler and All For One was commanding Shigaraki to act. When he messed up, or when you messed up, All For One simply caressed your heads in such a comforting way that the loss felt like nothing.

Oh, how you loved him. Everything was so much easier when it was him. Yes he was the future, yes you were the symbols of fear, but to you he was just Tomura. Its the silent understanding that you both had, that even though the entire world was against you and the cause it was okay because you were together.

He loved you, it didn't need to be said. Even when the league expanded, it was still just you and him. Not to say he doesnt care for the league, because that would be a lie. But the love he has for them pales in comparison to the love he holds for you in the crevices of his heart. Its heard in the blood pumping in his veins and its sung in the whispers of his calm breathing when he's with you.

But you're villains. Villains don't get an ounce of peace. So when the league has ended Overhaul's short lived reign, and everyone's stopped and caught their breath. You sit with him in silence on the side of a bare highway that you'd been walking.

Maybe its foolish, but you follow him like a dog. You watch as Shigaraki opens the case of quirk erasing bullets. He stares. Almost like he wants to test if it works.

You sit next to him, sat shoulder to shoulder now. He simply says "If I erased my quirk, we could be normal." And you don't need to be a genius to know what he means, he means if he didn't have decay he would have a home. If he didn't have decay he wouldn't be All for One's subject of interest, id he didn't have this damn quirk he could be normal with you.

Would there even be a you though?

"Hm, maybe." you supply "You wouldn't have met me though, and I would trade any chances of being normal if it meant i got to be with you." you say, and Shigaraki stills.

"I... I think I would too." he smiles, its a crackly smile that makes blood speck on his lips that you just want to kiss already.

"When this is all over, lets go on a date. Okay?" you ask, your eyes now gazing up at him with hope.

Shigaraki's eyes widen, and looks to the quirk erasing bullets and quickly shuts them. "You promise?" he asks almost eagerly, and you hold up your pinky "pinky swear!"

Oh you fools.

Which is what's left you to stare at Shigaraki's tube. His body floating in the liquid endlessly for whats felt like years, but you know its only been a month or two. You feel so naive for ever thinking it would just be over, because of course its never over.

He would be the new holder of all for one. Because fate stops for nothing and no one, not even love. You hate yourself for being naive enough to hope that you would ever get to love him peacefully. You hate him for not realizing when you did that All for One was using you both. You hate All for One for taking your lives away from you.

This would never be over, Shigaraki will never give pinky promise kisses again, and he'll never build redstone farms for you when you get too frustrated and rage quit. He's never going to reach out for you again, and you're going to spend the rest of your life reaching for someone who's never going to reach back.

You press your head to the glass and cry. The doctor is used to your sobs though ans has grown to ignoring them, which you suppose is a win. But it still doesn't soothe the ache in your chest as you wish for everything to be different, and you pray every night that this is a bad dream. You pray that this is a nightmare and that night Shigaraki did use that quirk erasing bullet. You pray for this to be a bad dream of his and he never developed decay.

Because you would never trade your life with Shigaraki for normalcy, but you love him too much to watch him do this. You wished he would trade you for normalcy because loving him through this and always is simply too much.

[sunshine-zenith]

A thought — Ballister and Ambrosius’s relationship probably wasn’t public in the movie until the end. They probably weren’t secretive about it, given how Todd (someone neither of them like or would confide in) was clearly antagonistic to Ambrosius after Ballister’s jailbreak, but even then that just might be because their connection was well known — they liked each other more than any of the knights liked them, most being neutral overall to Ambrosius and outright bullies to Ballister. No one in the public seems to know about them

Media perception is a reoccurring factor in the movie, with the opening scene giving exposition in the form of a news cast. During it, Ballister is shown to be controversial, with a there being a few comments questioning the Queen’s choices related to him. Ambrosius is also brought up as someone everyone’s looking forward to seeing officially knighted, with no one questioning his relationship with Ballister or even bringing it up

While everyone is fearing and hating Ballister after the Queen dies, Ambrosius is still popular among the masses — people stop him in the streets to get his autograph. Nimona, who admittedly probably didn’t do much digging into Ballister beyond the initial news reports on the Queen’s deaths, seemed surprised that Ballister and Ambrosius had a connection. She even had an “ohhhhhh” moment after picking up on their vibe the first time they saw each other post-arm chop (and yeah she initially calls Ambrosius Ballister’s nemesis, but she clearly clocks that something romantic was going on given the “arm chopping is not a love language!” comment). She also asks if he wants to die in a (literal) closet, which like. Y’all.

Before the Queen’s death, all their PDA is in private (on the catwalk) or subtly around other knights (helping each other put on their armor with lots of heart eyes and lingering hands). Otherwise, their interactions are those of Two People Who Are Close but aren’t necessarily explicitly romantic (Ambrosius wanting to throw hands on Ballister’s behalf, teasing each other, Ambrosius cheering with the crowd). Granted, there wasn’t a lot of screen time for them to just be happy before Everything Went Wrong.

We can’t really judge whether they were private from their interactions after the Queen’s death, since most are focused on a “so this traumatic thing happened and I don’t know where we stands right now” vibe or have them just fighting. The three times Ambrosius says he loves Ballister, one was just the two of them on the catwalk, one was in a mental rant and not actually out loud, and one was while they were trying to hide their identities. Ballister continues to defend Ambrosius, saying he’d believe them if they could just talk and that the arm thing is just “complicated,” “part of their training, up until Ambrosius outright tries to arrest them (which might as well be a breakup without saying “we’re breaking up”).

In the comic, the Director says she knew about their relationship and that she disapproved. Given how much she manipulates things, it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew in the movie, and encouraged them to downplay things at least — “you should keep your private lives private so you don’t taint your public images/yes we support you, obviously, but you’re here to protect the people, not show off to them/you don’t want to overshadow things with more controversy, wait a few years until after you’re knighted/what if this is just a phase, it would be a mess to clean up if you go public now/people will talk if they hear Gloreth’s only current descendant, a promising young man, is being courted by someone they aren’t certain about who comes from nothing and can’t pass your genes on/you have each other, shouldn’t that be enough?/etc.”

We don’t see them be in a relationship publicly until after the wall — the symbol of fear of the unknown, systematic abuse and oppression, refusal to learn and grow, and let’s be real homophobia/transphobia — comes down and the Director — the one going to murderous extremes out of fear of change — is dead

I dunno. This movie is a large celebration of being queer, but it’s also about how queer people are demonized by society to the point of everyone suffering. Ambrosius is the model minority everyone loves but no one knows because all eyes are on him; Ballister is both tokenized and targeted from the moment the public meets him, having to prove himself over and over until the public unquestionably turns on him entirely; and Nimona is called a monster for just being herself. All three already had to hide who they really were. I’m not 100% sure if Ballister and Ambrosius were out or not about being together, but it’s not a stretch to see, and it fits in with the themes/arcs of this movie

[wilcze-kudly]

Aang is great because almost every ship you can put him in instantly becomes top-tier.

Like:

Kataang- they literally make me cry every single time I think of them. Their love story is wonderful and genuinely heartwarming. It symbolises healing and peace for both of them and the literal world. He showed her the world and he's her biggest supporter and she always defends him and they find solace in each other because they understand what it's like to be the last of their respective kind. And they're each other's hope and just... ahhh. They're so much more than the vanilla hero gets the girl ship people paint it as. Haters stay mad or smth.

Zukaang- the symbolism? They're the actual Ying and Yang of the show! The Rozin parallels? Them standing in a vortex of rainbow fire as two dragons (the blue one like Aang's tatoos facing zuko and the other one, red like Zuko's general colour scheme facing Aang) forming a heart shape around them? Zuko was literally searching for Aang and found his redemption in Aang and Aang made him a better person and Aang is literally the only person who genuinely experienced Fire Nation culture before the war and he clearly values it and he's helping Zuko bring peace to the world and the nation...

Taang- The og tomboy x soft boy dynamic. He's literally the person that helped her free herself from her parents and Air is the element of freedom? And she teaches him when to stand firm like the Earth? And I love when they do synchronised earthbending it's so satisfying and they work so well together. Toph having lost her face in one of Aang's nightmares is also a nice parallel to Ummi and Kuruk. (One caveat though: i hate taang being used as a "get Aang out of the way" side ship to Zutara)

Sokaang- they kinda come out of left field for me but the more I think about them the more obsessed I become. It's all about a teenage boy who has been forced into a role that demanded way too much of him finally learning to trust and rely on others. It's about Sokka finally living out the childhood that he was forced to grow out of. Sokka also has such a cute bond with Momo and more importantly, Appa, Aang's animal soulmate. The fics write themselves.

Sukaang- ok, I know Suki and Aang barely interacted in the show but like Hear me out.Suki is so connected to one of Aang's past lives. And she saved Appa, which would totally bond her and Aang (genuinely distressed that this was never discussed in canon). And they both value a sense of community so much, and Aang was one of the people who inspired Suki to leave Kyoshi to help others. Plus, there could be some amazing Rangshi parallels if Suki became Aang's bodyguard instead of Zuko's, which could be very plausible.

Azulaang- I adore this ship because I genuinely think Aang could really help Azula find her redemption. Hell, he was so nice to her in The Search and she literally killed him. Plus I've already laughed about how it would absolutely kill Ozai. The mental crisis Azula would go through due to fallingin love with Aang would be hilarious, and also the guilt over everything she's done, as Aang's kindness makes her realsie she was on the wrong side this whole time. He's one of the only people who can beat her at her prime and he doesn't seem to fear her at all, which is rare for her. Aang could give her the unconditional love she so desperately craves and needs.

Maiaang- genuinely adorable to me. Other than the obvious grumpy x sunshine trope, Maiaang has a lot of potential. Mai seems to genuinely like Aang in the comics, which is really cute. I also think Aang would be able to help Mai express her more positive emotions, other than just anger. Also something about the girl who was forced to remain silent and passive her whole life learning to finally let go and allow herself to just live with the help of probably one of the most active and expressive characters of the show has me by the throat. Plus, he got along great with her lil bro!

Tyaang- They're so similar and cute and bubbly! They'd have tons of fun together and I just know Ty Lee would teach Aang some gymnastics and he really enjoy it! I think he can also find Ty Lee's chiblocking very cool, since it is essentially a great way to deal with a conflict without causing permanent damage. Very airbendery. Speaking of which, Ty Lee is also very airbendry herself. I can genuinely see her finding herself in Air Nomad culture and be excited to help revive it.

Onjaang- i just find this ship so funny because imagine being a random schoolgirl in the fire nation and not only rizzing up a demigod but rizzing that demigod up successfully. This ship can also go so many ways depending on On Ji's reaction to that random cute guy who threw a cool dance party is actually the Avatar, so it's certainly interesting.

Yuaang- the ultimate cinnamon roll x cinnamon roll ship. But more than that, there's of course the Yue becoming the Moon Spirit and Aang getting lowkey possessed by the grieving Ocean Spirit. There's Yue appearing when Aang needed her most, while he's stranded in the middle of the ocean and helping him. They both understand sacrifice and responsibility, and maybe they could comfort each other through it. Also Aang being the bridge between the spirit worlds and Yue being a Spirit could lead to a very interesting romance, depending on how much the Avatar could interact with the Moon Spirit.

Jetaang- ok, Aang was just as infatuated with Jet as Katara was, right? And I think Aang was heavily affected by Jet's actions and behaviour. Also Aang really not wanting to hurt Jet while fighting him (twice!) was really cute. And Aang helping Jet snap out of the Dai Li brainwashing could be a really cool ship moment the more you think anout it.

Teoaang- Honestly their little one sided rivalry at the beginning of the episode was really cute. And I think there could be some interesting symbolism between them. Aang symbolising the old and Teo symbolising the new. They compliment each other like that. Teo comforting Aang by showing him that the critters of the temple are still alive and well is also sweet. And Aang admitting that Teo has the spirit of an airbender is so sweet.

Kuzaang- they're adorable. I loved the comic about them. Aang calling Kuzon "Hotman" is really funny. Aang helping Kuzon make a bigger flame with airbending is also really sweet. I especially like this ship in combination with Zukaang. It's such tasty symbolism.

Aang may just be the most shippable charater of this franchise, argue with the wall. He's so filled with love I have no choice but to multiship.

[miraculan-draws]

I will never shut up about how dirty Da2 was to Justice like. Justice is ROMANTIC, in Awakening! He was awestruck by a sunrise. Hes in a brand new world, terrified and alone, and took comfort in how lovely the sunrise was. He lets his companions put flowers in his armor, because he cannot smell that he is piloting a corpse (bc it is a corpse and cannot smell). He literally sounded on the verge of tears when he unintentionally upset the wife of his host, of whom he remembered, distantly, as if she were his own wife. How much did it mean to the warden, particularly the "bad" wardens, ruthless blood mages or criminal dusters who spit venom, that Justice Itself said "you seem like a good sort. I will follow you"??

Vengeance has always been part of Justice, he mentions even in his recruitment that fighting with the wardens is the least he can do to AVENGE Kristoff. Vengeance is not a demon, just a facet of Justice. And the fear of becoming something else has always been with Justice too—when Anders wants to know the difference, his prodding upsets Justice, and Anders apologized. Said "I hope you never learn why then." And Justice said "As do I."

LETS TALK JUSTICE AND ANDERS MORE

Justice sounds. SO. Empathetic. When he says "I hear you struggle with your oppression, mage." When we met him in the Fade, he was armored, not wearing the chantrys symbol but shaped like a templar, maybe molded by the villagers trapped by the Baroness. They needed a wicked mage defeated, so they conjured what they thought would win. But Justice IMMEDIATELY, in the physical world, turns his sympathies to Anders, pointing out that Anders is in a very unique position to aid other mages.

And something about that sticks with Anders, even when he brushed it off at the time. And in game, they seem less than friendly, but we also know that Justice was WITH Anders when he took the sword from the templar. Justice must have thought he needed the protection, and was right. I don't think they hate each other, I don't think they're constantly at odds like the second narrative leads us to believe.

WHICH BRINGS ME RIGHT BACK. TO ROMANCE.

There is no way that if ANDERS loves Hawke, that Justice doesn't.

He feels what his host feels!! He remembers what they remember, as if it were him!! He mourned Karl too. He is just as reluctantly charmed by Isabela as he was with Sigrun—who made a game of stealing his knickknacks just to prove she could. If Hawke is an ally to the mages cause, there is no way in my mind that Justice disapproves. And if Anders falls in love, I think Justice does too.

If there is any wariness at ALL, I could see maybe Justice remembering the way Anders hurt when Karl was killed, and worried of a repeat performance—especially with mage Hawke. But I don't think he hates Hawke at all.

[crustyfloor]

Brain vomit...I am insanely jealous of the people who can get the new merch. And I am planning an elaborate heist. But aside from that, I'm also crazy over the lore implications of the new photo-card designs...

Of course, they're all suffering as per usual. But it's symbolized by cracks in their skin. When I saw that, I immediately linked it back to the collapse of barriers, secrets, structures, etc. The hearts, however, confused me a bit. But I suppose it's because the reason they all "broke" is ultimately because of their love.

This is probably the most distressed Ivan has ever looked in a photo card, and really, he's honest. The tone of his card is sickeningly oversaturated and overwhelming, and his emotions are visceral, I also find it interesting how the cracks are littered all over his face, and the hearts leak out like that from the neck--and Ivan holds his face like he's trying to "fix" it, or in other words, "keep it together" as he's breaking down and becoming vulnerable, he has to cover up his expression behind something more appealing as he always does. He's also wearing his Anakt Garden uniform. When he was a child, he was just learning how to develop his mask. But even then, he faltered sometimes, Ivan's automatic response is always to try to fix it, even if he's underplaying the severity of his feelings, it's what he has to do regardless, I love his card for that portrayal when he tries to keep one wound closed, another wound opens, its erratic and uncontrollable, like his true emotions. When I see him trying, it looks like it's hard because, well--he's breaking down. Normally, you can't just bounce back from that, so in this rare moment, he struggles with how to deal with it. (A certain desperation to keep up the act?) (His eyes. I really like his eyes in this PC, it's more akin to those moments when his true expression comes out, in those very rare moments)

And then there's Till, I feel pain when my wife feels pain. His expression, too, is very overwhelming. Like he's suffocating too, But his cracks are minimal, not because his pain is small but because vulnerability--something he loathes, is coming to the surface. In tears, Till is suppressing his emotions. Who he bleeds for is ambiguous here, you could say the hearts are for Ivan or for Mizi, but I think it's both. Because he hides from the both of them and eventually the love he feels for them both seeps out one way or the other like a slow leak through a crack in the wall, he's spent so many years building a fortress of a barrier to emotionally separate himself from others, it's his way of protecting himself. But at the peak of his suffering, long too deep into this hell, losing Mizi and then Ivan, he's crying because he's slowly breaking down, and the way he grips at his hair like he's trying to hold back...urgh. In different ways, indifferently, Till ignores Ivan and his affections, and fearfully, he avoids Mizi, instead watching her from afar, doing small things to feel close to her, even when he has the opportunity to get closer, and even when she acknowledges that he's so avoidant of her that it makes Mizi concerned if he even likes her or not, as was said in the Artbook when asked for her opinion of him:

"Mizi -> Till: I'd love to be friends with him. He's an artist who's so dedicated to his work. But he seems to be avoiding me... Does he hate me?"

Till doesn't confront relationships any more than he has to even though he cares so so deeply for them because confronting his emotions and confronting vulnerability, sadness, happiness, etc., and especially fear, is a commitment you have to understand how to accept and respond to, and Till doesn't understand the how when he can only go back to his starting point, hiding and or getting angry, because it's easier. At this point, it's instinct. Shyness is one thing, but doubt is something that can make you freeze in place, confuse you, make you feel unsafe, and even hinder your ability to control yourself in the wake of fear. Fear is what roots Till in place. Till, even for how emotional and sensitive he truly is, he fears the type of vulnerability being emotional requires, he knows of it, but he can never truly embrace it out of fear, that's why he rarely ever shows his heart. He already knows that wearing your weakness on your sleeve leaves you vulnerable to pain, he used to be childish and vulnerable once, and technically, he still is, but just imagine what years upon years of cruelty has instilled in him. So he acts cold and avoidant, and these misunderstood emotions lead to other misguided intentions. That's what brings me to the quote on the back of his pc

Translation:

"사랑 같은 애매한 말보다 증오란 말이 확실해요" -> "The word hatred is more certain than vaguer words like love"

Rather than confronting uncertainty and exploring the confusing, unpredictable, and gray area that is love, hate is honest, hate is intentional, hate is malleable, and you can control it. It's Till's response to feeling unsafe to resort to anger, in the same way, Ivan resorts to trying to fix it and put on a facade. Again, it ties back to the fact that Till doesn't and has never hated Ivan, but understanding Ivan is as confusing as understanding love, Till is as much of a puzzle himself. That's why they confuse each other and clash. So they come close but remain distanced because their connection is almost like unattractive magnets, Till is sensitive and loving, compared to Ivan's regrets; of not being nicer, of not understanding how to get closer to Till, then I think about what Till's recollection of his relationship with Ivan and Mizi in retrospective would be like when he does acknowledge it.

And now...mmizisua. To me, Sua looks more aware of her pain than Mizi is, like in the storyline, she is more aware of their fragility and the cruelness of their environment. It's surely a parallel to the way Sua had kept Mizi in the dark for so many years, even when this pain and this love are so destructive, she covers up her wound with her hand and hides it from Mizi, to protect her, her wound is a direct correlation to her (inevitable) death, a truth that would shatter Mizi, even after he death she wants Mizi to remember her the same as she was when she was alive, unaffected by their world. She tries to force a smile as if everything is still okay, especially because she doesn't want to affect the way Mizi looks at her so lovingly, how would Mizi ever recover if she knew the truth?

And Mizi would seemingly be none the wiser if not for the tears because, to me, she knows but looks to Sua for comfort, to forget even when she is hurt the same way, I love this side of MiziSua a lot, the side that highlights the cruelty of their relationship that surrounds their bubble, because as long as they could distract themselves with the presence of each other, the co-dependence of their dynamic, they could forget as if they couldn't feel the pain at all as long as they had each other, but Mizi is still so affected by her pain, all this hiding had amounted to nothing in the end because Mizi never changes in Sua's eyes, and Sua is still hiding her pain, but that day, Sua had broken that bubble of ignorance to the evil around them. Mizi's cracking, and she shows Sua when she pulls back her hair. It's an interesting contrast between MiziSua and IvanTill, when Mizi and Sua smile, they look happy to be in love, even if it's twisted and hurts each other, because they only rely on each other, and Ivan and Till look inconsolably pained.

[one-of-many-mothmen]

Avatar headcanons bc they dont get enough love :

Jude LOVES jazz music and listened to blues a lot when Agnes died

Oliver is interested in symbolic meanings behind everything, after becoming an avatar he is mostly interested in the death symbols in different cultures

Micheal recalls "being" Micheal Shelley but the memories are entirely distorted, it cant trust if what it is remembering is something Real or a lie or something inbetween, it hates remembering Micheal Shelley

Mike Crew wears very dull clothes because he doesn't want to look anything like the Spiral

Agnes used to try to find different ways to read books without touching them because she adored stories where she could imagine herself as the characters but didnt want to be brought back to reality when the book burned in her hands

Micheal leaves people with imposter symdrome and identity issues alone because it can relate to not truly knowing who or what you are

Space avatars dont get mentioned very often in TMA bc they are all chilling in space and Eating from aliens who fear the Vast

Gerry hated books when he got older and only was interested in them when they were Lietners(and thought abt how that exactly how his mother acted)

[redrum-alice]

ABA x Paracelsus HCs that live in my mind rent-free, even though I haven't played the game--

Some of these HCs include other characters involved in their arcade mode.

ABA is no stranger to stalking people. So when she came across a lookout point, she saw many couples, mostly teenagers, making out and going on romantic dates. She wonders what it would feel like to be young and in love, rather than just declaring someone whom she met first glance as a "husband"

ABA's collection of keys were hidden somewhere in the pocket dimension. She sometimes uses them as accessories to adorn herself, despite the like of knowledge in fashion (the girl wears pants as a top--)

There are many shades of blue that ABA can pick from. Since Paracelsus turned himself blue, the shiny surface reflected more colors than just blue, inspiring her to try and appreciate other colors near the blue gradient.

Added to the color stuff, she eventually tries variation of outfits with other colors, but with blue as the base.

Paracelsus knows when she's feeling fatigued. When she's at her limit, he opens the pocket dimension and lets her rest there until she wakes up. ABA sees this as his love language, but unintentional on his part

Both ABA and Paracelsus have no clue on how homonculi biology works, and Paracelsus hates to admit he feels bad that ABA may be at risk of getting herself hurt without him knowing what to do

Paracelsus wishes he knows more about human anatomy because its the closest one to ABA's physiology.

Since ABA is clairvoyant, she often hears the spirits of their victims which she tries to ignore, and probably because she doesnt know the correct response to a wailing dead person wanting justice. When its too much, she asks Paracelsus if what theyre doing was justified and that she begins to regret her rage filled jealousy directed at those that dont even bother them.

Paracelsus keeps telling ABA that she needn't to worry because it was a necessity for the both of them-- something he deeply regrets to say because he knows she has strong principles that she live by despite not being a human

Paracelsus, deep down, is ashamed of himself for tainting ABA for the purpose of tending to his bloodlust. He saw how genuine and pure hearted she is, but it turned into malice because of his demonic origin. He begins to wonder what ABA would be like if she found someone else years ago.

Just like ABA, Paracelsus has an unspoken fear of abandonment, but since he lacks capacity to feel other emotions, he doesnt notice this.

Ever since Elphelt and Testament approached her with good intentions, ABA wanted to make more friends like them, but is scared that others have ill intentions toward her and Paracelsus.

ABA's favorite book would be Alice in Wonderland when she was still in Frasco, specifically the part where Alice was trapped in a room or multiple doors with the smallest door being the exit. ABA admires this because of the concept of escaping, especially that there's a key involved. (Im biased bc my name's Alice and i like this story--)

Besides door keys, she also collects windup key and smaller keys for chests and compartments. She sees this as a symbol for discovering new things, especially music when she came across a music box that needed a key

Speaking of music boxes, she associates this object with Elphelt bc of her musical talent (and that she may as well look like the ballerina spinning on the music box)

Other than doors, music boxes, and compartments, she also came across a small doll that needed a key. After she winds it up, it began walking and talking towards her and freaks her out. But when it said "mama" in a robotic voice, ABA contemplates and wonders if she was ready to become a parent somewhere in the near future when Paracelsus has a body. An impossible thought, but one could never be sure, and it scares her.

Butterfly Pea tea with brown sugar, or sparkling butterfly pea lemonade with honey would probably her favorite drink because of its color. She shares this with her hubby 🥰😋

There comes a time that her bandanges would get uncomfortable and smell bad from blood stains and wounds, so Paracelsus tells her she needs to change them before she gets an infection. He does stop her midway because he realizes she isnt wearing any undergarments and proceeds to take her in the pocket dimension.

Elphelt offers ABA to shop with her to pick clothes suited for her. The first thing she sees at the boutique display was a wedding dress and begins to day dream a wedding with Paracelsus. Without her looking, Elphelt happily buys the wedding dress with matching tuxedo and gives it to ABA, despite Paracelsus' protests (the fact that he hears them chatting about setting up the wedding next day had him ded on the spot :P)

ABA watches home video tapes left in houses unoccupied by their owners (abandoned or they went on vacation; ABA is a home intruder lol). She finds a tape labeled "Happy Day" and it plays a recording of a newly wed couple dancing at their reception. The way the couple moved gracefully tickled an idea in her brain and insisted she and Paracelsus should dance. But since the large key doesnt have any legs, her attempts in waltzing with him went nowhere 😅 (and this gave more reason for ABA to find a body for Paracelsus)

At late nights when ABA is asleep, Paracelsus wonders that if he had a body, would ABA still be shorter or they would be in the same height? Either way, he was impressed that she can keep herself up with that low weight despite her tall stature, more so on how she was able to carry him around without much muscle mass.

When he sleeps beside her, her hair unwittingly falls on his bow and feels how soft it is. A very pleasant feeling he won't admit.

Everyday, Paracelsus keeps reminding ABA that she needed to eat to gather strength. ABA often forgets to eat because its not hard wired in hr system, nor that it was even natural for her to eat in the first place.

[whetstonefires]

Honestly the most interesting thing about the Jiang interpersonal dynamics that is being totally slept on is how Jiang Fengmian's power as head of the family affects everyone, including him.

Yu Ziyuan knows Jiang Fengmian won't use his power against her unless he feels like he needs to, and that he doesn't fear her and isn't going to feel like he needs to act in self-defense unless she attempts significant physical harm, so short of that she can do whatever she likes against him, and he won't resist.

But if the collateral damage to the kids of her verbal attacks on him goes above a certain level, he says one word and she stops.

He just goes, 'wife.' ('My lady' but it's just a polite term for wife.) Sort of disapproving. Same kind of way he talks to Jiang Cheng when he acts like a shithead, but without the subsequent attempt at an ethics lesson.

And bam. Momentum halted. That line of attack is out of bounds. Nobody likes this, but good god it works.

And because they both know he ultimately has all the power, that Yu Ziyuan's lifestyle of privacy and doing exactly as she pleases at all times and so forth is all something that exists by Jiang Fengmian's generosity and sufferance, and she hates it, and he's not comfortable with it either, he sets that boundary really high, and she gets away with all kinds of cruelty because it's all stuff she's strictly allowed to do, entitled to do. So he'd be abusing his authority over her, by constraining her right to exercise her power within normative bounds over the people she outranks.

Even if she's using it harmfully and in a way directed by spite, these are her rights, she's not technically abusing her power, and her primary target in all the episodes he actually witnesses is him who outranks her; she's not being one of those mistresses.

So he'd be overstepping if he tried to constrain her, he'd be one of those husbands. Just like she always accuses him of.

(This is why she keeps insisting that she's also the master of jiang sect and he's 'forgetting' that in contexts where it doesn't make a huge amount of sense.)

Anyway, the fact that it's impossible to unpick where Jiang Fengmian's moral principles stop and his conflict-avoidance kicks in with this relationship is so much more interesting than the weirdly sexist readings I keep seeing, where it's all the conflict-avoidance and he's an unmanly loser who lets Yu Ziyuan bully him and his kids without ever standing up to her, for no good reason. When actually they have a really interesting and fantastically realistic toxic relationship.

He has a good reason! His reason is he's uncomfortable with the patriarchy! And guilty that his wife is miserable! And that he doesn't love her correctly! So he gives way as often as he can, trying to fix it!

But it doesn't fix it, because no amount of giving in to her gives her cause to trust him, and if she doesn't trust him and she knows that if he actually cares about an issue her ability to get her way will disappear, she can't feel secure about any of it. And therefore everything, especially Wei Wuxian the symbol of that fact, makes her angry and Want To Punish.

[writingforstraykids]

I owe you a kiss - Pt.8

Pairing: Minchan x femReader (mention of Changlix)

Word Count: 3478

Summary: Three weeks later, you're still feeling left out. Your therapist suggests communicating your worries to your husbands, but this doesn't go as planned.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, therapy, verbal fight, anxious!chan, min gets defensive

A/N: After part seven I thought I'd be done with one part more tops...well. Once more, there'll be another chapter after this. Ideas/wishes are always welcome, I'll see what I can include🤭🖤

PART SEVEN | PART NINE

Three weeks later 

“And you still don't want your husbands there for the appointments?” your therapist asks kindly. She has been for weeks now. 

“No,” you shake your head firmly. 

“May I ask why?” she asks patiently. 

“Minho has a lot to deal with on his own because he remembers…also, he hates hospitals,” you start and nervously fidget with your hands. “Chan is…different.”

“Different, how?” she responds with another question. 

“Distant is the wrong expression by now. He's trying to show me how much he loves me, but I can tell when he gets overwhelmed. He's still figuring things out, finding his place back home,” you tell, and she nods along, taking some notes. “I just…It's not all bad. He gets enough sleep now, makes sure to eat enough, and takes care of himself. It's just so different from what I remember.”

“And Minho? Is he getting the help he needs?” she asks. 

“Yes, he sees his therapist every two weeks. Weekly, if it's really bad, she always manages to squeeze him in,” you tell her. “He tries to hide it, but he still has nightmares. He's able to drive again if he has to, but he gets anxious easily.”

“And where does that leave you?” she asks patiently, nodding at the wooden board between the two of you. There's a figure for Chan and another for Minho, standing close next to each other. Behind them are several smaller figures in darker colors, symbolizing their fears and struggles. And there's you. Yours is smaller than theirs, standing further away as if you're facing them. 

“Alone,” you say, swallowing hard as you notice the distance between the figures. You hadn't thought much about it putting them there but they're painting a clear picture. 

“Are you?” she asks gently. 

“Sometimes,” you nod. “I don't feel like it when I'm alone with one of them. But if it's all three of us…I feel like they don't need me,” you say and subconsciously fondle the tiny head of the figure behind you, symbolizing your negative thoughts. 

“Do you want to change something?” she asks, picking up on it, and you set it between yours and the ones of your husbands. “Add anything?”

“I'm scared of losing them,” you say, and she nods at you, letting you choose another one. You put it next to the one you just moved. 

“May I comment on something?” she asks, and you nod. “You put your husband's fears and struggles behind them. But yours are in front of you, forming a wall between you all. Why's that?”

“Uh…because they've communicated theirs openly with me and are working on them. I didn't tell them I'm scared to lose them or all of the other thoughts running through my head,” you admit. 

“Mhm, so theirs are out in the open…why aren't yours?” she asks patiently, and you drop back into the comfortable chair. 

“I don't know,” you confess. “Maybe because I feel like I can't put more on their shoulders.”

“What happened when Chan told you he's scared to push your boundaries? What happened when Minho panicked?” she asks, flashing you a kind smile. 

“I comforted them, told them it's okay,” you say quietly. 

“And what makes you fear they wouldn't do the same with you?” she asks, making you lower your head a little embarrassed. 

“I don't know,” you admit quietly, feeling tears burn in your eyes. “I should tell them, right?”

She hums gently. “Communication seems to be very important to keep your relationship intact as you're all dealing with certain things.”

-

You're exhausted after your session, but you know you'd have to open up more about your own fears. You follow her outside into the waiting area to pay and frown as you see Chan talking to the receptionist. “Channie?” you ask, confused, and he looks up with a soft smile. 

“Hey, baby girl,” he says sweetly. “I thought I'd come pick you up, I finished early today.”

“Oh,” you nod and open your handbag to get your wallet. Chan introduces himself to your therapist, a warm smile brightening up his gorgeous face. You take out your card, and Chan gently shoves it back inside. 

“Already handled,” he tells you. 

“What? Channie, I had to pay for the whole month today,” you protest. 

“I know,” he nods and gently zips your handbag closed. “It's fine.”

“Thank you,” you nod gently, smiling as his hand finds yours. 

“You got everything?” he asks, and after you nod, you two say goodbye. Once you're in the elevator, Chan pulls you into a strong hug and kisses your hair. “You look like you've been crying. Rough one?” he asks caringly. 

“Yeah,” you nod, burying yourself in his warmth. “Thank you for picking me up, Channie angel.”

“Of course,” he tells you, rubbing your back. 

As you lean into Chan's embrace, you're reminded of the session's revelations. His warmth is reassuring, and it pushes against the shadows of your own unspoken fears. You wonder how to begin sharing them with him, how to bridge the gap that your silence had unknowingly broadened. "I have a lot on my mind," you finally say, your voice muffled against his coat.

Chan's response is soft, filled with his sweet patience. "I'm here whenever you're ready to talk," he assures you, his hand steady on your back. The simplicity of his promise makes something within you ease slightly. Perhaps sharing your inner conflicts wouldn't be as horrible as you feared.

“Thank you,” you nod gently. 

Chan leads you outside the building and to his car, your hand still in his. “I wanted to take you out for coffee, but would you rather go home? Whatever you say is fine, beautiful,” he assures you, and tears brim your eyes. 

“Our favorite spot?” you ask gently. 

Chan smiles sweetly, dimples showing. “Yeah,” he nods, giggling as your face lightens up. 

“I would love to,” you tell him. 

-

When you're back home, the atmosphere shifts as Minho greets you both from the sofa. His smile is shy, a reflection of his ongoing struggles, yet sincere. His eyes light up when he sees you. "Everything okay?" he asks, a subtle concern in his tone.

You nod, squeezing Chan's hand before letting go. "We need to talk, all of us," you say, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your voice. Minho's brow furrows slightly, but he nods, understanding the seriousness of your tone. He gestures towards the empty space next to him. 

As you all sit down, the weight of the moment hangs heavily in the air. You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to be as open as possible. "I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed," you begin, your voice stronger than you feel. "Not by you two specifically, but by everything. The fears I've kept to myself are... they're getting heavy."

Chan reaches for your hand again, his touch a silent promise. Minho leans in, ready to listen, to help shoulder the burden you've carried alone for too long. You share your fears—of losing them, of not being enough, of the future that seems so uncertain sometimes. With each confession, the walls you built crumble.

“You know you can always come to us when those thoughts get too much to handle, yeah?” Chan asks gently. 

“You're always there for us, honey, don't forget we're there for you too,” Minho adds agreeingly, gently rubbing your thigh. 

“I know…A lot of it is in my head, but I miss you two,” you admit. “I can't even explain it, but I miss you so much, and I just wish everything would be normal again,” you say, tears brimming your eyes. 

“Y/nnie,” Minho whispers and shakes his head, tears brimming his own eyes. “We have to work with what we got. A lot has happened, and we can't pretend it didn't. We have to find our new normal,” he tells you and timidly takes your hand.

“But we're always here, yeah? You're still our beautiful wife,” Chan chimes in. 

“Well, then start acting like it!” you suddenly burst out, and seeing the hurt and confusion lacing their features you quickly get up. “Start acting like I'm your wife and not just your crush you hold hands with from time to time.” 

“Seriously?” Minho asks dangerously low and Chan swallows, already fearing an outburst of both of you. “Tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not,” you snap at him. “Obviously, I'm not.”

“What the fuck do you need me to do then? What do I have to change, huh?” he snaps right back at you, getting up as well. 

“Guys, please,” Chan tries gently, but you both ignore him. 

“I don't know! But it feels like shit, I'm just some bystander to you two being all lovey-dovey all day!” you burst out. 

“You’re pushing us away, you know that?” Minho retorts, his voice dripping with frustration and hurt. “You say you feel left out, but you've got walls so high, I need a damn ladder to get over them! Every time I try to initiate anything more than the crush behavior, as you put it, you back away.”

“I-” you start, but you can’t form any clear sentence in response. Minho is right, you’ve been denying him to go any further repeatedly.

Chan’s face grows pale, his eyes wide as he watches the confrontation unfold, seemingly frozen in place. “Can we... please not do this?” he stammers, his voice cracking under the strain. “This isn’t helping any of us.”

“You stay out of this!” Minho snaps, turning his glare briefly to Chan. The sharpness in Minho’s tone slices through the tension like a knife, leaving Chan blinking back tears, his hands shaking slightly as he tries to compose himself. “You don’t have to participate in this fight, but let me say my piece.”

“I’m trying to help!” Chan protests weakly, his voice trembling at the thought of you getting into a serious fight. Minho and you almost never fought, but if you did, it was always ugly, hurtful, and fucking loud. He didn’t like it before, but he could barely take it now, getting overwhelmed.  “I don’t want to see us fall apart over misunderstandings and hurt feelings!”

“Well, it’s not just about feelings, Chan!” you shout, your voice breaking as the tears start to fall. “It’s about being seen and heard in this relationship. I feel invisible most days, like I’m just here to fill a space between the two of you! It’s like you don’t care about me.”

Minho blinks at you, and you can tell he needs a moment to process your words. Then he explodes. “If you really feel this way, if everything I do is that useless and meaningless…then I don't know what the fuck I'm still doing here!”

“Minho,” you whisper in shock, and Chan's tears fall freely now. 

“Minho, please don’t say that,” Chan shakes his head, looking at him anxiously. 

“No, seriously, fuck this. Fuck you,” he says harshly, and you know he's trying to cover his hurt with anger. “I don’t care about you, yeah sure,” he goes on. “I stayed by your bedside for weeks, praying that you’d wake up. I have done nothing but respect your boundaries, give you the time you need, and make sure you’re comfortable. What the fuck do you need me to do to think I actually give a fuck about you?!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, and it has both you and Chan flinching heavily. It’s rare he loses composure like this. He’s breathing heavily once he’s done, staring at you with fierce but such vulnerable eyes it makes you sick. He nods to himself as you don’t answer and grabs his phone from the sofa. “You don’t even know what you need. How the fuck am I supposed to, huh?”

“Min, please,” Chan whispers, sensing how hurt his husband truly is behind his mask of anger. 

Minho’s expression softens for a moment, his anger faltering as he sees the tears streaming down his face. “I need a break,” he announces. “I’ll sleep in the guest room; I can’t do this right now.” He shakes his head and meets your eyes for a brief second. “Thanks for the talk,” he says sarcastically as you don’t respond to his prior statements.

You stand still for a second as he leaves before collecting your things as well. 

“Y/nnie,” Chan tries weakly.

“Don’t,” you say sharply, shaking your head. 

Chan flinches as the door to your bedroom slams closed and slumps onto the sofa, biting back a sob. He blindly reaches for his phone and blinks away tears to find his best friend’s number. Felix picks up after the second ring. “Lix, I-I know it’s late-,” he starts weakly.

“Where are you?” he asks worriedly at the distressed sound of his voice. “Do you need me to get you?” he asks, already getting up to search for his keys. His husband shoots him a questioning look, and Felix mouths Chan’s name. Changbin frowns worriedly, getting up as well and grabbing his keys. 

“Can I stay at yours? Just for tonight?” he sniffles helplessly. 

“Of course, Channie,” Felix says soothingly, slipping into his shoes. “You’re at home?” he asks carefully, leaving the house with Changbin right behind him. 

“Yeah…home,” he says, choking on the word. 

“We’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” he asks gently, waiting for Chan’s quiet hum in response. “Deep breaths, Channie hyung, I’m sure whatever this is it can be fixed.”

“I’m not sure,” he answers shakily. “I’m really not.”

“They got into a fight?” he asks carefully, knowing how much it upset Chan. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “It was bad, Lix, really, really bad.”

“I’m sorry, Channie,” he says softly. Only a little later Chan meets them in front of the house and they pull him into a tight hug. 

Changbin soothingly rubs his back. “Come on, Channie hyung, let's go,” he gently urges him to the car, handing him a tissue. “You can stay as long as you need to, okay?”

Chan nods and gets into the car, sinking into Felix's arms as the younger one sits down next to him. Felix gently rubs his shoulder and sighs. “It's gonna be okay, Channie.”

Three days later

Waking up, you notice Chan's side of the bed is still made, untouched from the night before. Minho is already downstairs, the clatter of dishes breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the house. As you walk into the kitchen, Minho’s posture stiffens, his usually warm eyes clouded with frustration.

“Good morning,” you say hesitantly, your voice barely a whisper, hoping to ease into the morning peacefully.

Minho nods without meeting your eyes, continuing his task. “Morning,” he replies shortly. 

“I was thinking we could all go out today, maybe get some fresh air together,” you suggest, trying to find a way to get you three to deal with what happened.

Minho pauses, placing a plate down a little too hard. “Chan isn’t feeling well,” he says shortly, finally looking up at you with a mix of irritation and exhaustion in his expression.

“Is it his headache again?”

“Probably,” Minho mutters, turning back to the dishes. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice rising slightly in concern.

Minho sighs, a long, tired exhale. “It means maybe he’s just avoiding us. Avoiding this,” he gestures vaguely between the two of you.

“Minho, that’s not fair. You know how much he’s been struggling with everything,” you counter, feeling your heart rate pick up as the beginnings of anger mix with your worry.

“And what about us?” Minho snaps, his composure breaking. “When do we get to talk about how this is affecting us? You’re so focused on Chan. What about me? What about what I need?”

The accusation hits hard, opening a floodgate of emotions you’d both been tiptoeing around. “I’m trying to be here for both of you and fix this!” you exclaim, frustration overtaking your initial intent to keep the peace.

“Well, maybe try a little harder because I don’t feel it!” Minho’s voice escalates, his tone harsher than you’ve ever heard.

“Guys? What’s going on?” Chan’s weak voice comes from the doorway. His usual bright eyes are dim and shadowed with pain.

You both turn, startled, as Chan leans against the frame, looking between you two with a growing sense of dread. “I just needed some air, that’s all,” he murmurs, clearly caught off-guard by the newly thickened tension.

Minho’s expression softens slightly at the sight of Chan, but his frustration is far from appeased. “We’re just talking,” he says, though his voice suggests it was anything but a simple conversation.

Chan glances at you, his eyes searching for an ally. “It doesn’t sound like talking,” he comments softly, his tone hurt.

“You wouldn’t know; you’ve been avoiding us!” Minho’s outburst swiftly redirects the tension back to Chan.

“That’s not fair, Min,” Chan protests, his voice weak but filled with hurt. “I’m just trying not to make things worse.”

“By not talking? By hiding away?” Minho counters, his voice laced with bitterness.

“Enough!” you finally shout, unable to bear it anymore. “This isn’t helping anyone. We’re supposed to be in this together.” Both fall silent, the echo of your shout hanging between you. The air is thick with unsaid things, each of you caught in your own thoughts. “We need to fix this,” you say finally. “We can’t go on like this.”

Chan nods, looking exhausted. “I know,” he agrees quietly.

Minho doesn’t speak; his jaw clenches as he wrestles with his emotions, but his nod is agreement enough. You all sit down at the dinner table, facing each other.

Chan’s voice is gentle as he suggests, “Let’s each say something we feel without interruptions. Just listen to each other. Really listen.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I feel overlooked,” you begin, the words raw but necessary.

“I feel helpless,” Minho adds, his voice thick.

“I’m afraid of losing you both,” Chan admits, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

The room grows silent as each confession hangs in the air. You all look at each other, the vulnerability shared creating a bridge that had been missing in the chaos of your misunderstandings.

Chan reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice steady despite the emotion. "I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I didn’t see how isolated you felt."

Minho exhales deeply, the tension easing from his shoulders as he acknowledges Chan's words. "And I... I've been so focused on not falling apart myself that I forgot to make sure we're all okay," he admits, his gaze shifting between you and Chan, a silent plea for forgiveness in his eyes.

It's your turn to respond, the atmosphere allowing for more open and heartfelt communication. "I've been afraid of burdening you both with my fears," you say, the admission freeing in its own way. "But I see now that keeping them to myself only creates more distance. I need to share more, not less," you continue, feeling a bit lighter with each word. "I need us to really be in this together."

Minho's hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "I've been scared," he admits, his voice cracking slightly. "Scared that pushing too hard or not enough could end up driving you away. But I see now that not communicating is just as damaging."

Chan, still visibly shaken but slowly regaining his composure, adds, "I thought I was protecting you both from my issues, but I was just isolating myself further. I promise to be more present, even when it's hard."

The conversation turns into a lengthy discussion in which each of you takes turns expressing thoughts and emotions that had been buried under daily routines and misunderstandings. It’s not just about voicing grievances; it’s about rediscovering each other's needs and reassessing how to support each other better.

Chan proposes a weekly check-in, a safe space where anything can be discussed without judgment, ensuring that no concern is too small or too trivial to be voiced. Minho suggests more one-on-one time with each of you to strengthen individual bonds that contribute to the health of the collective relationship.

In the following weeks, the impact of that conversation becomes evident. Slowly, the dynamics in your household start to shift. There's a newfound gentleness in your interactions, a deeper consideration for each other's mental spaces, and an active effort to engage without overwhelming one another.

Feeling less isolated, you find the courage to share your smaller daily fears and joys, discovering that these moments of sharing contribute significantly to your feeling of closeness with your husbands. 

In a relationship as complex and intertwined as yours, challenges are inevitable.

PART SEVEN | PART NINE

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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[ljaylmaoo]

🎃Kinktober day 4- Hate Sex🎃

ExBf!Hook x ExGf!Fem!reader 18+

UNEDITED!!

warnings: SMUT!!, ANGST!!, this is EXTREMELY TOXIC!!!, mentions of safe word, mentions of cheating(?), and mentions of underage drinking (drink responsibly), reader is a hoe/slut/whatever term you wanna use for it lol, unprotected sex (PLEASE USE CONDOMS), squirting, creampie, etc!!!

an: tbh I didn’t think it would get this angsty or this long lol, idk if I like the way this one turned out, but yea, enjoy..? Lol also, there is a change of pov so sorry ab that lol

word count: 3.4k

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Where the hell is she?!” Uliana barked at the four teens who were scattered about the Cauldron in the centre of the table, a dangerous maniacal expression visible across her face as she glanced around frantically at the others. The VKs were about to pull off possibly their biggest prank yet, maybe bigger than the prank they successfully pulled on the previously known sweet, pink, and ‘adorable’ princess two years ago. “Successful” meaning after the school year, she never came back to school and has since disappeared back down the rabbit hole to Wonderland, never to be heard from again. Was it harsh? Yeah. But did the VKs care? Not one bit. The prank had finally made them get the “respect” they deserved, or… believed they deserved from the students at Merlin Academy, and that’s all that mattered most to Uliana. This sent them on an extreme power trip and only craving more fear from their peers, so Uliana wanted to do something bigger, a prank on the entire school. Y/n was the one who came up with the idea of the prank and Uliana loved it. But of course, on the day of the prank that Y/n came up with, she was late once again. It wasn’t new for her to be running late no matter how important the day may be, and that wasn’t what initially pissed Uliana off, but it was now for the same reason: an extremely late night booty call that would result in her sleeping in and usually missing first period at the very least.

This “phase” of hers started ever since she and Hook had broken up about 4 months ago. It was a messy break up to say the least, and it was her way of coping. Hook absolutely hated it, and it hurt him more to know that the only way she could cope was to have a different guy in her bed every night just to boost her own confidence and self esteem that he wrecked which had earned her the title MA school slut. Every time he saw her now, there would be a new hickey or a bruise that was visible from how rough the guy treated her and used her body in any way he wanted. She knew they were visible, she made sure of it, because she knew it would piss him off and also because she didn’t care. It was like a physical symbol of how damaged she was emotionally and mentally. But as much as he wanted to say something about it, it wasn’t his place, not anymore. So his true feelings for her deep down that made him concerned and pity her turned to hatred and anger, bubbling within every time he saw her at the fact that he had to bite his tongue about it and act as if he didn’t care. Their friends however couldn’t care less about what she did with her life, or body, and most of them didn’t. But when it was all they heard Uliana complain and bitch about on a daily basis is when they began to grow tired of it as well.

Because they shared the same friend group, they had no choice but to keep hanging around each other and it was awkward for the group the first few weeks with the two ignoring and trying their best to stay out of each others way, but eventually Hook came to terms with the fact that they had to stay in each others lives wether they liked it or not. He knew what he did to her was wrong and he did feel bad, but no matter what he said or did to try and make up with her (for their friends sake), it never worked. Y/n was having an extremely difficult time with coming to terms with it, she would have an attitude towards him and would never give him any time of day. She made it known that she didn’t like him and wanted nothing to do with him anymore, especially after what he did to her. The rare times they actually did talk (which was almost never), they bickered and threw small insults at each other.

Hades and Maleficent only shrugged, frowning as they did so, uninterested. Uliana groaned and mumbled something under her breath about how useless they were before turning to the boy on her right who was currently stood with his arms crossed like he would rather be anywhere else but there. He slowly looked over at her and gave her a dirty look, “What?” He questioned, a hint of attitude lingering in his voice. She shook her head in disbelief, scoffing, “uh hello? Go get her!” She snapped at him while pointing towards the entrance of the lair. “Wha- no? Why me?” He asked bewildered. “Because all you’re doing is standing there looking pretty, make yourself useful, Hook!” She hissed while coming closer towards him in a threatening manner. He leaned back as she came closer to him completely invading his personal space, “no, I’m okay actually. She’s not my responsibility.”

“Yeah, but you’re the reason why she’s been acting like this.” Maleficent smirked as she took Uli’s side. Hook gave her a look and back to Uli who raised her eyebrows in agreement.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Hook stood on the outside of her dorm waiting impatiently for her to answer the door, knocking for what seemed to be the millionth time (really, it was more like 5). “Leave me alone!” He heard your voice yell from the other side. He doesn’t know why he constantly let Uliana boss him around, but alas here he was again, this time letting her force him into being his ex girlfriend’s personal alarm clock. He found it embarrassing, glaring at the few students who passed by. Part of him wanted to say fuck it and leave, but he knew Uliana would throw a hissy fit if she saw that he didn’t come back with Y/n. So, contemplating on what to do, he decided to barge in her dorm as any fucks he gave before drained out of him, he was sick of it.

It was dark and the smell of sex lingered in the air, clothes trailed on the ground that led to the bed where she was buried under the large, soft sheets with a mountain of pillows scattered around her head. He instantly went over to the window and ripped open the curtains, sunlight instantly flooding in and lighting up the room. Y/n groaned and pulled the duvet over her head, “get out!” “I would love to, trust me. But-“ “James?” Y/n peeked over the blankets in confusion and made eye contact with the pirate who was stood by the window. “Yeah..hi.” Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. Before she could say anything, another head from beside her shot up in alarm and looked at him, “shit. Uh, I’m just gonna..” he quickly threw the covers off and frantically put his shirt back on, James watching him with a judgmental look as the guy grabbed the rest of his clothes and shoes off the ground and ran out in only his shirt and underwear, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the two alone in an uncomfortable silence.

James cleared his throat, “…um, sorry for scaring away your, friend…” he said awkwardly but also uninterested. Y/n shook her head, “It’s fine. I didn’t like him anyways. He was kind of an asshole. But, what the fuck are you doing here in my dorm?” She questioned, the drowsiness slowly clearing up around her head. “Uliana threatened me to come get you. I didn’t mean to intrude but I am not leaving here without you.” The girl raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “yeah… no. I’m not leaving here with you. I’d rather chug a gallon of poison.” Hook shrugged, “I wish that was an option, but really, Y/n. I’m protecting us both from Uli. So I suggest you get your ass up now and get ready before I drag you out of here myself.” He said in a stern and threatening tone. She crossed her arms and stayed in place in an attempt to protest against him, “now.” He repeated, when she saw the look on his face she knew he wasn’t joking. She groaned and threw the covers off and finally got up, beginning to walk over to her closet. Hooks eyes widened when he saw that she was completely naked, with only a small thong that covered little to nothing. It also just happened to be his favourite she’d wear to tease him with when they were together. His eyes traced her figure, the small bruises and marks on her chest and ass making him fill with rage. He didn’t know if it was because they were from someone who didn’t actually care about her and was just another scumbag who was simply using her for her body, or because they weren’t from him. Both perhaps..?

“I can feel you staring.” She said annoyed while she finished putting her top on, glancing over to him that sat across the room leaned up against her desk. He made eye contact with her and she saw the angered and unimpressed look on his face, “what?” He rolled his eyes and looked away, “nothing. I just don’t know why you let guys who don’t give a shit about you treat you like that.” She threw the pants she picked out over her arm and turned to him, biting her cheek before scoffing, “treat me like what?” He turned to her and mirrored her body language, crossing his arms, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you, darling.” he laughed bitterly tilting his head slightly, blinking innocently, “I just don’t know why you’re acting like this and allowing yourself to get treated and used up like some fucking slutty ass cum dump.” Y/n’s mouth dropped at his sudden cruel bluntness. She knew he was right, and she was well aware of how she was acting. But no one has ever “cared” enough to be that straight up and call her out on it to her face. But it was his fault.

She looked away and shook her head in disbelief, tongue poking the inside of her cheek with a dangerous breathy laugh, “okay you really wanna start this now?” She started, walking up to him slowly and throwing her pants on the ground, “you’re really asking me why I’m acting like this? Why do you care what I’m doing with my life all of a sudden after we broke up?” Hook sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Y/n. I’m not trying to argue. I’m just saying it’s really unhealthy and you shouldn’t be-“ “oh! So it was completely fine for you to be doing the same thing while we were together?” Y/n questioned while throwing her hands to the side, “it was one time! I was drunk and I hardly even remember it!” “Oh fuck off! It doesn’t matter whether you were drunk or not! Being intoxicated doesn’t excuse you for acting like a man whore all night at the only party I wasn’t able to make!” She took a deep breath, “and with the one girl you told me not to worry about? Really?” Tears pricked in her eyes as her voice cracked at the end of her speech while she yelled in his face.

“You don’t think I feel bad about it?! You should be glad I even told you the truth about the kiss in the first place!” The two went back and forth, screaming at each other as unexpected tears streamed down their faces. Hook backed her into the wall as he angrily expressed his frustration and feelings, “-and gods sake for the millionth time Y/n I said I’m fucking sorry!” He cried out their faces were now inches away from each other, out of breath and eye brows furrowed as they stared into each other’s eyes mixed with hatred and rage. In the heat of the moment, they suddenly clashed their lips together hungrily into a heated make out session. Their tongues dancing around in their mouths fighting for dominance as he pushed her up against the wall and his arms pulled her hips closer to him, her hands pulling at his hair. It surprised them at first, but neither of them pulled away as they missed each other’s touch all too much. Y/n quickly jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist as the kiss continued to get even more heated and sloppy. Their bodies moved perfectly in sync with one another, y/n whined at the contact against her heat at his growing erection.

2nd person pov

Hook pulled away and tugged at your shirt, you let him pull it off effortlessly and he kissed down you jaw to your neck, biting and sucking harshly in the same spots as the previous guy had left his mark causing you to let out small moans. He made sure his were more prominent and dark before latching onto your sweet spot on your neck that never failed to drive you insane. “you know- every time I see- your neck marked up- I don’t think- I ever saw one- here.” His voice mixed with cockiness that was muffled with his mouth pressed up against your skin. You moaned as he bit harder before soothing it with his tongue. “Oh my god-“ you breathed out, grinding against him more. “It drives me crazy- knowing that- every guy- you’ve slept with- doesn’t know how to- make you feel good.” You were gasping in pleasure, missing the feeling of someone actually knowing, or even caring, to make you feel this good. It was true, every guy didn’t ever take the time to at least try and learn how to make you feel good. They either assumed what felt good, or just simply didn’t care, only using you for their own pleasure.

He carried you over to the bed and threw you down, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants and underwear down enough for his cock to spring out before leaning down to your face, “can I ask how many times total you’ve actually came while sleeping with them, darling?” He asked while caressing the side of your face, “total..?” You asked cautiously. He nodded and you thought about it, “ten…” you lied, trying to look away, “not including the fake ones.” You sighed “…um..maybe three..?” You shyly admitted, face turning a light shade of pink. He smirked and pulled your hips closer to his, “that’s what I thought” he pulled your thong to the side and lined himself up, “I can easily make you come more times than that.” He stated. Your eyes widened at his words but before you could say anything, he pushed himself into you causing you to let out a moan. The feeling of him stretching you out perfectly made you throw your head back, gripping the sheets beneath you. “Oh fuck-“ you whimpered as he bottomed out, “that’s it, just feel it.” He cooed. He pulled back out and eased back into you. You gasped at the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you at a steady pace. You knew (especially from experience) that it was extremely rare to find someone who could make you feel good without trying. It made you more upset that James was that person for you. Like your pussy was made to fit around his cock. Like it was made just for him and him only.

He picked up his pace and ducked his head down to your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking it while he rubbed circles on your sensitive clit. Your hands found their way back into his hair and you let out desperate moans, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening. You ground yourself onto him, meeting his hips as your back arched off the bed, “fuck- James-“ you cursed, tugging at his hair more as you felt your release approaching fast. Your walls tightened and you felt your first orgasm wash over you letting out a groan. He lifted his head and looked down at you while still fucking into you, “not even a few minutes in and I’ve already made you come?” He smiled. Your legs shook at the overstimulation while furrowing your eyebrows and flipped him off but quickly grabbed his wrist beside your stomach as he skillfully positioned his hips to hit your g spot causing you to moan louder and he let out a chuckle finding it amusing how well he made you feel.

Your grip on his wrist tightened and your eyes rolled back feeling your second orgasm approaching quicker than the last as you let out a whimpered scream. “Yeah, you can do it, come for me again baby.” He praised, “shit!” You screamed out as you came again on his cock. The sound of your juices squelching out from your hole as he still continued to fuck into you filling the air. You dug your nails into his skin as your whole body began to tremble beneath him. You shook your head, “I- can’t- take it- anymore-“ you cried. He brought his hand up to your face, “yes you can-fuck-“ he cut himself off with a moan, “two more for me, come on.” He stopped for a moment to throw your legs over his shoulders and began picking up his pace, this time faster than before causing your toes to curl as he hit a spot deeper inside you. He grabbed your hand as he ploughed his hips into yours. Your mouth fell open and your eyes clenched shut, raspy weak moans escaping your mouth. You hated that he was the only guy who knew how to make you feel this good. But at the moment you didn’t care, mind too caught up in the way his cock filled you up in all the right places. The continuous feeling of his tip abusing your cervix and sounds that fell from his lips (that you missed terribly) made your whole body tense up as it ripped another orgasm out of you.

He grabbed your hips to hold them still, feeling you try to pull away from the extremely overwhelming and intense feeling of pleasure soon turning to pain. The walls of your pussy clenching as tightly as possible, not knowing if they were trying to suck him in or push him out. “Too much! Too much!” You screamed, “just one more, I know you can do it sweetheart. You remember our safe word- don’t you darling? If you want me to stop- shit- just let me know.” Of course you remembered. Though you’ve never had to use it, and you knew he knew how much you could handle. Your stubbornness wanted to prove to him that you could take what he gave you. Soon after, your thoughts were clouded by the feeling of your last orgasm that hit you harder than the rest, your whole body spasming and trembling as you screamed his name louder than ever, eyes rolling all the way back in your head as juices squirted out of you like a fountain while you felt him finish inside of you, moaning out loud with you before pulling out.

Your body continued to shake uncontrollably and you let out pathetic whines with tears streaming out of your eyes again as the feeling didn’t stop even after he had pulled out, your hole clenching on nothing but air. He soothingly rubbed circles on your thigh trying to calm you down from your high, talking you through it. Eventually you came down, body and legs still shaking. When you both caught your breaths, there was an uncomfortable silence that filled the air once again. Neither of you knew how to feel or what to say. Hook silently got up and grabbed a towel from your bathroom, cleaning you off first then trying his best to clean up the mess you’d made on him and his clothes without much luck. He sighed and turned to you,

“Um… do you still have my spare change of clothe-“

“Bottom drawer.”

“Okay.”

[eyesxxyou]

❝ sunshine pt.2 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. a little internalized homophobia. leg humping. handjob thru underwear. lots of kissing. hobie being a lil shut. weeks of avoiding hobie become moot when you and him find yourselves alone in a bathroom together.

wc: 3.6k

You wish you hated Hobie Brown.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He kissed you, did unspeakable things to you in that closet. And you let him. You enjoyed even, you relished in the way his mouth felt, his lithe fingers sinking into your flesh. the way he cooed in your ear. It would be easy to write him off completely, hate him for the rest of your life, his smug face, his hooded eyes that gaze into yours and hold secrets only known between you, him, and God.

But you don't hate him. You can't. You hate yourself more than anything. You should have never indulged him, never let him put a single finger on you. Because now, when you lie in bed at night and close your eyes, all you can see is him on his knees, feel your cock sliding down the pocket of his throat while he looks up at you through his lashes with those dark eyes of his. You can't get it up any other way. Women don't do it for you anymore.

The moment the two of you left the closet you told everyone to leave. You picked up Hobie’s clothes and shoved them into his arms before sending him out the door with the rest of them. You never once looked him in the eye.

Your friends asked Hobie what had happened inside the hour you spent together and Hobie, being quite the convincing liar, simply shrugged as if he had no idea what had set you off. “Nothin’. Think ‘e migh’ be claustrophobic.” But he knew. You both would always know, no matter how hard you attempted to scrub it from your mind. He’d keep it a secret if you did. He might start shit from time to time but he wasn’t into outing people. He’d keep the secret for you if you didn't want it.

You know better. You know yourself. If you were alone with him, something like that would happen again and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

So you avoided Hobie like the plague after that night. Every invitation to hang out was promptly turned down with an excuse that was only a thinly veiled lie, obvious to no one except for Hobie who knew better than to accept that you were sick 3 weeks in a row.

It was understandable. He had made you question everything you had known about yourself all within a matter of an hour. Why would you want to be around him? You feared him and everything he symbolized to you.

���It’s Hobie, isn't it?” Your friend, Riri, sighed. She had come in person to get you out of the house. There was no pretending to be sick, no feigning exhaustion. She came and she called you out so accurately you feared that Hobie might have told her what had happened in the closet. Your chest squeezed and you lost your breath, terrified that she may know.

You scoffed, anxiety swelling within your chest as you pretend to roll the question off your shoulders. “Hobie? Why would I care about Hobie?”

“Everyone knows you can't stand him. And you haven't been the same since we stuck y’all in the closet. Did he say somethin’ to you?” You looked into her eyes for any semblance of your secret and found nothing. You wished you could tell her, your shame, your pleasure, the absolute heaven you felt being in that closet with Hobie. You’d just embarrass yourself.

“No, that's ridiculous. I find him just as endlessly irritating as I always have.” You reach up, tug at your hair softly, and shift your gaze. You were telling on yourself. Fuck, if you didn't agree now, she’d definitely know that there was something up with you and Hobie. “I’ll go, it’s whatever. Just let me get ready.” Your voice was quick, snappy, you were definitely acting suspicious. But you hoped you conceding to going would distract her enough to forget.

It did. Your friends weren't the most aware bunch.

That's how you ended up here, standing in the midst of a true punk party. There was a mosh pit in the front, people inches away from getting punched in the face, starting an all-out brawl. Most were drunk or high off shitty beer and even shittier drugs.

Hobie was on stage performing. You heard his voice before you saw him, the way it echoed in your ears and left you delirious. Riri dragged you into the crowd, just far away from the mosh pit to not get trampled over, and you saw him. His dark skin glistening in a thin layer of sweat, fingers meticulously strumming at his guitar, lips pressed against the mesh of the microphone as if he were attempting to kiss it like he kissed you.

He wore a plaid skirt, his muscle shirt was just cropped enough to reveal the scant of his abdomen and the hair on his slender naval. You saw him and all you could think about was how you wanted to touch him. You wanted his black-painted lips on your neck, wanted to bury your fingers in the new growth of his hair, wanted your cock in his mouth once again and maybe to put his in yours. 

The thoughts terrified you but what frightened you even more was that when you came to, Hobie was looking at you. Smug, careless, beautiful, like he knew just what you were thinking about and he was thinking the very same thing.

Face hot and embarrassed over being caught, you averted your gaze. You turned on your heels and swiftly left Riri to make your way to the bar. You needed a drink, or five, so that maybe your nausea could be attributed to something worthwhile. But no matter how far from the stage you found yourself, Hobie’s voice was still in your ear, teasing your senses, tempting your body. You felt hot and parched. 

“Give me the strongest you have.” You asked the bartender and pressed your face into your hands.

Hobie played three of his songs before his time was over, the entire time you watched from the corner of your eye. Watched the way he swayed, jumped, wrecked the stage, a force to be reckoned with. You watched him and his bandmates, your friends, walk backstage and felt relief. You wouldn’t have to hear his voice everywhere you went. You hadn’t considered that meant that they would all gravitate over to you to have a chat over where you’ve been for nearly a month now.

They came over with Riri, the unknowing traitor, Hobie standing taller than everyone else in the back. They hugged you one by one, slapped your back, kissed your cheeks, told you they were happy you finally agreed to hang. You would have loved to see them if Hobie hadn’t tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him. 

He smelled like musk and faint, fragrant cologne, your nose pressed to the side of his chest. You look up from where you sat on your barstool only to find him already smiling broadly down at you. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with they presence. Miss me, sunshine?” He was so smug, so proud. If only you could kiss that look from his stupid face and leave him breathless for once instead of the other way around.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm from your shoulders. “Don’t get so full of yourself.” You downed the rest of your drink and requested another one. Hobie came, sat on the stool beside you, and told the barkeep to add all your drinks to his tab.

“Ya been avoidin’ me, sunshine?” Hobie only really seemed interested in talking to you. The others chatted aimlessly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to notice the way Hobie’s eyes glazed over you, the way his smile seemed a little different when it was directed at you. They also didn’t notice the way he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing soft circles into your flesh, the way his digits fingered the rips at your jeans.

“Whyever would I be avoiding you, Hobie?” You grabbed his hand to stop his gentle assault on your thigh and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers in with yours.

“I don’ know. Why are you avoidin’ me?” His hand was hot and rough with callouses. If only he’d touch you a little more. Slide his hand up your arm, brush over your neck. You could feel your body growing warmer by the moment. You couldn’t be trusted with him, couldn’t trust yourself for that matter.

You tore your hand from his. “You know exactly why. I hate it when people play dumb.”

“Jus’ add i’ to the long list of all the reasons ya hate me.”

Oh, if only it were so easy to hate. You’d hate him till the day he died. You’d hate him beyond the grave. You’d hate him until the world combusted into flames and everyone burned with it. But it wasn’t so easy. It was actually quite hard to hate someone you longed so carnally for. If you could rid yourself of him for good, you would in a heartbeat.

Hobie ordered himself a nice large glass of beer and leaned in. “Was i’ so bad, what we did? Ya seemed to enjoy i’ in the moment.”

Your eyes grew wide, glancing about to ensure your friends hadn’t heard him.

Hobie scoffed. “Please, too loud in here. They all wrapped up in ‘emselves to pay attention t’us. Look here, sunshine.” He reached out and gently grasped your chin to make you look at him. His touch was like fire all throughout your body. Looking him in the eyes lit something in the pit of your stomach. "Ya look good t'nigh'."

His drink came and he took a sip of the froth at the top while looking at you, his gaze all affectionate and tender. The way one lover would look at another. He didn’t even have to touch you to get you riled up because you both knew him looking at you through his lashes like that was just the way he looked at you when he kissed the tip of your cock.

You needed air. It was suddenly so stuffy where you were, you felt like you were suffocating. The ache of your cock made your jeans tighten. You felt nauseous.

You must have looked crazy standing so abruptly. Your friends attempted to call your name as you pushed your way through them and searched wildly for the nearest exit. The best you could find was a bathroom sign. That would have to work.

The bathroom was grimy and covered in graffiti. Your boots suck to the floor when you walked and you’re sure you could see a leftover powdery substance on the side of the sink. You turned on the water and cupped your hands beneath it to gather some and splash it on your face. 

Nothing between you and Hobie had to change. If he would simply stop provoking you, you could ignore everything else. The way your eyes lingered on his exposed body, the way his lingered on yours, the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking till he came on your tummy, the way you came in his mouth and he drank it all up.

You pressed your hand against the bulge in your jeans and moaned softly at the pressure. Then there was a knock at the door, startling you out of your momentary pleasure and reminding you that you were indeed in a public restroom.

“Oi, sunshine! Ya alrigh”?” Hobie. He just simply couldn’t let you have a moment of reprieve. Readjusting yourself in your pants so it's not so noticeable, you opened the door only to be met with Hobie leaning against the frame. He looked at you, questioning, before inviting himself right in. “Le’s talk.”

“Talk? You wanna talk?” You slammed the door shut and locked the door behind the two of you out of instinct. “We have nothing to talk about, Hobie. Absolutely nothing.” Your demeanor was cold, your lip curled. It all belied how much you needed him to stop looking at you that way. With heavy eyes and a touch of a smirk on his lips.

Hobie quirked a pierced brow at you. “Who’s playin’ dumb now? Ya tink I ‘aven’t noticed how you’ve been actin’? Yer meaner than usual.” He approached you. Slowly. He looked at you, watched to stand your ground. “God, yer down bad, aren’cha?”

Your face was hot, cock hard in your pants. You said not a word. Let him get close, really close, leaning into you while staring into your eyes.

“It's okay, though. I like ya mean.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, hands tight in the fabric as you turned him around and pushed him against the wall. “You think this is fucking funny, huh?” You shook him a little, pressed his thin body to the door, your eyes aflame with passion and anger. Hobie just looked at you, smiling, with his hands up as if to surrender to you, his eyes heavy with seduction.

You hated that look, so cocky and proud, fucking gorgeous. 

You were rough when you kissed him. You knew you couldn't be trusted with yourself or with him. You knew it would all lead to this. And God if it didn't feel good. His lips were so soft, sweet, a little salty from his sweat. You held his shirt a little tighter, pulled him a little closer and his hands settled on your hips.

You let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him slide his hands up and down the length of your body, slide beneath your shirt. His thumbs looked into your pants and tucked his knee between your legs to press against the growing bulge in your pants.

Just like that, he took control of you. You melted into him, licked into his mouth as you moaned, rutting yourself against his knee. You were desperate, panting, needy. You showed all your cards just as they were dealt and now you had nothing but an empty hand and a hard cock.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout'cha.” Hobie panted into your mouth, hands pawing at you. Your kiss was sloppy, filled with swapped saliva and sticky tongue. “Missed ya. Looks like ya missed me too.” He chuckled softly as you licked his bottom lip, sighing with pleasure when he pressed his knee harder into you.

You should stop this. You should be stopping yourself. But you simply couldn't control yourself and you didn't know if that said more about you or about him. You were insatiable. You were angry. You were horny out of your mind. 

Hobie let you suck on his lip and tongue, chuckling the whole time. It made you stop, your hands tightening up in his shirt. “Is something funny?” You pushed him against the wall harder, your body pressed against his, your aching cock against his knee. You tried to play tough, your face firming up, but Hobie already witnessed how desperately you've been wanting him this entire time.

Hobie sighed softly, looking at you, smiling broadly. “Nah, nah, ‘m laughin’ ‘cause ya definitely like me, sunshine. Just as much as I like you.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours, and kissed you softly. Lips latching, tongue licking, teeth nipping, you didn't resist him as much as you thought you would. You hadn't imagined for it to feel so good the second time around.

“Lemme help ya out, sunshine.” Hobie pressed his knee harder into your crotch and you crumbled, panting into his mouth with your eyes squeezed shut. One of your hands unballed itself from his shirt and found itself settled against the apple of his throat, pressing and squeezing while you humped his leg into oblivion.

The friction was delicious. The pressing and grinding with his tongue down your throat left you a little delirious. You were lightheaded and feared you might faint if he kept holding your waist like he was, moving your hips for you, pressing you harder.

“Keep goin’, pretty boy. Ya got i'.” Hobie crooned into your mouth as your lips fiended for another kiss, a lick, something, anything to satiate the burning in your chest, the fire all over. His fingers sunk into the meat of your thighs with his soft grip that meant to gently coax you towards your climax.

How embarrassing. To cum in your jeans just from humping a leg. But God, if this didn't feel good, if Hobie wasn't doing you so right. You pushed him harder against the wall, squeezed his throat a little tighter as you ground yourself into him.

Your free hand slid down his front and beneath his skirt to feel the bulge of his erection through his underwear. You weighed him in the palm of your hand, clumsy massaging and fondling. You didn't know how to handle him. Attempting to conjure up the way you touched him the last time you two felt each other, you rubbed him, felt the wet patch where precum leaked and soaked into the fabric of his underwear and stroked his tip.

Hobie shuddered, one that rattled through his entire body. He gripped you harder, bruising your hips and thighs and he drove you further into his knee and left you shivering. You squeezed him in your palm and he moaned.

It was pathetic how easy it was to forget how much you wanted to hate him. Your brain was foggy with pleasure and need. Your hands groped at each other with a fiendish desire. Hobie nipped at your bottom lip. “Fuck, jus’ like tha’.”

You were so close. Your lips broke apart from his with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your head felt back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat which Hobie greedily attacked with lips and teeth and tongue. “Gonna cum f’me? Hmm, sunshine? Go ‘head ‘n make a mess f’me.”

You whined, your body rocking back and forth with the waves of your orgasm. You hadn't cum in your pants since you were a teen and never before because of another man. You felt as though you should be humiliated but you were so wrapped up in Hobie's sweet scent and the way he moaned into your neck as you pressed your hand into him and felt his cock twitch in your hold.

You rubbed him harder, faster, determined to get him to come undone the way he had your world falling apart. Hobie chuckled against your throat. “Tryna get me t’cum, pretty boy?” His lips peppered kisses to your lovely throat. You nodded, your hand stroking his throat with your thumb. “Give it to me, please.” Oh how the mighty fall.

Hobie faltered a bit when you squeezed his balls in your hand, whining into you like a puppy. “Beg.” He sighed softly against your neck. “Beg fo i'.”

"Please, please. Shit, Hobie, give it to me " Overstimulated, his knee still pressed into the wet spot in your sticky jeans, your hips still rutting into the mess you’ve made of yourself, you jerked him off through his underwear, stroking it rapid, blundering twists of your wrist. Hobie liked how inexperienced you seemed, he found it amusing how hard you tried to please him.

You knew he was just on the edge of an orgasm by the way his moan lowered an octave. He sang for you like he sang on stage, your own private show. His hands gripped you with an impossible strength, tongue lavishing over your throat. He nosed at the curve of your jaw and moaned into your ear as he came in your hand, leaking out into the cotton of his underwear.

You were left panting, stroking at each other in tender touches. You were uncharacteristically affectionate, desperate for it. You needed his hands, his lips, his soft chuckles, his pretty smile. God, you were losing it.

“Fuck-” You pulled away from Hobie, your entire body coiling away from him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It all came back to you like a tsunami. How did you let this happen? Again no less. What in the world were you thinking? What the hell has he done to you?

“Sunshine, calm down. It's okay.” Hobie reached out for you but you almost fell over trying to get away from him. Your hands gripped the sink for stability and in hopes to ground yourself in reality. “No, no, it’s not okay, Hobie! We need to stop this.”

“Whatever we have goin’ on between us-”

“There's nothing going on between us,” you insisted. “There should be nothing going on between us.” Hobie scoffed at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would’ja get ova y’self? We didn' make each other cum by accident. This keeps happenin’ fo’ a reason. We like each other.” He motioned between the two of you, his eyes softening.

“I can't do this, Hobie. I can't give you what you want.” You rushed past him and escaped out of the bathroom door before Hobie had a chance to catch you. It was a mistake to come out. You should have left the moment Hobie touched you. 

It was just your luck to run into Riri on the way out the door. You bumped into her just as you neared the exit. She had whipped around, ready to let you have it until she saw that it was you and worse, when she saw the tears streaming down your face. As if this night couldn't get even more embarrassing.

You said nothing to her. You simply pushed past her and left the bar with her calling after you. Hobie approached behind her, watching you leave with sulken shoulders and smudged makeup.

“Shit.”