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ebodebo · 6 months ago

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Nuts And Bolts

—mechanic!ghost with psychologist!reader…MDNI

Stepping out of your office and onto the town's bustling streets, you admire the Christmas decorations the city has set up. But, it does nothing to settle your soured mood.

Simon and you had gotten into an argument the previous night, and you haven’t heard or seen him since. You assumed he went to his car garage to let off some steam, but, as his wife, why the hell were you left to wonder about your husband’s whereabouts?

To set the scene, it had been an ordinary night. You had gotten off work before Simon, so you thought you would prepare a nice dinner with a glass of red wine.

Simon swings open the door as you season some vegetables, dawning an unpleasant expression. You turned to face him, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, setting your tongs down to walk over to him. He simply shakes his head and heads straight for your shared bedroom.

You tilt your head and head straight towards the bedroom after him, unable to let him writhe in his agony alone.

“Simon.” You stand in the doorway, observing him as he sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance, making you worry.

You make your way to him and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You want to talk about what you’re feeling?” You insist, making him finally look at you.

“Stop it.” He firmly states. Your eyes widen at his tone.

“What?” You ask, keeping your tone soft to avoid antagonizing him.

“You’re tryin’ to do that shit again.” He scowls, standing up to walk back through the bedroom door. You quickly follow suit as he continues.

“Trynna’ pick my brain.” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of whiskey.

“Like I’m a fuckin’ patient.”

“No. I—” You intently pause, thinking. “Okay, you seem upset, stressed even.” You watch him grab a glass and pour some whiskey into it.

“Alcohol isn’t a good way to cope.” You say, adopting your signature calm voice you use on your patients.

He laughs dryly, even though the burning amber liquid coated his throat.

“And, there you go again.” He sighed, looking up at you.

“I’m trying to help you, Simon.” You insist, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, though he quickly retracts from your touch.

He lets out another dry chuckle before setting down his glass and walking to the coat rack to grab his coat. You attempt to question his whereabouts, but he fills in the space first.

“I don’t need a shrink. I need my wife.”

And, with that, he left. Leaving you to stare helplessly at the front door, not knowing where you went wrong and not knowing where to go from there.

You recounted yesterday’s events in your mind all day today, even during patient sessions. You always left your personal matters at the door, but this was different because you were genuinely dumbfounded.

Even walking out of work, you still thought about the whole ordeal. However, your thoughts were absolved when you saw the familiar mechanic shop sign out of the corner of your eye. They would be closed about now, but, knowing Simon, he would still be there.

You walk into the garage part to see a body under a truck, working on it. You delicately press the little bell, you insisted he get, on the desk closest to the doors.

“We’re closed.” God, it had only been a day, but you missed his voice.

“Even for me?” You question, feeling a little shy. He paused his movements before scooting himself out from under the truck. Your eyes shamelessly glazed over his body, looking at what he was wearing: an old white shirt covered in grease and gray sweatpants with oil marks.

“No, not for you.” He stated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he grabbed an old rag to wipe his hands clean.

You gave him a half-smile. “Been working overtime, I see?” You try to keep your tone playful, but judging by how he slightly frowns, you can tell your voice has defiled you.

“We should talk.” He stated, with almost a cringe on his face. You nod and sit on a chair adjacent to him as he leans on the hood of the truck he was working on.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, clearly disappointed in himself. “Was havin’ a shitty day and brought it onto you.” You look up at him and give him a frown.

“I’m sorry, too.” He snaps his eyes to yours, a puzzled expression taking over his face.

“For what?” You gently tug on your bottom lip before answering.

“For treating you like a patient and not my husband. It’s not fair to you.” You sigh, avoiding his gaze.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He lightly demands. You bring your head up and bring your eyes to lock with his.

“This isn’t your fault. I was bein’ a dick.” He walks over to you and reaches for your hand, which you grasp. He guides you from the chair so you’re standing before him, looking up at him.

“Are you gonna come home?” You softly question as he stares into your eyes, mentally kicking himself for making them look so sullen.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.” He says, bringing his hand up to sweep a stray piece of your hair away from your face, leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You could feel your skin sizzle from only a slight touch, internally sighing as he pulled away to speak.

“Should get goin’ then.” He says, walking over to the truck's hood and gently slamming it shut. “Johnny’s gonna come check the exhaust.”

“When’s he coming?” You absentmindedly ask as you watch Simon slip off his white shirt, observing his toned body.

“Eh, half an hour.” He casually says, turning away from you to walk over to the cabinet to grab a clean white shirt.

“So, we’re alone?” You question, bringing your hands up to untie the front of your blouse.

“Uh, huh.” He agrees, still rummaging through the cabinets, back towards you. You hum a sign of approval as you open your blouse, then move to unclip your bra, your breasts spilling out as soon as you do.

He finally finds a clean shirt and turns toward you, eyes widening as he sees you, chest bare. Your pulse quickens as he stares, unsure of his thoughts. When he doesn’t speak for a moment, you start to lose the confidence you had garnered.

“Is it too much?” You shyly ask, starting to feel insecure. He can’t speak; his mouth has gone dry at the sight of you. He drops the shirt in his hand and walks over to you, bringing his hand up to trace the curve of your breast.

“Fuck.” He manages to get out as your breathing becomes more ragged and your pupils dilate at the sensation.

“It’s never too much.” He answers your earlier question, cupping the bottom of your breast, making you sigh. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he caresses your breast.

He leans to press a hot kiss onto your lips as he rolls your nipple between his pointer and thumb, making you moan into his mouth. He roughly grips the back of your thighs and picks you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he hauls you over to the hood of the truck.

He hikes up your skirt and hurriedly connects his lips back to yours before kissing down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin, making you whine. He sinks to his knees in front of you, bringing one hand up to grab ahold of your calf, raising it slightly so he can slip the heel off your foot.

Once he gets one heel off, his other hand drifts to your other foot, slipping the heel off as he plants kisses up your ankle, and calf, stopping at your mid-thigh before nipping at the pantyhose encasing your cunt with his teeth, making a tiny hole. He slightly raises his hands and uses his pointers to split the pantyhose further.

“Hey! Those were Falke.” You urge, referring to the German-made, almost three-hundred dollar silk tights he had soiled.

“I’ll buy you more.” He amends, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, slipping them down simultaneously. His cock immediately shot up, so visibly hard. You brought your hands to gently pump him up and down as his hands went to massage your tender breasts.

He groans at the contact, gripping your breast a little firmer. You moan at that contact, pulling his cock a little firmer.

“You’re killin’ me, baby.” He chokes out, gripping the back of your neck as he roughly kisses your lips. With your hands still on his cock, you gently pull him closer by it, making him hiss as you guide it to your slit.

“I need you in me.” You whine as he brings his hand to twirl in your hair. In one swift motion, he thrusts into you. You both groan at the swift contact, even throwing your heads back.

His movements continue; over and over again, he thrusts into you, making you dig your nails into his skin, desperate for stability. You knew you wouldn't last long and could tell Simon wouldn't either. It has been only been a God-damned day, and you ached for him. Nothing but him would suffice your craving.

“So, fuckin’ good, baby. So, fuckin’ good.” He gruffly repeated, making you clamp around him tighter until you felt that familiar all-consuming euphoria you had so ached for.

As you reached your peak, Simon followed suit, coming with your name on the tip of his tongue. You were both panting, even after both of your orgasms subsided. You looked up at him as he tied your blouse back so your breasts were concealed, bra be damned.

“You did good.” You praised as he reached down to pick up your abandoned skirt from the floor.

“Yeah?” He lightly laughed out, finding humor in your statement.

“Yeah.” You nod as he grips your waist and pulls you off the hood of the car.

“Can you walk?” He questions, his hands still on your waist to help steady you as he carefully slips on your skirt.

“No. Might need you to carry me.” You sigh as you bring your hand up to fake an anguished expression.

“Uh, huh.” He rolls his eyes, though they contain no actual annoyance, as he goes to pick you up bridal style.

“Let’s get you home, Drama.”

a/n: this is the pipeline i’m here for

ur honor i’m just a girl

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

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watchmegetobsessed · 8 months ago

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BEHIND BARS

A/N: this fic is my coping mechanism with my own shit and im more than eager to read your thoughts, because it would help me knowing im not alone with these thoughts. so this one goes out to all the big girlies who struggle with loving themselves!

WORD COUNT: 9k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your Tinder date, but at the same time you run into a man who works at the bar and seems to be into you. Or that's what you think when you read his message he wrote to your receipt, asking you to return to the bar the next day.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You harbor the delusional thoughts of your date getting caught up in something… anything, just a tad more, just so that the heartache comes a few moments later. It stings, probably more than you’d ever admit to anyone, but you can’t help it.

Sitting on the barstool in the dimly lit bar you glue your eyes onto your pornstar martini, the second you’ve had since arriving an hour and about five ‘Where are you?’ texts to Brannon before. All of them sit delivered but unread in your messages. You reach for the glass and finish the drink in two big gulps, the alcohol bringing an almost numbing sensation to your closed up throat, but it fades rather fast.

What hurts the most is that this is not a first date. He met you just three days ago on the coffee date you two arranged once you were over just exchanging messages on that awful dating app you always swear to never download again but end up back on it at one point. It’s not like he would have walked in tonight and could have a shock about your looks, that you do in fact have quite some extra weight, your thighs are thick, curving into your ass that might look good on a better day, but only if it’s covered, because every time you look at it the only thing you see is the stubborn cellulite you can never get rid of. He saw that you’re miles away from having a flat stomach, you weren’t blessed to be the kind of big girl who has a slim waist and beautiful round waist. You often stop in front of the mirror to assess how big your arms look if you wear something sleeveless, how your collarbones only show if you put your hands to your hips and force your shoulders forward to bring them out.

He saw all of these. Yet he suggested meeting again, pulling you into a ridiculous dream that he might be different and you could finally have the burning, passionate love you’ve always dreamed about.

Now it feels more like a nightmare.

“Another one?”

The bartender appears in front of you, one hand on the counter, the other one on his hip as he looks at you with a questioning look. You glance up at him, then at the empty glass and decide to just fuck it and get drunk before going home and raging your fridge for whatever comfort food you can find.

“Sure. Bring a shot as well.”

“Vodka, tequila, rum or…?”

“Vodka sounds fantastic,” you breathe out as you square your shoulders and run a hand through your hair.

The guy nods and then disappears again. While he is making your drink you decide to have a trip to the bathroom. You wave at the bartender to let him know you’ll be back and when he nods you make your way to the back.

You chose the bar for tonight, it’s a nice place, feels intimate and… hot, maybe that’s the word you used when you were here with your girlfriends a few weeks ago. It was the perfect spot for a girly night, but the vibe of the place definitely doesn’t limit it to a strictly feminine spot. There were plenty of men around even then and one mysterious man sent over a whole round of drinks, he remained unknown but he was probably enamored by one of your friends.

You were convinced Brannon would like this place and you could see the two of you curled up in a booth, finally overstepping the awkwardness of being around someone you met online.

Once you’ve done your business you stop in front of the massive mirror next to the sink and have a moment to look at yourself in the overhead lights that bring out everything about your body that you usually fight hard not to think about. You hate it how one inconvenience can make you feel so… ashamed. Hopeless. Worthless.

Truth is, you’re tired. You’ve had enough of these experiences, though it’s only your second time getting stood up, but it goes under the same cases of going completely unnoticed by men in a social setting, ending up instantly in the friendzone no matter what you do, getting the talk of ‘but I see you as a great friend, I hope we can stay friends’ whenever you dare to come clean about your feelings for someone. It sucks the life out of you and you’re not sure if you have any more left to keep trying. Because the chance of ending up alone anyway has been looming over your head for way too long to ignore it and if it ends up being your reality, you’d rather not waste any more time and energy on trying.

When the tears start stinging your eyes you turn on your heels and head out, not wanting to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of a bar. Stepping out to the hallway you’re just about to march back to your previous spot to chug down your drinks shamelessly, but you weren’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door, so you collide into someone just as your heels hit the carpeted floor outside the restroom.

It’s not at all the gracious kind of collision, where the man scoops you into his arms and holds you against his chest to stop you from falling. Out of reflex, your hands do find the guy’s chest, but you push yourself away from him fast and panicked, your back hitting the door that just closed behind you and you’d bet a good amount that your expression reeks of shock and the sadness from previously, which is not a gracious combination.

“I-I’m sorry,” you exhale sharply as your eyes take in the man in front of you.

Tall, well-built in a black, fitted suit with a black silky shirt underneath the jacket, the first few buttons are left undone, teasing a glimpse of tattoos and a thin necklace with pendants hidden from your vision. His brown hair is trimmed, but not enough to conceal how the strands curl and swirl. Pink lips curl into a smile and you can’t decide the color of his eyes because it’s too dark here, but they appear to be light, even despite how big his pupils are as he is staring back at you. He is holding up his hands in front of him, as if he is readying himself to catch you if you decide to fall anyway.

“In a hurry?” he asks and his velvety british accent caresses your ears. You blink at him for a couple of moments dumbly before finding your voice to reply.

“No,” is all you say, to which his smile just widens and you catch his eyes dip down, running along your body before they return to your gaze.

“Be careful then, Angel.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out, finding your balance again as you’re unable to look away from him.

He is the kind of man that catches every female’s attention upon walking into a room, who could easily just cherry pick who he wants, because women line up in front of him just to earn a glance from him. He looks elegant and lively at the same time, but you instantly feel a sense of mystery and darkness linger around them even despite his warm smile. He is nothing like the men you ever dealt with and he is… way out of your league.

Lifting your chin you spare him with one last look before walking away, fighting the urge to look back if he is still there or maybe you just imagined him.

Your drinks are already waiting for you by your seat and you down the shot before you could climb back to your seat. Given the fact that you came with an empty stomach, the alcohol has started working its wonders on you. You feel a low buzz in your chest, a slight numbness in your head and you know the martini in front of you will be your last drink if you want to make it back to your place.

Your thoughts are still circling around the man in the hallway when you spot him again from the corner of your eyes. Down at the end of the bar, he is talking to the bartender who’s been serving you. His jacket is gone, so you see the silky shirt hanging elegantly from his frame, the fabric shimmering in the light that comes from behind the bar, illuminating the wall of expensive bottles showcased. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing that his left arm is heavily tattooed, but the other one has something as well, but half of it is hidden underneath the shirt.

He is helping the bartender unload some bottles into the fridge that’s underneath the counter as the talk. When they are down to the last one he stands up and runs a ring-clad hand through his hair and his eyes move up and catch your gaze before you could look away and pretend like you weren’t ogling him. Your cheeks burn up right away as you snap your eyes back at your drink in front of you. With silent prayers that he won’t come closer, you busy yourself with the only thing you can do: drinking. But just as you lift the glass to your lips you see a black form walk up to where you’re sitting and you can’t stop yourself from looking up at him.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks with a charming smile, his hands planted onto the counter in front of you, giving you the chance to see the veins running underneath his smooth skin and for a split second you can’t help but imagine what it might feel like to be held by those hands.

“Um, no, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good,” he repeats, but it drips with something else, something more, something… heavy. “Waiting for someone?”

His question came out of the blue, you weren’t expecting him to strike up a conversation and start it with that. Your muscles tense and suddenly, after being so drawn to keep looking at the man in front of you, it becomes your priority to avoid his gaze at all cost.

“No,” you say shortly and take a sip, no, a gulp from your drink.

What you don’t see is how his face darkens. The smile fades and his eyebrows draw together as he lets his hands fall from the counter and move to cross over his chest.

You expect him to move away from the rather tensed and awkward scene, but he remains standing in the same spot until you notice him turn around, but just to grab two shot glasses, he fills them up with something that could easily be vodka again, but you wouldn’t know because you don’t see the glass he pours from. Then he turns around and places the shots onto the counter, pushing one a little closer to you. When you look up, you see his head a bit tilted, waiting with a questioning look and an unknown sparkle in his eyes that are green, now you’re sure.

“Oh, I shouldn’t… Um…”

“Just this one. As an apology on behalf of the piece of shit who is too blind and idiotic to see what he missed out on.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as you stare back at him. For a second, you let yourself believe that there’s more behind his words, that there’s attraction, lust and desire. For you.

But then your usual mechanism kicks in and your mind is quick to turn it around and convince you it’s not at all like that. He just feels sorry for you, it’s only pity, because a man like him would never be interested in a woman like you.

“Sure,” you whisper with a nod and take the shot. He takes his and holds up, waits for you to do the same.

Then he gives you a nod with a charming, crooked smile and your eyes remain locked on each other as you both take the shots. It’s vodka and it burns, but you don’t even flinch as you put the glass back onto the counter and watch him snatch it away. He is just about to say something when the bartender calls out for him from the end of the bar, but because you weren’t listening, you miss what his name is. He looks back at you once more and then walks away.

You don’t see him for the rest of the time you spend there. Finishing the drink you ask to close your tab and then you’re getting ready to leave when the bartender slips the receipt over to you. At first you don’t even pay any attention to it, but then you notice something is different about it. You grab it from the counter and then read the words scribbled onto it with a black marker.

Please come back tomorrow.

You feel like an idiot all day. Trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning and cooking, no matter what you do you always find yourself looking at that damn receipt, reading the words over and over again. Since you left the bar yesterday until this moment, you’ve thought of every possible scenario why he would ask you to return. Realistic ones, ridiculous versions, you thought of them all, but somehow you always ended up settling on the same one, even despite the fact your mind has been fighting hard not to let you believe he could want anything from you.

It grinds your nerves all day until you decide to act on it. You put on a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt with your trusty sneakers, nothing extra, very far from looking fancy and then head back to the bar before you could talk yourself out of it.

It’s the afternoon on a Sunday, it’s no surprise the place is deserted when you walk in, only a handful of people are lingering around here and there in contrast to the buzz it had yesterday. You try your best to settle the uneasy feeling in your gut as you walk up to the bar. There’s a woman standing behind this time who you didn’t see last night. She’s drying glasses with a cloth since there’s not much to do without anyone sitting on the stools.

“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks with a bright smile as you walk up to her.

“Um, I was wondering if the guy who worked last night was working today? Brown hair, tattoos… I don’t… know his name.”

It’s an understatement to say you feel awkward asking around about the guy even though he practically asked you to come back. At least he could have given you his name to avoid appearing like a stalker.

The woman furrows her eyebrows as she purses her lips, tilting her head.

“I swear I’m not here to make a scene or anything,” you add with a nervous laugh.

“Ah, I was just thinking. Because I know for a fact that Nico was working last night, but he for sure has no tattoos.”

You swear you saw the tattoos on his chest and arms, you did not just imagine those, but now you’re doubting yourself.

“He, uhh, he wore, like, a black suit and a black, silky shirt… Rings…” This is as far as you can go describing him without adding details you’d rather keep to yourself. Like how his hands looked delicate but rough at the same time, the way his lips curled when he smiled could push all the air out of your lungs and his smooth, velvety voice was like you were wrapped into a warm, soft blanket whenever he talked.

Luckily, you see her face light up at the last few details you just said.

“Oh! You must be…” She doesn’t finish it, just lets her smile stretch wide as she squares her shoulder. “Let me grab him for you,” she then winks and before you could get another word out, she disappears.

Laying your hands flat on the bar top you start drumming nervously as you wait. A thought flashes through your mind that it was a mistake coming here, trying to convince you to just leave before it’s too late, but you fight it and shove it to the back of your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you pull your hands back and start rubbing your palms against your thighs.

A few seconds later the woman appears from the back with the same wide smile and just when you start to think the man is not here, he follows her out, turning your sanity upside down with just a simple look.

He is wearing a black t-shirt this time, short sleeved, putting his previously mentioned tattoos on perfect display. The shirt is tucked into a pair of gray dress pants that hug his waist so well, you’re drawn to stare at his body for a few moments as he moves closer behind the bar.

The bartender woman passes you while the man stops in front of you, a cheeky, but genuine smile tugging on his lips as he leans onto the counter just like how he did yesterday, only this time you see his muscles flex from the movement thanks to the short sleeves.

“What a pleasure to welcome you back.”

Your knees threaten to give up for a second from hearing his voice again, as if it’s proof that you didn’t just make him up last night, he is not just a mirage.

Reaching into your purse you pull the receipt out and slide it over to him.

“You invited me back.”

“I did,” he nods, not even glancing down at the piece of paper, like he doesn’t need to be reminded of what he did. “But I didn’t know you’d actually return.”

Unsure what to say, you allow yourself to assess him, take in his perfectly carved features, the unruly curls, the rings adorning his inviting hands. If you were on your own, just looking at a picture of him, you’d definitely tell yourself it’s too good to be true that a man like him would ever pay you any attention. But having him standing in front of you, feel his burning gaze on you, this magnetic pull that vibrates from him, you’re battling yourself harder than ever.

“I was curious,” you admit at last.

“Then I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity. Why don’t we sit down?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the booths by the wall.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” you ask, but he just gives you a toothy smile as he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that, Angel. Go ahead and sit, I’ll make us a drink.”

Once you’re turned away and walking towards a booth you let out a long, shaky breath.

“Get a grip,” you tell yourself as you slide into the booth and try to get comfortable. It’s frustrating a man could have an effect this powerful on you after barely even talking to him. What kind of black magic is he practicing?

A few minutes later you see him walking over to you with two drinks in his hands. One is obviously a pornstar martini for you, the other one you don’t know. It’s in a simple, short glass, one big cube of ice, the drink itself is a nice amber color, you spot a curl of orange peel and some fresh rosemary in it.

He slips into the booth with ease and moves closer to you than you expected as he places the drinks to the table.

“Might be best if we started with our names,” he suggests. “I’m Harry.”

His name rolls off his tongue so ravishingly, you have to stop yourself from repeating after him. He holds out a hand for you that you take. Your skin starts tingling the moment it meets with his warm touch.

“Y/N.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he nods, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it go.

While you feel a bit awkward, trying to find a way to sit beside him, it appears he is quick to find his place, crossing one leg over the other, his arm closer to you is stretched over the back of the booth, his hand falling somewhere behind you, but it’s not touching you. His other hand is gently playing with his drink, twirling it between his fingers.

“I know it’s probably not the best thing to start with, but I just have to ask. Last night, were you stood up?”

All your blood rushes to your head and your palms start sweating as you turn your head away embarrassed. You’ve been so caught up in him that you kind of forgot about what Brannon did.

“Yes,” you whisper, hands dropping into your lap as you nervously fidget with your fingers.

The hand that’s been behind you moves to the side of your face, his knuckles gently brushing across your cheek, just enough to make you turn your head and look at him.

“Don’t even think for a moment his behavior lessens your worth.”

“I’m not so sure if there’s any left of that to lessen.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even think them through, surprising you with their bluntness. You’re not one to share such personal thoughts with a stranger, not even your closest friends.

Harry stares at you with an unreadable expression and you half expect him to just let it slip and not acknowledge what you said. But he sticks to that in a way you never experienced.

“I would give an arm to have the chance to show how much I see just after spending only minutes with you.”

You’re speechless and from the hidden smile you notice in the corners of his mouth you assume he finds it entertaining, witnessing the effect he has on you. He grabs his drink from the table and you watch him lazily take a sip before placing it back and leaning forward, getting closer to you, but still not quite crossing an invisible line between the two of you.

“Y/N, I know this is very straight-forward and I’m aware that we are very much just strangers at this point, but I’m more than eager to change that.”

“Why?” you hear yourself asking in an airy, weak voice. “Because you’re sorry for me?”

Now it’s his turn to be taken aback. The way he frowns almost makes you want to apologize even for asking.

“Sorry is the last thing I’m feeling right now. And it wasn’t what I felt when you bumped into me last night or when I wrote that message to your receipt. Or… when I sent over that round of drinks to you and your friends not long ago.”

“You what?”

“You were here, maybe a few weeks ago, with your friends, right?”

“I-I was, but…”

“The round of drinks. I sent it.”

“Why?” you ask again and notice the amusement in his look.

“The same reason I wanted you to return today. Because take my breath away and I never give up on the chance to get to know whoever has that effect on me.”

You stare back at him blankly, a million thoughts racing in your head while also not able to put together a coherent one. It is everything you ever wished to experience, but it also feels incredibly odd and… wrong.

“What kind of twisted game is it you’re playing?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows slightly.

“None. Why are you questioning my intentions so passionately?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you say with a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grab your drink and take two gulps, hoping the alcohol might help you untangle the mess in your head.

“How is my interest in you ridiculous?”

“Because it is. You cannot sell me that you spotted me among my friends last time, that I was the one who caught your attention and that when you saw me last night again you just had to take your chance to lure me here again so you could talk to me. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

He stays silent and you don’t look at him for a bit, trying to calm your rocketing pulse. But his silence starts to drive you mad again, so you turn to face him and see that unreadable expression on his face again.

“You’re invalidating my attraction just because you haven’t received it before.”

It’s like he is reading you like you’re an open book, he looks at you and you can feel him raiding through your mind and you can do nothing against it.

“It’s actually sad but also exciting to be the first one to give it to you.”

“But why me?” you keep pushing.

“Why do you like pornstar martini?” he asks with a cheeky smile and you decide to ignore how erotic that sounded from him.

“What?”

“You choose it because you like it, yeah? Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, it tastes… good,” you answer, complete confusion taking over you.

“See, that is why you. I don’t know it just yet, but I just know that…” He doesn’t finish, but you can hear the rest.

I just know you taste good.

The all too familiar pulse between your legs is making you cross your legs underneath the table, but Harry catches the movement and his grin grows wide, but he doesn’t comment on it, just takes a sip of his drink.

“We took it very intensely quite suddenly. Let’s just talk and we can return to this matter a bit later,” he suggests then softly, losing that tiny cockiness from his voice for now. “What is there to know about you, Y/N?”

You need a bit of time to recover and actually start telling him about yourself. He asks you about your job, your family, your hobbies, what you like and what you hate, all while giving you his full, undivided attention. Even though he has made it clear he is interested in you, somehow you end up taking the situation with even more caution than usually, but slowly and almost unnoticed, it eases from your gut.

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, once you’ve had enough of talking about yourself. Just as he is about to start talking, the bartender shows up at the table and you’re convinced she’ll ask him to go back to work.

“Boss, the supplier was on the phone, they need confirmation until tomorrow morning.”

Boss?

“Thanks Jenny,” Harry smiles up at her warmly. “I’ll take care of it.” The bartender, Jenny as you learned, nods and then disappears. When Harry looks back at you, it’s apparent he was expecting the questioning look from you.

“Boss? Did I hear that right?”

“Absolutely did,” he chuckles.

“So you’re…”

“I won this place. Along with another one downtown and two more over on the West coast.”

You click your tongue as you turn away to have a look around, though you’ve examined the place enough before. It’s not the kind that screams ‘this is my first business, it’s doing fairly well’, but rather one that screams wealth and business. The bar itself is definitely high end, but it’s also connected to the hotel above, so it drives in some great traffic from there as well and of course, it’s a five star hotel, so the guests are usually not the kind who shies away from paying for a nice drink. Adding just the thought of three more places similar to this to the picture is just plainly mind-blowing to you.

And yet, just minutes ago you were convinced he’s a bartender here.

“You knew I thought you were staff when I asked if you’d get into trouble.” Harry nods. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because that would have immensely changed the dynamic.”

“No, I–”

“Yes,” he fights back with a meaningful look. “You had a hard time believing I could be interested in you when you thought I was a bartender here. Had you known I owned this place you would have never let go of the power imbalance that comes with the judgment of my position in my business.”

You want to protest, but you can’t. Because you know it well that he is actually right.

To ease the sudden change in the mood, Harry starts talking about himself and the business as he can tell you’re curious how he ended up as the boss. He tells you how it all started in college, he and a few of his friends came up with the idea of opening a bar and once they graduated he and the one remaining friend who was still into the idea decided to act on it. Niall, the friend, earned a great amount of money from his trust fund after graduation, which they used to the last cent to open the place ten years ago. Feeling guilty that he couldn’t bring as much money into the business in the beginning, Harry tried to make up for it by working twice as hard. As time passed and they opened the second place three years later, Niall started to wander to different fields and only remained a silent partner in the business, letting Harry take over fully. The expansion on the West coast happened just two years ago, but they are already thinking about the next location.

“Are you still friends?” you ask him.

“With Niall? Yes, absolutely. He has his own company in IT security that he actually started from the money of this business. It’s more his world than this now, but we try to meet at least every month when we are in the same city. And I still need his signature on some stuff,” he adds with a chuckle.

“That’s great it didn’t ruin your friendship. Working together can be risky.”

“I know. We had our ups and downs for sure, but nothing we couldn’t talk through.”

It was amazing to see him talk about it so profound and passionately. It makes him so… humane.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and when he pulls it out, he sighs quietly. He ignores the call, but when he looks at you again you know he has to go.

“Y/N, we need to revisit what we talked about earlier, because I have to go soon.”

Your cheeks heat up instantly as you roll your lips into your mouth.

“What about it?”

“Most importantly we need to talk about when we can meet again.”

You look at him from the corner of your eyes and can’t hold back a smile when you see his cheeky grin as he sits turned towards you, his upper body angled to face you completely.

“The most convenient would be tomorrow,” he adds shamelessly.

“So soon?”

“I wanted to say I would love to see you in about three hours when we close, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager.”

That makes you laugh and Harry gifts you with a proud, crooked smile.

“Are you sick of this place?”

“Why?”

“Because you could come here tomorrow and I could teach you how to make your drink,” he says, nodding towards your now empty glass. You actually love the idea of that, doing something new in a not so new setting.

“I can be here by seven.”

“I’ll be waiting for you behind the bar.”

You have never been this eager to put down work at five finally. It doesn’t matter that you still have a few unanswered emails in your inbox, you decide they can wait until tomorrow.

You haven’t stopped thinking about Harry since you left the bar yesterday. You can’t even remember the last time you were like this, probably in high school when you had a crush in junior year. It’s ridiculous, honestly, but it’s also quite exciting.

You walk into the bar for the third time in the past three days. You would have guessed that a Monday evening would be just as eventful as Sunday, but apparently a lot of people like to go out for drinks on the first day of the week. It’s not like on Saturday, but about half of the tables are taken. Crossing the place you’re heading straight to the bar, searching for one particular tall figure, but you don’t see him.

Nico, the bartender from Saturday, is on shift again, though as you reach the bar he doesn’t seem to recognize you.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

You’re just about to ask him to tell Harry that you arrived when the familiar, velvety voice speaks up right behind you.

“I have the lady covered, thanks Nico.”

Turning around you’re met with Harry’s warm but cheeky smile as he stands just a couple of feet away from you. Today he is wearing a pair of black dress pants with a black long sleeve, but the sleeves are rolled up above his elbows. There’s a light stubble darkening his jawline, he surely skipped shaving this morning, but you’re not mad about it, it adds a bit of roughness to him.

“Welcome back, Y/N,” he nods at you.

“Hi,” is all you manage to push out of yourself. He is very much aware of your nervousness, but it just widens his smile.

“Ready to master the pornstar martini?” he asks as he steps closer and places a hand to the small of your back to usher you behind the bar.

“Absolutely.”

The two of you settle at the end of the bar so you’re not disturbing the actual service with your little scene. Harry hands you a black apron and he puts one on himself as well after helping you tie yours behind your back. Then the learning starts.

Harry is actually a great bartender himself. As he gathers everything you need for the drink, he tells you how he learned to bartend after opening the place. They had a few times when they fell short on staff and he needed to serve, so he figured it’s best if he just learns it fully rather than just clumsily mixing up the drinks whenever help is needed.

“What’s your favorite to make?” you ask as you’re cutting the passion fruit in two on a cutting board and Harry examines your every move like a good mentor.

“I think it’s Rum Martinez.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s a Japanese cocktail, pretty smoky and kind of complicated to make. I’ve had it twice, it was always served with a cigar. I only made it once though, but it was fun.”

Harry truly meant it when he said you’d learn how to make your drink. He doesn’t touch anything in the mixing process, only instructs you, clear and patiently as you add the right amounts into the shaker. When you put the top of the shaker on however, he moves behind you and as his arms come round you to grab the shaker along with you, for a few seconds you definitely forget to breathe.

This close you can smell his cologne, the warmth of his body is melting you against him and when you lean back just the slightest bit he pushes forward to tighten the physical connection between the two of you.

“Alright. Now, this is how you shake it properly,” he murmurs, his face right next to yours as his hands cover yours on the shaker.

You let him take the lead as he starts shaking, his warm palms holding your hand against the cool shaker, moving it up and down, left and right in a controlled, rhythmic way. He is giving it quite the force, you feel the ice inside tumble harshly as you keep shaking.

“Okay, now take the cap off.”

He lets go of the shaker, but remains standing behind you as he instructs you. You do as he said and he reaches past you to bring the glass closer for you.

“Carefully, but with confidence” he murmurs, one hand moving to cover yours when you start pouring, but too slowly, so he helps you to tilt the right amount. The beautiful yellow liqueur fills up the glass with a perfect layer of foam on top.

“And finally, the passion fruit.”

He points at the fruit on the cutting board and you take one half, gently dropping it into the middle and watch as it stays afloat with pride.

“There. You just made your first pornstar martini.”

Harry steps away from behind you and you almost protest, eager to feel his warmth behind you as he comes into your view again, watching you bring the drink to your lips. You take a sip and once you taste it, you can’t hold your smile back.

“It’s amazing.”

“All yours,” he dips his head a bit with a bright smile and you can’t look away from his sparkling eyes.

The foam of the drink sticks to your upper lip so when you put the glass down you run your tongue over, licking it off and you catch him watching your mouth with obvious hunger, as if he is ready to have a taste from the cocktail, but only from your lips.

The moment burns and you feel it deep in your chest. Almost unnoticed, you both inch closer and you feel an irresistible pull towards him. Your heart is drumming in your throat and the muscles in your torso tense even at just the thought of kissing him.

But right when you are about to cross the line Nico’s curse pops your bubble and Harry’s head whips around in alert.

“Shit!” you see Nico jump back from the counter, one hand wrapped around the other, a cutting board with lemons and a knife left behind.

“What happened?” Harry asks, grabbing a rag as he steps closer to assess the situation.

“I wasn’t paying attention and cut my finger,” Nico hisses and you step closer just in time to see him showing the cut. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s bleeding quite heavily.

“Go and clean it out. I’ll cover the bar.”

Nico mumbles a quick thanks as he rushes back before he could bleed on anything behind the bar. Just as he exits, two women walk up to Harry, who switches into bartender mode pretty fast. He gives you a quick ‘I’m sorry’ glance as he takes their order and starts mixing up their drinks. You just give him a reassuring smile and focus on your drink, patiently waiting.

At first you don’t even pay attention to the conversation the two women strike up with him. But as Harry starts serving a man who walked up to the bar after them you notice how they stayed there and it makes you wonder so you turn your attention to their sugar coated voices.

“Oh, then we feel honored to be served by the big boss,” the blonde one chuckles, leaning forward just enough so that his shirt tugs down, teasing the view of her cleavage.

“Just… helping in,” Harry gives a tight-lipped smile, barely even glancing at her as he makes the cocktail.

“See, I told you it'll be worth coming here on a Monday,” the other one giggles as she gently sways to the soft music that’s playing through the speakers.

It’s a sight that’s an easy trigger for you. They did nothing wrong other than flirting with a man they find attractive. And you know Harry barely even acknowledged their efforts, but still, it was enough to let that evil little voice out of its cage in the back of your mind.

They are gorgeous and you’re nothing like them. They are thin and looking around you already see a dozen men looking at them. You can never be like them.

Deep down you know these thoughts are worthless, but once they take over it’s hard to fight them, to see yourself in a better light. Not when you’ve struggled with this for so long and spent long years to convince yourself it’s all that matters.

There’s nothing left of the free spirit you were just minutes ago. When this happens you simply close off and want to disappear as fast as possible. For a moment you think of just leaving while Harry is not paying attention, but you’d hate to walk out on him like that so you stay there, trying to take up as little space as physically possible as you finish your drink.

Nico soon comes back, his left ring finger bandaged up, ready to get back to work, which means Harry is free from bar duty again. He doesn’t hesitate to walk away from the two women and return to you, but you’ve let your spiraling thoughts win by now.

He notices something is wrong the moment he sees you avoid looking into his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, dipping his head to try to get you to look at him.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but it’s a weak attempt to mask just how uncomfortable you’re feeling.

“Y/N, I know that’s not true. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you push, then take a deep breath to help you swallow the bitterness in your mouth.

There’s a few seconds of pause when you’re convinced he’ll say to end the date and then you already see yourself never coming here to avoid ever running into him. The voice in the back of your mind is already working hard to convince you it’s for the best, that it would have never worked, you’re way too different and sooner or later he would see you the way you see yourself.

But it never happens. Instead, he silently packs away everything you used for the cocktail and when he’s done, he gently takes your hand and starts to pull you towards the door that leads out to the hotel’s lobby. Confused, but curious, you follow him and don’t say a word until the two of you stop at the elevators.

“Harry, where are we going?”

“Up. To my suite.”

“You have a suite here?”

“I do. Comes with the perks of owning the bar that’s part of the hotel.”

His hand is still holding yours, warm and gentle, but still confident, especially when he tightens his hold as the elevator arrives and he pulls you inside, pushing the button of the 18th floor. He doesn’t let go of you as the elevator starts moving, you just stand there next to each other without a word until it arrives and the doors slide open.

Harry once again pulls you with him, striding down the carpeted hallway to the door with the number 1804 next to it. He fishes out a card from his pocket and taps it against the lock that clicks silently, letting him open the door and that’s when his hand falls from yours, letting you walk in first as he holds the door open for you.

You haven’t been to a hotel this elegant, not as a guest at least. You’ve attended a few conferences but you could only see the lobby and the conference rooms during those, not the rooms or in this case, the suites.

You walk into a spacious living room with a minibar, dark purple couches facing the TV mounted onto the wall, the floor-to-ceiling windows giving an impeccable view of the city lights. There’s a door on the left and the right, one is probably leading to the bedroom, the other one must be the bathroom and though the doors are closed, you can imagine how good they must be designed.

The suite is definitely not untouched, you see signs of Harry here and there, the envelopes on the coffee table, the single used mug next to them, some sort of hoodie thrown over the back of one of the armchairs and a Macbook lying on the desk next to the TV.

“It’s permanently reserved for me. I spend so much time at the bar, it’s easier if sometimes I don’t have to drive all the way home and can just stay here,” he explains as you walk further inside, stopping by the window to have a look at the view.

Slowly, you turn around and look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Why are we here?”

He is standing a few feet away, his hands hidden in his pockets, but his stance feels welcoming and open even despite your closed off behavior.

“To be alone. I don’t want the circumstances to bother you. I know things can get overwhelming sometimes.”

You remain still, not sure what to say or do. It really has been overwhelming, but only because sometimes your own mind turns against you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Harry pulls his hands out of his pockets and cautiously takes a few steps closer to you, but still leaves a bit of space between the two of you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks so softly, it almost makes you want to cry, because he doesn’t feel real, nothing does when it’s about him. You’re so set on how unmatching you feel around him that it’s almost impossible to think otherwise now.

“I don’t see it,” you reply in a whisper.

“See what?”

“I don’t see what you see in me. I only see my version of myself and it’s… not good.”

The tears are stinging your eyes. You have probably never said these words out loud, but somehow, you feel safe enough with Harry to bring this side of you out, though the fear that he might get fed up with it is still strong in the pit of your stomach.

You have no idea what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, to be honest you couldn’t imagine a version where he stands his ground and doesn’t agree with all the awful things you harbor about yourself.

But then he steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face in them as he angles your head so you’re looking up at him, holding you like that, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

“I want to show you. How I see you.”

His hands slide down to your neck, his thumbs are underneath your chin to keep you in place, his gaze dipping down to your lips a couple of times before settling on your eyes, waiting, silently asking for permission and though you don’t say a single word he understands you.

His first kiss is brief, but confident. His lips press against yours and they open slowly, just enough so that his tongue can tease you before he pulls back, though he doesn’t move far, his nose is still brushing against yours. Opening your eyes you find him looking at you, his otherwise light and bright eyes are now several shades darker, lust dripping from the curled up ends of his lashes as he waits for you to make up your mind whether you want to go further or not. Somehow, his black magic must have worked enough on you to mute that evil voice in the back of your head, the absence of it giving you the chance to give yourself into the moment.

You push up against him this time eagerly, open mouth meeting his and he’s quick to react with just as much passion.

One of his hands moves down to your waist and when his fingers dig into the soft flesh you can’t hold back a moan that’s immediately swallowed by him. You fist his shirt, desperately trying to pull closer even though he is entirely pressed up against you.

Blindly he starts moving, pulling you with him, your kiss never breaking as you move around the couch. Then his lips leave yours and you’re forced to open your eyes just as he sits down on the couch, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he pulls you between his knees and he kisses your stomach through the fabric of your shirt. Out of reflex you try to pull away or avert him somewhere else, but his hands squeeze your thighs as his eyes snap up to meet your gaze.

“How I see you, remember? Let me show you,” he reminds you and though every inch of you is screaming to pull away, you stay.

Harry pushes your shirt up and unbuttons your pants before his hands grab you by the waist. He twists you around and pulls you down on him, so you end up lying half on top of him with your back pressed against his chest.

“Harry,” you gasp when his right hand starts to slip into your pants and then under your underwear, but his other hand falls to your heaving chest as if he could calm your jumping pulse with just one touch.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, I don’t want to push anything on you.” His lips are by your ear that brushes against them when you nod and just let him do whatever he wants.

When two of his fingers slip between your wet folds, your lips part with a sigh, your head rolling back to his shoulder just from his touch. He is gentle but determined, starts off by just moving those two fingers up and down, gently applying some pressure at the perfect spots before keep moving. Then they settle on your clit and start drawing circles in a slow pace, playing with the pressure once again, setting your nerves on fire.

You keep moaning and gasping as you still lie on top of him, his other hand moves underneath your shirt, but it doesn’t go further up just yet, only remains flat on your skin. You can’t stop your body from falling into a rhythm, hips buckling, spine arching with certain movements, especially when he starts to gradually increase his pace.

When a tiny shock rides through your body with a rougher movement one of your hands grabs onto his thigh by your side, fingers digging into his muscles, earning a deep grunt from him that rumbles right underneath you.

Your other hand snaps to his wrist as you completely lose control over yourself and push his hand a bit further, showing him where and how you need him the most and he is quick to pick up on the clues and add to the sensation.

“Y/N, Angel, let go for me,” he whispers into your ear and while his hand between your legs doesn’t stop for a moment, the other one finally inches up and cups your breast, kneading it sensually.

“Harry, I–Ah!” You’ve lost your ability to voice a coherent thought. You have none, the feelings Harry is making you feel have taken over you entirely.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs and when you turn your head he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a deep kiss and while you’re eager to return it, you lose control over your movements when you feel your orgasm tipping you over the edge. It stretches and teases and then it washes over you like a tidal wave.

Gasping for air, your back arches and your nails dig into his wrist and thigh, you hear him say something but his words are tuned out, you hear or see nothing, only feel.

But you feel everything.

You have no idea how long it takes for you to calm down and come back to real life. When it happens you realize Harry’s hand has moved away from between your legs and both of them are placed on your stomach, his fingers gently brushing against your skin in a slow rhythm.

When you find your strength you wiggle around until you’re lying on your stomach, facing him. Even though you were the only one who benefited from the scene you just experienced, you see a deep satisfaction etched across his face as his lips break out into a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you chuckle and pushing yourself up you stretch your neck until your lips meet his. This kiss is different, it’s gentle and slow, but just as meaningful as the ones before.

“So,” he starts as he reaches up, running his fingers down the side of your face. “Did you see what I see?”

“I… felt it,” you say, part of you afraid of his reaction. But as you watch him, all you see is that same sweet, charming smile you’ve seen from him so many times before.

“That’s a start.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m more than happy to work on it until you really see it.”

Staring at him, you search for something. Anything that gives away the slightest sign that gives away that he is not being genuine, but you find none and it feels heavier than if you did. Completely touched by his words the tears start dwelling in your eyes.

“Where have you been?” you ask in just a whisper.

“Well…” he breathes out, locking you in his arms. “Behind bars the past ten years,” he says and there’s a heartbeat of silence as you both realize what he just said and the duality of it.

You both burst out in laughter at the same time.

“Not like that!” he shakes his head.

“I guess there are a lot I don’t know about you, that’s fair.”

“And do you want to know more?” He challenges you. Your laughter fades into just a soft smile.

“I do. Do you want to know more about me?”

“Everything. I want to know everything.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut

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niluffa · 1 year ago

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୨୧ “ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ! ” — masterlist

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : five times satoru has said your name with different kinds of emotions, and one time he said your name softly.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 : fluff, friends to lovers, angst, smut, s2 spoilers, sub!satoru, dom!fem!reader, riding, praise, dacryphilia (lots of crying), handjob, two orgasms, creampie, small aftercare

𝐖. 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 8,0k

𝐀𝐔𝐓. 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : this took a ridiculous amount of time, and i’m still not satisfied with it !! :( and please, sex is not a healthy coping mechanism, please don’t do this irl. this is fiction

you gulped at the “welcome to jujutsu high” sign standing tall at the entrance of the school you were transferred to just a few days ago. apparently, it was due to your ‘ability to see curses’—mind you, what the hell was a curse anyway?

sure, some strange creatures always kept peeking out from behind the buildings whenever you were on your way to school or back, but you always thought you were just a bit insane. or at least, that’s what your parents, who couldn’t see curses, always told you.

years of therapy that you didn’t even need were hopeless to shut down your worries, and you sometimes wonder if you were just as out of your mind as everybody, even your friends think.

“aliens? cut that crap out, [name]!” they would laugh at you.

the information you have spilled to your therapist somehow reached yaga, the principal of the school you were walking through at the very moment, who wasted no time to reach out to you, happy to explain every one of your questions.

well, he wasn’t exactly happy to realize yet another bright teenager like you will spend years of torture and the burden of being a sorcerer, building up friendships just to watch them drop dead one by one—only to end up like them.

he didn’t tell you that because he knew you were already aware of the amount of pain you would go through once you accepted your position as a student at jujutsu high.

but it was worth a try, right?

you were currently following the principal. he told you to just stay quiet and let him introduce you to your new classmates and future mission partners.

the door into the classroom was slammed open by yaga, and his cold and stoic face matched his deep voice that echoed through the room, “good morning─”

“good morning, sensei!” a white-haired male yells from his seat, his grin spreading from one ear to another. your jaw dropped when you took a good look at him.

he was drop-dead gorgeous.

the iconic glasses he always used to wear were abandoned on his desk to reveal his vibrant blue eyes that could kill by the way they lit up the whole room—which was lowkey a bit creepy. nevertheless, the shade of the blue was just so hypnotic that you couldn’t look away.

the boy’s six eyes immediately get triggered under your stare, and he wastes no time to let his dramatic side out.

“sensei—” the male begins, taking a big inhale, and your face already cringes when you realize his plan is nothing else but to yell at the top of his lungs, “she’s staring!”

the classroom falls dead silent, and you watch the other male with a bun slap the back of the white-haired’s head. the girl next to them sat unbothered, her lips pursing at the awkward silence.

“satoru . . .” yaga warns him, making the boy flinch and shrink back to his seat with a wobbly but embarrassed smile that shows how much he’s prepared for the whole hour of scolding from the principal later.

the older man sighs, “this is your new classmate, [name].”

you stand in front of the board in silence as yaga begins to explain some things that are not related to you—instead, you pay attention to the gazes of the trio you just learned to recognize as your classmates.

a brunette girl on your right, closest to the window. a guy with a bun who was sitting in the middle. and, of course, a white-haired guy closest to the door. maybe that is why your eyes landed on him the second you stepped in.

from what you could tell, the black-haired male held zero judgment towards you by the way he offered you a friendly smile that made his eyes curl into the shape of a crescent moon. he looked kind, and you smiled back.

the girl was questionable at first. she looked up and down at you, and for a second, you were afraid her face would do the twist of disgust, and she would roll her eyes as most of the girls in your school did—but she didn’t. instead, she offered you the same smile the boy on her right did.

the white-haired male—satoru, as yaga mentioned—was a bit different. his reaction was rather interesting. aside from yelling at the top of his lungs that you were staring at him, he did exactly what you expected from the girl on the left.

“[name]?” satoru huffs in annoyance. he stared at you with a pout, his face twisting. but it wasn’t a judgmental twist that would make you burst out in tears and run away from the room—even when you didn’t say a single word, and your voice was still unknown to him.

“i don’t like her,” satoru huffs proudly. the attention he was expecting was far away from reality than he would like to admit. angry look from yaga, an annoyed look from his two other classmates, and a sad look from you.

maybe this was a sign for him to never speak again.

“suguru,” satoru whispered harshly, nudging his elbow into the boy’s side, who was already sending him an ‘are you serious’ look, “back me up!”

suguru clicked his tongue, “raise your hand if you care.”

the silence that fell right after suguru’s words was so damn awkward that even you couldn’t help but feel bad for the amount of embarrassment satoru must have felt after not a single person in the room raised their hand. his head hung low in shame, the sound of his forehead slamming against the desk only making others roll their eyes.

“i apologize for satoru’s behavior, [name]. please, feel free to take a seat.” yaga says, but immediately finds the issue of why you never sat down—the only available spot was right next to satoru. yaga clears his throat.

“suguru? shoko? please,” the principal didn’t have to repeat himself twice for the two of them to nod and switch their seats so that you could be as far as possible from satoru and his bratty personality.

the rest of the class period was quiet, but you could feel satoru’s gaze on you almost every five minutes—just about every time yaga turned his back to all four of you to write something on the board. so as soon as the teacher lifted the piece of chalk to write something, satoru had his head snapped in your direction.

“ignore him,” shoko whispered since even though satoru wasn’t looking at her, his gaze was so easy to pick up that even yaga, who had turned around for a while, knew what was going on behind his back.

after what felt like forever, the class came to an end—that couldn’t be said the same for satoru’s non-stopping stare that went on and on for the past hour without breaking. but once you found the courage to make eye contact with him, he was a long time gone.

you sigh in defeat and wonder if maybe next time you will be able to talk to satoru normally without him him having the need of digging blades into you with his stare.

“hey,” shoko spoke, “can i get your number?”

the weekend followed. you questioned why you had to be transferred to the school on friday and why they just couldn’t let you stay home for the weekend and then show you the school—but who are you to wander into yaga’s office and complain.

when shoko texted you just some location of a random street without telling you any context or clues, anxiety began to rise within your body. funny how a simple “meet us there” was able to shake you up so much.

no, they won’t kidnap you and beat you until death just because satoru was too picky with his choices of making new friends—you had to insure yourself.

“hey, you came!” shoko cheers as soon as you come into her vision, and you tell yourself that it wasn’t so bad, you were just overthinking again. a special habit you had for the longest time, “i’m glad you did.”

suguru nods with that same kind smile and adds, “we were afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

you smiled at their words, genuinely grateful you won’t spend all your sorcerer years as a punching bag for some mean kids who were raised without any sort of manners.

there were two other people, both male. the blonde one introduced himself quietly but with a hint of respect while the brunette one just shook your hand, looking like he was about to burst from having too much energy.

“we’ll go check the movie seats. wait here, okay?” shoko waved, and you nodded, soon enough finding yourself a nice empty bench while the other four entered the movie theater.

the streets were quiet, and you had to admit that it was quite relaxing. not until you heard heavy footsteps and a very familiar voice rushing right in your direction. you cursed under your breath.

“nooo! they went inside already?!” satoru dramatically collapses right next to you, the plastic bag that he was holding landing right on top of your lap. fortunately, none of the things ended up broken.

after satoru was done with his fake sobbing and whining about how he “checked the time multiple times” and “how dare they go inside without him”, he took the bag from your lap to his to open it.

“i’m sorry. about uh,” satoru clears his throat, “yesterday.”

for a second, you froze. apology from satoru gojo himself? oh, you were so flattered you could yell it out from the rooftops. but truth be told, you weren’t affected by his yesterday act at all. maybe that has something to do with your “people’s people” personality.

“oh, no, no!” you wave it off. satoru hears your voice for the first time, and he’s shocked about how sweet and gentle it sounds, “it’s okay, really─”

“no, i’m serious,” satoru cuts you off before you have the chance to rant about how truly you didn’t care and that sometimes, first impressions just don’t go as many people would like them to be, and that’s okay.

“i brought you this as an apology. i hope you like sweets as much as i do!” the sorcerer shoots you the same grin he did yesterday when greeting yaga. “please accept it. it was the last piece.”

satoru hands you a plastic box of edamame and cream kikufuku—a small tag hung from the side of it, and the price that was supposed to be on it was harshly ripped apart so you were unable to tell how much he spent.

you hummed, “thank you, gojo—”

“satoru. please, call me satoru.”

“okay, satoru.” you smile, feeling happy with the whole situation. at first, he was an asshole who looked like he wanted to throw you out of the classroom just because you were breathing, and now, he spent god-knowing how much yen just to buy you an apology gift.

“hey, the movie is starting—oh, satoru!” suguru’s smile got wider at the sight of his best friend and you sitting next to each other, satoru’s favorite kikufuku flavor on your lap.

satoru, immediately after hearing suguru’s voice, grinned and jumped up from his seat. you came running right after them, tightly holding the sweet dessert the white-haired boy had bought you close to your chest as if it was the most precious and important thing in the whole world.

the movie was, in your opinion, boring. supposedly, it was a famous summer horror that your classmates, along with haibara and nanami, wanted to see for the longest time.

the plot wasn’t even that bad, and it had the potential to be interesting if it wasn’t for the poor choice of actors in the movie. the budget was low too, and it showed. so the only thing you really could do was stare at the poor attempts of what was supposed to be a jumpscare.

“oh, man . . .” satoru groaned from beside you and gave in to the impulse thought of spreading his long, aching limbs everywhere they could fit—because he was the strongest, who was gonna stop him when his spreading arms would block their vision of the threader screen?

“this movie is boring!” the sorcerer was now spread all over his seat, your seat, and also you. the boy takes good notice of how you didn’t even look at him when his legs landed right on your lap and how you continued to stare at the screen with a blank expression.

satoru decided to push his luck to spread out even more than he already was. but this time, his head took the place of his legs—right on your lap. finally, you did look down at the recognition of something shaped like a head, and you smiled when you saw the white-haired boy grin up and you.

what you didn’t expect was when satoru’s thumb rose to flick his own forehead multiple times, mentioning for you to kiss the spot he had touched just now. and you listened. bending down a bit, your hand removed all the bangs his hand wasn’t able to scoop, and your lips contacted the skin of his forehead.

“didn’t know you would fall so easily, [name]!” satoru says teasingly, followed by a genuine chuckle. his toothy grin shoved appearance again, and you bit down your lip so as not to burst out laughing and ruin the movie experience for the other people.

a quit flash of a camera, “cut it out, lovebirds,” shoko had to lean over to whisper from her seat so that the guy, who was already glaring at her for taking a picture in the threader, wouldn’t bash her out.

“get a room, you two!” suguru chuckled from the other side and watched both of your faces catch an adorable shade of pink that would be hard to get rid of once the same thing might happen later.

because satoru is definitely getting another kiss from you.

“ew! look how ugly that is!” riko squeaked out of disgust, pointing at a strange-looking creature that desperately tried to bury itself back in the sand before another wave of ocean water arrived and filled the hole again.

the worm-like creature kept digging even after many failed attempts to disappear from the hungry seagulls who kept circling above the four of you for the past half hour.

“ew!” your boyfriend yelled, voice high-pitched when he burst out laughing at the poor animal trying, but failing, to borrow itself away from the flying predators, “don’t worry, princess!” he jumps in from of you, “i will protect you from that gut-wrenching alien!”

“it’s a sea cucumber,” you deadpan, watching suguru and riko chuckle at satoru’s reaction—which was giving you a long face before letting his head fall in defeat, close to throwing a tantrum, “help it, satoru.”

“you’re no fun!” the boy huffs but listens to you anyway. his colossal hands dug deep into the sand, and once reaching a good size, satoru stared at you in silence.

“what?” you question.

“come put the thing into the hole.” satoru gulps, wondering if you’re playing about being clueless about what he wants you to do, or if you’re dead serious.

“why?” you question again.

“it was your idea!” satoru yells. his voice held nervousness and more cracks than the strongest would like to admit.

“don’t tell me you’re scared.” you tease, earning a chuckle from suguru who leaned over your ear to whisper, “oh, he definitely is.”

satoru gasped, “no way!”

“just admit it, i won’t laugh—” you get cut off, needing to bite your lip in order not to burst out laughing because the strongest is afraid of a little sea cucumber.

“you’re already laughing!” the white-haired boy protests, pointing at you with one of his long and slim fingers that he didn’t dare to wrap around the animal.

you roll your eyes at the sorcerer and decide to put the situation into your own hands. so easily, you pick up the marine creature and put it into the hole that your boyfriend has dug. he, immediately, throws the leftover sand back at the sea cucumber right before another wave could come.

“i don’t want to see that alien near me ever again!” satoru made a fake gagging noise, holding you by your shoulder so that you won’t have the audacity to run away and find yet another sea cucumber—and maybe even chase him with it.

the sun began to set soon enough. the seagulls were gone, no longer praying on the poor sea cucumber. riko was wet from being thrown into the ocean water by satoru, and you and suguru spent a lot of time building a perfect sand castle. in secret, suguru would peek around, making sure all four of you were safe, and nobody was here to take the star plasma vessel away.

“we should go back,” suguru suggested, dusting his hands to get rid of the leftover sand he used to build a sandcastle. you nod at his words, turning around to call out for the two other idiots who are still in the water, “satoru! riko!” you yell, catching both of their attention.

satoru stuck out his tongue at the young girl before using his long legs to reach out to you and pick you up without effort. “you look ridiculous!” you squeaked. the leftover sunscreen that didn’t sink into his skin was decorating his cheeks and nose, making him look paler than he already was.

“back we go!” satoru yells, rushing past his best friend to be the first one to reach the hotel—with you still in his arms, looking like a princess the way he was holding you.

by the time satoru sets you down, you’re already in your hotel room. exhausted, you collapse on the bed, “i’m going to take a shower,” you mumbled into the sheets before you picked yourself up and grabbed your towel.

“alright, princess!” satoru grins from behind you, sending you a small wave before you disappear into the bathroom of your hotel. the sorcerer could finally let his grin drop, the same exhausted collapse on the bed following his mind.

but he couldn’t. he had to stay up for the sake of riko. even if it meant another sleepless night would have to haunt the already tired sorcerer. he was the strongest, after all. one night without sleeping won’t kill him.

“satoru?” you call out, confused. the room was empty by the time you stepped out of the shower—no sight of your boyfriend. your footsteps were quiet as you moved down the hall, only to find satoru sitting in the lobby alone.

you kneel in front of him, “you should sleep.”

“can’t,” satoru hums, “too dangerous.”

you sigh at his words. the whole star plasma vessel thing was fucked up and already made your head ache. and the fact you had to watch your boyfriend’s eyebags grow by each day wasn’t helping.

“don’t worry about me, [name],” satoru assured you as if reading your mind, voice visibly tired as he spoke.

“i’ll still worry about you,” you begin, placing a soft peck on his lips, “but i’ll let it go. just . . . don’t exhaust yourself too much, okay?” you blink up at him, and for the last time this long night, he shot you his iconic toothy grin.

you waved at him, ready to turn around and leave—as you were grateful he was sacrificing his own sleep hours so that you could have yours. not until you heard his sweet voice.

“don’t forget to dream about me!”

the first thing in the morning was your boyfriend clinging to your arm, asking: “did you dream about me?” with a pout and puppy eyes that begged you to play along and say—

“yeah,” you ruffle his hair, “i did, ‘toru.”

satoru does a girlish gasp, covering his open mouth with both of his hands like a high-school girl—partly mocking sweet riko, who was eyeing him from the other side of the public plane.

your boyfriend stuck out his tongue, earning a smack from suguru, “cut it out, satoru.”

satoru’s reaction was a huff and dramatic snap of his head towards your direction. you, too busy looking out of the window, didn’t notice his glare. offended by your “not on purpose” ignorance, satoru let out an even louder, and more dramatic huff.

“do you need something, satoru?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes from the amazing view you got from up here.

“your attention?” satoru grins, and once hearing your heavy sigh, he knew he won. spreading himself all over the place, his head landed on your lap just like it did the first time in the threader. the memory almost brought tears—

“hey!” suguru yells, eye-widened, “get your feet off me!”

you lean forward to take a better look, almost bursting out laughing. in order for satoru to place his head on your lap and fit into his seat at the same time, his long legs spread all over his best friend’s lap. poor suguru, of course, didn’t appreciate that kind of behavior.

“deal with it,” satoru mouths, fixing his glasses by using his middle finger to push it further up his nose—flipping off his best friend in his favorite way. suguru stared back at him in disbelief, shaking his head with squinted eyes.

satoru didn’t take his legs off suguru for the rest of the flight, and the other male had to just suck it up and let you and your boyfriend have a romantic moment. but suguru would lie if he said he wasn’t irritated by satoru’s smug grin when you massaged his scalp.

the strongest didn’t have to watch his buddy’s angry stare ever since he drifted off, leaving satoru and you alone for a few hours.

“princess?” satoru spoke, and even when he likes to bother his best friend any chance he gets, his tone is quiet, not to disturb his sleep. you hum, and he continues, “i love you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, “i love you too . . . is everything okay?” you ask just in case, not expecting him to say something so casual with such a strange expression.

for a second, satoru freezes. your eyes were so soft while you waited patiently for his answer, not rushing him and expecting an answer right away just like everybody else in his life did. he was the strongest, right? what took him so long to answer such a simple question?

“everything’s fine,” satoru assured you, but you didn’t fail to notice the desperate squeeze he gave your hand. your hand sent a squeeze back, and the boy relaxed back into your lap, nodding, “promise.”

“take a nap, okay?” you suggest. the flight will last longer than all of you thought it did, and a little taste of sleep did sound nice—satoru thought it through and nodded.

satisfied by his choice of answer, you shifted yourself a bit lower to give the sorcerer more room to fully relax. he was grateful that you didn’t want him to wake up with an aching neck and burning spine.

and trust me, he did thank you by the time all of you woke up and stepped out of the plane. but now, as you walked up the many stairs of the jujutsu high, your legs ached for just a quick break.

“so─many─stairs!” you huff and take a step up with every pause, earning a shit-eating grin from your boyfriend who was able to walk up multiple stairs at once without even breaking a sweat.

“we’re almost inside the jujutsu high’s barrier,” suguru says out loud, and you wish you could just tell him that the fact he just mentioned didn’t help your aching legs or your tired brain that was overthinking all flight after satoru fell asleep.

speaking of satoru—he kept grinning all the way upstairs, never once leaving your side. as if he wanted to watch you suffer with each step.

“i could always carry you, you know?” satoru’s annoying grin got wider, if that’s even possible, as he was eager to watch your reaction. you, of course, turned him down.

the second you pass the last stair, you bend over to catch your hands on your knees. the way you gulped and gasped for air made suguru laugh as he praised everyone for making it to the top.

your eyes rolled back in “pleasure” when the jujutsu high barrier’s cold air made contact with your sweaty skin, and you sighed in relief. the only thing you needed right now was a cold shower.

the comforting feeling left as fast as it came when a warm liquid splashed your cheeks. horrified, your eyes shifted to your left to find the source—only the find your boyfriend with a sword pierced through his torso.

“satoru!” a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the whole jujutsu high campus called out his name, and suguru wasted no time to rush to you, who were already running to your boyfriend.

suguru’s curse was quick to send the attacker away, but when you reached out to help satoru, his palm stopped you right away. “i’m fine,” he smiled, acting like his uniform was not completely soaked in blood.

you were still in shock, unable to choke out anything “just ‘cause your boyfriend was fucking stabbed in front of you and his blood was on your face.” satoru felt bad for the scene he caused—even suguru and riko were worried.

“[name],” satoru said sternly, one hand cupping your cheek to fully ground you into listening to his words. which were, according to him, very important, “you and suguru, take riko and flee. i’ll finish him off.”

you wanted to slap satoru—scream and yell at him for how insane he must have to be to just tell you to leave him all by himself while you, suguru, and riko ran to safety. but then again, he was the strongest. who were you to argue with someone like him in a situation like this?

so you nodded, took riko by her arm, and together with the other sorcerer that was already waiting for your lead, you ran. there was only one thing you could do—believe in him.

“believe in the strongest,” you have told yourself, having enough faith in satoru to let him fight someone who was able to trick his infinity and land a perfect stab that made the time itself pause, letting everybody process that fact.

satoru would laugh, “a perfect stab? he wasn’t even able to hit my fetal organs!” you could already imagine the cocky grin he would shoot you just to make you feel less worried.

but now, the strongest has been announced dead.

the moment those words reached your brain, you were already thrown to the ground with a gun pointing at your motionless body. you could pick yourself up and continue the fight—but what was life without satoru, the only thing that made your life as a sorcerer not so miserable?

your face was still covered in satoru’s blood, which was now dried up. even while finding the motivation to raise your hand and clean your skin, the blood was simply too hard and stuck to your face.

your cheek lay against the cold concrete as you didn't have the energy to get up from the position the man had thrown you into. now, you were basically forced to watch suguru’s curses destroy the temple in the hope of killing whoever started this.

but is this what you really wanted? was this something that satoru would wish you to do? lay down and hear suguru’s screams whenever he got slashed across the chest, or even slammed into the hard walls of the buildings?

maybe you did consider yourself useless, but against the man who killed satoru gojo himself, everybody was—even suguru. but the difference is that he didn’t give up. hearing his best friend die stung, and so did the death of riko when he watched a bullet fly straight into her brain and watch her drop dead right in front of him. but suguru dusted himself off and kept fighting.

but by the time you somehow managed your shaky arms to support your weight to sit up, the man was gone—and so was riko’s body. you were useless to protect the girl and fight against the enemy.

the least you could do was limp all the way to suguru and help him reach shoko in time. you already lost one fucking important person in your life and you were sure as hell not gonna lose another one. so you ignored the burning feeling in your legs and dragged the male to shoko.

during suguru’s treatment, you stayed quiet. the cold wall that pressed against your back triggered every one of your nerves—if that was even possible, considering the fact that your whole body had been shut down the moment you received the news about satoru—but you were too weak to even pull away.

“[name],” yaga’s voice shook you out of your thoughts, disoriented eyes weakly lifting to meet his, “satoru’s alive.”

star religious group facilities—you never ran so fast in your life like you did right now. from one place to another, you cursed yourself for the members who have built some many of these places, as if one wasn’t enough.

“slow down!” suguru yelled. you didn’t listen, jumping off one of his curses to reach another building where you were supposed to meet satoru. so far, it was no good, and both of you were unable to spot the familiar white hair you grew to love.

the door was harshly torn open, and you were ready to let out a disappointing whine at the lack of people in the room. the thought was far from reality.

a bright room filled with hundreds of people, all dressed in white. the clapping sound of their palms directly hitting against each other made your ears ring. even suguru, who was peeking out from behind you, began to worry at your reaction.

the room went quiet when your eyes landed on the tall man walking right towards you. people didn’t stop clapping, and suguru’s mouth moved but no words came out.

there he was─the strongest, alive.

“you’re late, suguru, [name] . . .” satoru’s tone had caught you off guard. he sounded so emotionless, and his stare was blank, not a single ounce of his personality showing. the light in his eyes died too, making you choke up a sob you didn’t dare to release.

there was no need to cry. satoru was right in front of you, alive. his heart was beating, and every fetal wound he had back then was gone.

“should we kill these guys? the way i feel right now, i doubt i’d feel anything about it,” satoru asks. you froze, blinking.

the strongest was far away from being fine. later that day, all three of you returned home with a new kind of trauma that would haunt you for the rest of your life. but that was the life of a sorcerer. helping the weak and taking all the burden on yourself so that others don’t have to.

satoru was a bit shook up, only capable of creating a small form of sentences—a good start. but in the morning, he’ll be the same sunshine as he always is. that was all you could think about as you dragged your soap-covered hands up and down satoru’s back, watching all the blood fall by your feet and drench somewhere into the sewers.

shoko had already cleaned you up, but when satoru was already fast asleep in the comfort of his bed, you stayed up all night to dig your fingers into your skin in the hope of getting rid of the feeling of satoru’s blood on your face.

something like this will never happen again—you swear.

“great. now you need to add—” whatever came out of the woman’s mouth next was just blurred-out words—good for nothing sentences as you stared at the burnt pancakes with horror in your eyes.

months passed since the star plasma vessel accident, and you have grown more comfortable. satoru has been doing better too, not affected by the past events anymore.

now, you stood in the middle of the jujutsu high dorm’s kitchen. the food you have been currently working on has been burned into near ashes, making you question your cooking skills.

soon enough, you grew tired of the smell and decided to clean up so the other students wouldn’t have to work in a mess you created by your poor attempt at the evening snack.

you left the window open just in case your nose got too used to the smell, and the others would have different experiences with the terrible smell—avoiding scolding from yaga, who would never allow you to cook again. even if it meant for you to starve.

but when you returned to your dorm room, your moment of peace and quiet didn’t last as long as you wanted it to be. a small and almost shy knock came from the direction of the wooden door. too curious to ignore the person and throw yourself on the soft cushions of your bed, you rushed to answer whoever was waiting outside.

you were shocked to make eye contact with satoru, whose teary eyes and irregular breathing hinted to you he was on the verge of a panic attack—your thoughts were confirmed when a heart-breaking sob left escaped his mouth.

“h-he left . . .” satoru whispered, lips trembling. before you were given the chance to ask something, you watched him gasp for air with a pained expression, “he fucking left me!”

you stood frozen—who left? you don’t recall any news from yaga that was more recent than a few weeks ago. through the months of being a sorcerer, you never experienced the loss of someone who would decide to leave the school.

perhaps you misunderstood, and satoru was hinting at some random friend of his that he had never mentioned before. maybe they passed away, leaving your boyfriend shaking and in tears as he knocked on your door. but even then, whose absence could affect him this much?

“suguru!” satoru sobs as if he had taken your confused face as a hint for him to explain. unfortunately, his brain was mush at the moment, and the only thing he wanted to think about was getting rid of all the sadness—with your help.

“suguru? what do you—satoru, don’t . . .” you slurred out when you felt his hand weakly tug at your pants, and you immediately knew what his intentions were. you couldn’t allow him to trust you with removing his sadness, not when it involved a still unknown situation with suguru.

“p-please! please, please, please!” satoru sobs, even louder than his first try was. obviously, he wanted you to pity him and give in to drown him in the pleasure he needed so badly.

you shook your head, sternly stating: “satoru, no.” but his loud cries never died down—in fact, they only increased at your rejection. he just wanted for you to let him escape reality, so why did you keep saying no?

satoru fully broke down, hugging your waist from his kneeling position as if his life depended on it. “n-need you, please. just this once . . .” the puppy eyes he had given you was something he used only to really convince you to do something. but even then, he never used it in a serious situation like this.

“not right now, satoru,” you slowly lift him up, forcing small steps out of him before he collapses on your bed, “you’re in pain right now, you don’t realize what you’re saying. by the time you sober up, you’ll regret what you’ve asked for . . .”

the strongest shook his head and kept clinging to you like a baby koala, too afraid to face the reality of the world. what you were saying was true, and satoru’s actions weren’t as healthy as they sounded—but why did it hurt this much?

“b-but—” satoru gasps at the lack of oxygen in his lungs when he tries to confront you about whatever is happening right now but fails to do so, sobbing with frustration, “just this once . . . all i’m asking for—please!”

you weren’t sure for how long you could keep up with your rejecting act—you wanted to take away all of his problems and satisfy all his fantasies that currently fogged up his mind, so when he blinked up to you with those pretty long white lashes, you gave in with a sigh. “just this once, ‘toru.”

you gently laid him down, using pillows and blankets to make a spot comfortable enough to let him fully sink into the moment. satoru, carefully picking, chose a safeword in case the moment wasn’t as dreamy as he expected it to be.

everything was fine. satoru gave you his consent multiple times to the point he thought you were planning to edge him the whole night—tears appeared in his eyes again.

the first kiss of the night was gentle, mostly just helping to distract satoru when your hand traveled all the way down in order to wrap around his graciously pretty cock. you coo at his whimpers, “i know, i know.”

satoru moaned the second you gave him a few testing pumps, looking out for any sight of discomfort or pain.

“more,” the white-haired boy whispers when he decides the stimulation of a few “testing” pumps isn’t enough, and he wants the full experience that you were willing to give him. so carefully, your wrist moved faster.

everything was spinning. getting so much movement on his poor virgin cock from something else that wasn’t his own hand when he jerked off was a different feeling—a new kind of feeling that satoru began to like more and more.

when you increased the speed to keep the pleasure going, your thumb accidentally brushed over his tip. you mentally slapped yourself, noting to be careful next time. but satoru didn’t seem to mind. not when his back arched off the bed with a loud mewl escaping his lips.

“oh, you liked that?” you cooed at him and repeated the same process of rolling your finger over his tip. satoru’s reaction was the same, just slightly more intense with the way his cock shamelessly released an impressive amount of pre-cum.

satoru kept liking all the interactions you had with his cock so far, so the level of enjoyment didn’t decrease once your hand moved faster with the help of the sparse liquid.

the rest of his shaft became wet and slippery, basically letting you just guide your fingers to the tip before letting them fall down to the base. somehow, the movements seemed to trigger something inside the sorcerer when a fucked-out giggle left his throat.

“s-so good—it’s so good!” satoru hiccups between his words, mainly babbling to himself. and truth be told, he didn’t really care if you thought his behavior was weird. fortunately for him, you weren’t one to judge, not in a moment like this, and you kept going.

your hand shifted in different ways, looking out for places that were more sensitive than others in a way satoru could not describe. the male took an immense liking to the area near his tip, or even the tip itself—you noted and kept stimulating the same spot that made his eyes roll.

“c-close!” satoru’s tone was almost shy as he spoke. the familiar burning feeling inside his stomach rose at a rapid speed. he began to squirm underneath you of the sudden pleasure that harshly flexed his tummy, “g-gonna cum!”

“mhm,” you were quick to coo at him with small kisses all over his face. but your innocent touches failed to distract satoru’s attention from your brutal strokes of his cock that were successful to send him over the edge.

“c-cumming!” satoru’s voice was high-pitched before his orgasm washed over his body for the first time of the night. when his release landed all over his tummy, you hummed a praising sound that left the sorcerer trembling. but it was not enough. satoru wanted more.

you checked up on him, making sure he was alright after such an intense orgasm that looked almost painful in a way you couldn’t describe. oh, if only you knew how much pleasure he was in—you would have kept going without a question or pause.

“are you okay, sweet boy?” your gentle voice made satoru feel like he was floating somewhere in heaven. somewhere far away from all the pain and the burden of the world he had to carry as the strongest. especially after failing to protect so many people in his life.

satoru choked on his own sob, and his face was quick to twist from extraordinary pain at the memory from earlier. you still didn’t know what was happening because if you did, suguru would have ended up with a few broken bones for hurting his best friend in such a cruel way.

but you didn’t know, not yet. so you held satoru close to your chest in an attempt to soothe his cries. you’ve already told yourself the session was over when the male shook in your arms from the mix of his orgasm and whatever happened between his and suguru.

but to your surprise, satoru didn’t take this as the end. no, he craved—“o-one more . . . please!” he whimpered against your chest with teary eyes tightly shut. he didn’t want you to see him like this. not when he was so vulnerable.

something about the way satoru kept clinging to you as if you were to disappear made your eyes soften. the sorcerer was so close to escaping the misery that you couldn’t just decline now. with a sigh, you nodded.

satoru expected another handjob—that’s why he kept his eyes shut and let you shift positions so that you could get the work done easier. but when he felt something warm lowering itself on his cock, he gasped.

“shhh,” you whisper, cradling his head back to the original position on your chest before satoru could do it himself. if he knew that knocking at your door with tears in his eyes would lead to you riding him, he would have much sooner.

the moment you were adjusted to his size, your hips began to rock themselves against his. you moved slowly, carefully dragging whimper after whimper from the boy underneath you, who was currently staring at you with blown-out eyes.

you were a goddess to satoru—you had to be. the way you gently caressed his hair, the way you prepped small kisses on his face, the way you moved slowly so that satoru could preserve every roll of your hips.

right now, he wasn’t the “god” who shifted the balance of the world due to his birth. in this situation, you were.

satoru broke down crying, but what he admired the most about you was that you didn’t stop. long ago, he told you to keep going, that he’s okay because he wants this. and you listened to him, not daring to pause your movements.

the boy whispered something, but it was faint. you weren’t able to pick up a single word he tried to say, feeling bad for not being able to respond to him—solid proof that you’re listening. but satoru was too deep into this, and thanks to his constant babbling, you were able to hear his thoughts.

“d-don’t leave . . .” satoru whispered, a bit louder than last time. it was still uncharacteristically quiet for somebody like him, but you were lucky for this position to give you better access in order to hear him.

satoru sobbed this time, fingers digging into every inch of your skin that he could reach. at this point, he was basically dragging you down with him, and you weren’t even allowed to rise yourself anymore to properly ride him.

the strongest, for the first time in his life, was terrified. he was too shaken from the events earlier, and the thought of you following the same path as suguru made him shake in terror. he couldn’t let you leave, not now.

“p-please don’t leave!” satoru wailed, “n-not you! anyone but you! i-i can’t—” his sobs continued on, and on for quite a while, and your hands ended up cupping his tear-stained red cheeks.

“i’m not leaving. you know i won’t . . .” you whisper. one of satoru’s hands flew to yours, weakly interlocking his pinky with yours.

satoru sniffed, “promise?” he could only choke out much, his throat raw from the previous breakdown—not like he cared either way, he was just too tired to try to get his voice to work normally. you nodded, “promise.”

that’s all it took to make satoru’s grip on your skin loose. he no longer held onto your shoulder with a death grip like you were to get up and leave, no. he allowed you to move after you made your promise of not leaving him.

satoru had to choke up another sob when your hand moved to catch his, bringing it up to your lips. you took your time with the kisses, making sure to leave no place untouched.

his knuckles were white from the grip he had on the sheets, or maybe even your skin earlier. you weren’t sure which one was it, since both of them were pretty brutal and made the skin over his bones look paler than usual.

when your lips moved to his palm, you noticed a fresh open cut. the wound held a shape of thin lines that looked almost way too familiar to his fingernails. you took a mental note to ask about it later—once he’s mentally ready.

you placed the last kiss on the nail on his middle finger that held an unhealthy color due to being squeezed for too long. whatever happened with him and suguru, if satoru thought about using that technique, it must have been serious.

satoru was too deep in his thoughts by the time your hips started to move again. the feeling of your slow movements made his eyes roll back to the back of his skull. he thought you being rough with him would be the best option for his brain to shut down—but once tasting the gentleness from your slow pace, satoru chose a winner.

“you’re doing so good, pretty boy. keep breathing through your nose,” you praise him, knowing it will catch his full attention before taking the opportunity to remind him to breathe properly, not wanting his sobbing mess to catch another near panic attack.

satoru blinks up at you through those long, white eyelashes that are soaked and stuck together with his tears. his blue eyes look majestic—they always do, but now, they are just so pretty and glossy from the salty liquid on his waterline.

every time your hips rose before slamming down, the tears threatened to escape. whatever it was rolling down his red cheeks or falling on his thighs, satoru struggled to keep them stay in place.

“i-i tried to stop him—” you carefully listened to his words as he did his best to speak through his heavy breathing of his incoming orgasm, “i really did! b-but he—oh god!” his words were cut where you sped up the pace.

“you did well,” you whisper, being gentle as ever when placing a soft kiss near his ear. “i don’t really know what happened between the two of you,” you admit, ignoring satoru’s high-pitched noises as he began to claw at your skin when his tummy begins to flex again.

“but i know you did a fucking good job,” you finish, and he does too. satoru screams into your shoulder that had been marked with his well-kept nails, sobbing along his release. you kept stroking his hair, feeling his cum fill you up.

the milky ring appears soon enough, and your hips finally come to a stop. satoru didn’t complain this time, letting you coo at him and whisper sweet nothing’s into his ear. telling him what a “good boy” he was, and how he “took it so well”

he didn’t feel so miserable now. the memory of suguru’s back turned to him as he walked out of his life will never leave his mind. it will never not haunt him everywhere he goes—the burning feeling inside his chest will forever stay.

but somehow, he couldn’t think about it when your gentle touches were pulling him to cloud nine. the way your hand caressed his thighs while the other one dragged the wet towel to clean up the mess you two made while his head was gently placed upon your pillow gave him butterflies.

the lipgloss he always wore was dried out now, making the skin feel weird and wobbly. but satoru found the strength to tear his lips apart and say what he wanted you to know.

“[name] . . .” satoru whispered softly, “thank you.”

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discordiansamba · 2 months ago

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you’ve done firebender/waterbender/earthbender/nonbender/avatar zuko, so what do you think of air bender zuko?

an excellent question!

love the idea of him existing in stark contrast to aang- they're both airbenders, but they're clearly on two very opposite sides of a spectrum. zuko realizes for himself just how much danger he would be in if anyone found out he was an airbender, so he successfully hides his bending- even when his father calls for a farce of an agni kai after he speaks out in the war meeting and burns his face and banishes him.

he still gives him the quest to find the avatar, but things go a little differently this time. zuko searches the air temples diligently for any trace of the avatar- but it's a lot harder for him to ignore the clear signs that history may not have actually played out like he was taught when he's an airbender too. one day he wakes up in the middle of the night with the realization that he doesn't want to go home.

he steals away in the night, not even telling his uncle.

he decides to actually start practicing his airbending, which basically just translates into him making it all up as he goes. in order to make money, he ends up participating in underground fighting tournaments- first just using his dao, and then quietly incorporating his airbending alongside them. inevitably rumors spread of a 'surviving' airbender, and that attracts all kinds of attention.

zuko doesn't care. he's having the time of his life actually.

(he is in fact, not having the time of his life. this is very much a maladaptive coping mechanism. but he's very good at fooling himself into thinking otherwise.)

he never stays in one place for too long, and is constantly on the move. there's always a new place for him to fight. sometimes he does a little light theft. he's definitely fought toph once or twice, who only actually realizes that he was probably an airbender after she meets aang- who is both thrilled to hear about another airbender and is deeply confused by the way toph describes him.

he doesn't understand. his people are supposed to be peaceful.

(zuko isn't one of his people, of course, but he has no way of knowing this. toph's the only one who has ever met him and she's well. blind.)

he winds up completely sitting out the entire war. he just doesn't care. post-war aang spends a lot of time trying to track down this rumored airbender after the war- and also prince zuko of the fire nation, iroh's nephew who went missing about a year into his banishment.

clearly these two tasks are unrelated, right?

#asks #zuko is just an absolute mess of a person #he's not having a great time.#but it's so easy for him to convince himself that he likes this lifestyle. at least he's free now.#(aang will find that what he thinks zuko needs and what zuko actually needs are two *very* different things)#airbender zuko au

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exaltedfuzz · 8 months ago

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Hi! Do you have some personal HCs regarding how Lana dealt with the grief of losing her parents? She'd known them her whole life compared to Ema, and I love to think about (read: make myself sad about) how she managed to balance that and trying to do the best by her only remaining family.

Hello! Honestly, if a question contains “do you have some personal HCs regarding [...] Lana”, the answer is almost definitely yes, and this is no exception! Thanks for the ask. I’ve got a couple scripts in early stages around this very topic, so I don’t want to spoil too many of my thoughts in case I ever want to make a comic about them, or something. (Honestly, I should just write fanfic at this point… I have a rough piece of prose writing in the works that I'll attach part of under the cut... A little teaser.)

Around the time Lana would have had to start taking care of Ema, I think I’ve settled on it being most likely between 16 and 18, since I think if she hadn’t had to stay put for Ema, she’d have moved away to go to uni. So she’d be in a pretty tense time in her life anyway, with exams coming up, and whatever teenage stuff she was dealing with. I imagine that when she got the call saying that her parents were dead, she didn’t have much time to grieve alone before Ema was asking what was wrong, and her focus had to very quickly switch right onto making sure that her sister was ok. In general, I think the thing with Lana is that she’s massively self sacrificial, so her coping mechanism became doing the best possible job she could for Ema, and in that, there wouldn’t be much time for grief between making sure Ema was fed, making sure she was getting good grades so she’d manage to get onto a law course (so she could earn good money to put Ema through college), making sure she could drive, so they could shop and get places…

Here she is...

I think one of the biggest struggles in the early days was learning how to drive. She would have probably been about to start lessons, or just started, (if we assume she was 16 or so) and her parents just died in a car crash. But she’d just have to get on with it, because it was necessary. (She doesn’t have the best record with cars, does she?)

Since Ema says she “used to be so gentle, always smiling”, I think that this was the image of her that Ema experienced most often, so it’s safe to say that she was really patient with her. Ema was probably the only thing that kept her going at a lot of different points in her life.

I expect there would have been some really rough moments though, once Ema was off to sleep and she was alone in a house much too big for a teenage girl and a baby. I like to think that they at least got to inherit a house. (They deserve a little bit of a break, don't they?)

Here's a doodle of her in the first few seconds of having to acknowledge the fact that she's on her own. This is based on a line from the thing under the cut.

And, as promised, here's a little bit of writing. Rough and underdeveloped, I think, but hopefully enjoyable.

The landline didn’t usually go. If it was important, her parents would call her cell. But it did go. Three times, consecutively. She could recall it all. Ema, sitting up at the table with her, eating her pot of yoghurt and drawing in the back of Lana’s notebook. Lana’s textbook laid out in front of her - this was the one thing she didn’t remember. It was physics, that much she knew, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care about whatever was on that page after the rest of what she learned that night. She was smiling, Ema was too. She couldn’t keep her sticky little hands off of Lana’s pens and pencils. It was achingly normal. So familiar. Her parents would have a conference, or a party, or a theatre trip planned, and she was old enough to look after Ema, so she did. She was good with her.

So when they told her to not wait up, to make sure Ema got a little snack if she was hungry, to call them if she needed anything, it was normal. Another night in, another night of making sure Ema didn’t get too curious about what all the fun things under the sink were, another night of studying, another quiet night. She liked them. Sure, it was hard to be saddled with looking after the most curious baby to ever have little hands to grab with, and it was hard to not feel like she was missing out whenever her friends would go out, while she was here, eating carrot sticks and cucumber to try to encourage Ema to follow suit - those days still tasted like hummus in her mind. But it was a labour of love, and Lana was happy to sacrifice her time for her baby sister.

She tried not to be bitter. She didn’t want to be, because Ema was such a joy. But when she’d sit up at the table, nose in her books as always, and she’d hear all the fawning over the youngest Skye, she did feel left out. When Ema was born, Lana stopped getting so many little treats. She couldn’t ever resent Ema. She had a silly smile, and little hands which wanted nothing more than to squeeze Lana’s fingers, and poke around at her face. Holding Ema in her arms while she conducted her first scientific experiments on the elastic potential of Lana’s nose almost made her cry.

She told her parents then that she wasn’t ever going to let anyone hurt Ema, and she’d done her best to make good on that promise until her life was once again torn out from under her feet with the SL-9 incident, and she found herself constantly hurting Ema all on her own in her self absorption. She never forgave herself for that. Ema did, though. She was always so excited to come and see her on the other side of that visitation room, and she still told her everything, like Lana made sure she knew she could. Her eyes looked sad, though. Lana had watched those eyes as they changed from barely betraying any conscious thought, to when they quirked half closed with Ema’s newfound sarcastic smirk. Lana wasn’t quite sure she liked that. Her baby sister was older than she was that night by now, and she definitely didn’t seem like she could handle looking after a kid. What must Lana have looked like?

She knew what she felt like, that’s for sure. Of course, she stood up, with a sigh, on the third repetition of that irritating ringing, and held up the phone to her ear. She was so ready to tell whoever was on the other side that they didn’t need double glazed windows.

“Hello?”

“Is this the Skye residence?”

It was cold. Maybe they did need double glazed windows. Lana hesitated before she responded.

“Ah, yes?”

“Am I speaking to Miss Lana Skye?”

“...Who is this?”

There was too much blood rushing through Lana’s head for her to really hear what the response was.

“Sorry, could you repeat that last bit?”

“There’s been an incident involving a Mr. and Dr. Skye.”

She didn’t care about the rest of whatever he said. Something about investigation being open, something about intensive care, something about an escort car to the hospital being arranged. She could not speak, and her eyes failed. She leant forward, one hand white knuckled around the phone, the other now beginning to bleed with how Lana was chewing at her thumbnail. Ema was still babbling on the other side of the kitchen-diner. She never wished Ema would shut up, but she didn’t want to hear her making these silly noises as if their lives weren’t about to become impossible.

Lana was about to put Ema to bed. It was late. She didn’t remember the time. It was easier that way. She was supposed to be giving a presentation tomorrow at school, and she wanted to be sharp and awake for it. She wasn’t really planning on staying up much longer herself. Certainly not to wait for her parents to get back. She supposed they never would, now. She recognised the way this officer spoke from all the stupid cop shows she watched. She didn’t need it spelled out for her. She mumbled out a thanks, and hung up.

She always hated crying. She couldn’t stand it. The way her breath sounded as it shuddered out of her made her feel weak, and she wasn’t weak. She couldn’t ever afford to be, and that was all she could think of. Lana didn’t notice Ema getting out of the chair and unsteadily walking over to her, and her little grasping hands reaching for the hem of her jumper managed to ground her again. She looked over her shoulder at her sister. Eyes so wide and full of questions, all of which Lana realised, in that moment, she would have to answer. She must have scared her with the way her eyebrows furrowed and the way she grit her teeth, because Ema pulled a little sad face at her.

“Why are you crying?”

Ema wasn’t really that helpful sometimes. Lana swallowed, and looked for an answer. She tilted her head up, closed her eyes, and covered them with her hand, before breathing.

All she could manage to choke out was confirmation: “I’m very upset.”

What a useless statement.

Ema wasn’t ever satisfied with one answer. She just kept asking why. Lana knew that you had to be honest with kids when they had complex questions, so she picked Ema up in her skinny arms and held her while she explained. Usually, she was delighted to explain everything about the world to her sister, but this was hard. Not as hard as seeing Ema’s little pout as she tried to comprehend, though.

As she sat in the escort car on her way to the hospital, as if their presence would miraculously bring their parents to life, she kept holding Ema. She kissed the top of her head and tried not to cry on her soft hair. Her stomach turned as she thought about what the last thing her mum had said to her was. It had escaped her mind until now, and she wished she could let it escape her mind forever.

"No boyfriends over, alright? Be good. Love you. See you in the morning."

She supposed she'd never get to tell them now that there never would be any boyfriends. It was selfish of her to care about something so trivial, so she tried her best to push it to the side. Ema never had to know, either. It wasn't important.

She didn't end up giving her presentation. Or going to school, for the next few days. Ema was at home, so Lana was at home.

#art #my art #ace attorney #ema skye #lana skye #writing #exaltedfuzz #skye sisters #smart thinking

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probably-writing-x · 2 years ago

Text

Another?

Summary: Rafe was known for how much his body could handle. Everyone knew it. The boy had no limits. So what happens when you try to keep up?

Warnings: Alcohol and substance use, cursing

Author’s Note: Thanks for all of the love recently, I’m glad you’re all liking my writing again !! Now prepare for Rafe being a douche and making your life hell :)

You had known the Cameron’s since you were little, having grown up as their neighbours. You’d spent nearly every day with them, Thanksgivings, July 4th’s, Christmases - they were like a second family. You and Sarah were inseparable, growing up like the twin sisters you’d never had. And Rafe? He’d always found a way to get under your skin. He drove you insane, the one person it seemed that you could argue with for hours on end. But he had the other side too. He’d punched your first boyfriend in middle school when they’d split up with you, and he went with you to prom before anybody else could ask you to be their date, he bought you Christmas presents and gave them to you when nobody else was around. Rafe cared for you in a way he didn’t seem to care for anybody else. Everyone could see it, it was like he had a whole new heart just for you, different from the one he showed to everyone else.

Another thing about Rafe - he always hosted the biggest parties. And tonight was no different. There were people here you’d never seen before, and all of the regular offenders.

“Hey (Y/N),” Topper grins when he sees you, two red solo cups in his hand, “I’ve been told to give you this.”

You smile and take the cup from him, “Thanks Top. Quick question though, who the hell are half of these people?”

He laughs, “Rafe invited a bunch of the holidayers, don’t ask me why.”

You roll your eyes, “Because god forbid his house isn’t overflowing.”

Topper laughs and leans back against the counter in the kitchen where you stood. You two had always stayed friends, past whatever had happened with him and Sarah. He was too sweet for his own good, as much as that was his worst trait sometimes.

“Have you seen him? He’s on it tonight,” He gestures towards where Rafe was snorting another line from the kitchen island.

He’s in a white tee with an open button down shirt, looking handsome despite his habits. His hair is fixed in the curtains around his head that he would constantly complain about, telling you that he should just shave it all off. So far, you’d been able to convince him not to. There’s a beer bottle in his hand but he takes a shot glass from the table and overflows it with tequila, tipping it back like it’s just water to his waiting liver.

“No different than normal, right?” Topper nudges you when you don’t respond, like drawing your attention back to reality.

But you weren’t so sure. He doesn’t seem like the boy you knew. There was something darker about him recently, like the drink and the drugs were more of a coping mechanism than a release. He needed it more than he wanted it recently, and it terrified you.

“(Y/N)!” The familiar low rumble of his voice calls out to you, and you look up to see him stumbling a little in his beeline in your direction.

“Rafe,” You reply, “Having fun?”

“You two are being boring,” He gestures between you and Topper, “You can’t just stand around all night.”

“I think we’re fine, Rafe,” Topper states, taking a swig of his beer.

“No, no, no,” Rafe shakes his head, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, he lifts the hand with the bottle in the direction of Topper, his words slurring into, “I’ve told you before to stay away from her bro.”

“What are you talking about Rafe?” Topper clenches his jaw, looking at you as if he needs you to back him up already.

“Go for my sister, I don’t care. But if she doesn’t want you, that doesn’t mean you get (Y/N).”

“Fuck you,” Topper spits, downing the rest of his drink and walking out of the room, even the mention of Sarah fuelling the anger inside of him that it used to be rare to see.

You turn around and step out of Rafe’s grip, “Well, you can apologise for that in the morning.”

“I’m not apologising to him, I see the way he looks at you,” Rafe shakes his head, sniffing as if his body is already longing for its next hit.

“Rafe,” You’re slow in your words, forcing him to listen, “Me and Topper are friends, same as always. And, even if there was something there, it’s not your place to tell me who I can speak to.”

He takes a big gulp of his drink, not even the slightest hint of distaste on his features, his jaw clenches and unclenches before he speaks, “So you do like him?”

“You’re too drunk and high, and too far gone on whatever is in your body, for this conversation. I’m going home, and I’m going to bed. And I suggest you do too,” You grab your jacket from the counter and tug it over your shoulders, walking away before he has the chance to stop you.

“(Y/N)!” He shouts out, but it drowns out amongst the pulsing of the party.

~~~

Rafe had sent you a string of drunk texts last night after you’d left but none of them made enough sense to understand - just a lot of letters jumbled together. You could still hear the party going on late into the night from your house and part of you feared just how drunk Rafe would be the next day. No. It wasn’t your responsibility.

It’s midday when you walk past their house, taking a quick glance up like you normally would. And you spot him. On the porch, surrounded by bottles and cups and cans, sat on the couch as if not at all phased by it all.

You can’t help but be drawn towards him.

“Hey,” You speak quietly when you reach the top of the steps to the porch.

He looks at you through blurred eyes, picking up a beer bottle from the table and swigging it.

“You’re still drinking?” You raise your brows, the worry settling over your face.

“Shame for it to go to waste, right?” He shrugs, finishing the rest of the bottle and throwing it to the pile.

There were the remainders of various drugs spread across the table and you were almost completely certain that they were all his. The sight made your stomach turn.

But there was something in you when it came to Rafe, an urgency to help him as if you were the only person that could.

“Okay, I’ll have one too,” You set your bag down onto the table and take one of the full bottles, cracking it open and chugging at least half of the bottle.

“What are you doing (Y/N)?”

His hair is in disarray like it normally was in the mornings and he’d changed his clothes, so you knew he’d gone to sleep and woken up. If anything, that made things worse. This wasn’t the continuation of a late night, it was him waking up and realising he wanted to drown out another day before it had even started - the likelihood being that he had hoped he hadn’t had to wake up. It brought a lump to your throat and a tear in your heart.

He opens another bottle and so you finish yours and open another too, the beer already bubbling uncomfortably in your stomach.

“Cut it out,” He rolls his eyes, “I don’t want to deal with this today.”

“Clearly,” You state simply, sipping when he sips.

It continues like that until he’s finished another bottle, grabbing for the bottle of vodka next. You take the tequila, fighting back a wince as you mirror him sipping it down.

“Just fuck off (Y/N),” He says coldly, a kind of tone he rarely ever directed at you.

With that, he reaches for one of the small plastic bags of infamous white powder and tips out enough for a line.

“What? Are you doing this too?” He raises his brows.

You shrug, “Whatever you do, I do.”

Rafe laughs bitterly, setting out another line of equal size just next to his. He does his without flinching, as if it’s practically air to his immune body. You swallow the lump in your throat and pull your hair away from your face.

“You can’t be serious, (Y/N)…” His voice trails off and for a second you know that he’s nervous.

You don’t speak, bending down towards the table, your nose just inches above the wood.

Within a second, a blow of air comes from beside you, Rafe spraying the powder as far from you as he can get it, looking at you with an anger in his eyes.

“What the fuck is this? You think I’m just going to let you start doing drugs in front of me?” He scoffs, his voice raising just a little.

“How do you think I feel, Rafe? I’m watching you practically dig your own grave!”

“That’s not the same thing, okay?”

“I’m tired of acting like I shouldn’t care about this stuff, Rafe! I care about you, and I’m watching you destroy yourself, and you won’t talk to me, you won’t do anything, and you’re acting like I should just sit around and watch you become something and someone that I know you’re not. And of all your yes-men friends, who else is going to be honest with you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do this (Y/N),” He comments, regretting it almost as soon as the words come out.

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” You grab your bag and stand up, storming back down the path away from his house as quickly as you can, your limbs trembling.

You’re not sure if you hear him, or perhaps it’s just that your hopes had been answered, but his hand grabs you and it feels like both of you are grounded in that moment. It’s a harsh contact, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist, but the sting is one of relief; of knowing he was there.

“Please don’t go.”

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fruitmins · 2 years ago

Text

Oᵤᵣ Bᵢg Bₐby / BTS OT7

➭genre: little space, age regression, fluff, caregivers bts, little reader, sfw, hurt/comfort, mostly no plot

➭warnings: none

➭note: I have 100 followers?? wtff??? I love you all?? Thank you for the support??🫶🏃‍♀️. updated the masterlist finally

The boys never liked the idea of you having a job in the first place. On top of the possibility of you slipping into little space at work or someone realizing you live with the biggest boy group in the world, they had money. They could pay for all of your expenses anyways.

So why did you get a job? Simply to get out of the house and to have your own hard earned money in your pocket.

It didn’t take long for you to quickly feel bad about all the things they’d get for you big or little. And it didn’t take long for the mansion they moved you into with them to get small.

So here you were, two weeks into your job as a simple barista when you made your first mistake. Someone had ordered a pink drink that was pretty with strawberries and once you saw the sprinkles you slipped.

You hurriedly finished the order the best you could and rushed into the bathroom but to your horror one of your mangers Gigi, had already been in there and was washing her hands.

“What are you doing?” She quickly questioned you. She had always been a hard ass and almost no one liked her. She was picky with everything anyone did and had obvious favorites. “Your not on break, are you?”

Stupidly, your five year old mind told the truth and shook your head no.

“Then get back to work what’s wrong with you.” She said harshly which immediately brought tears to your eyes. She had yelled at you before so her harsh tone usually wouldn’t push you. But it was different when you were little, and she seemed to see that something was wrong.

She glanced at the sprinkles stuck to your sweaty hands, then at your glossy eyes. She raised an eyebrow, “How old are you twelve? Stop acting like a fucking child.” She scolded again taking a step towards you.

“N-No I’m five!” You shouted out of fear and she immediately realized what was happening. Her lips curled into a nasty grin before grabbing your ear and pulling on it as she lead out out the bathroom.

“You’re one of them idiots that think they are kids. Well guess what? Kids have to work too. And if you don’t, I’m deducting your pay.” She whispered into your ear before harshly pushing you towards the cash register where another coworker had took over.

You had no choice but to continue working and every day after that she’d keep a good eye on you. She’d criticize your every move and did things like intentionally throwing sprinkles on the floor and demanding you to sweep them up. She’d try to trigger you on purpose and when you eventually slipped she’d yell and demand you to do the most impossible tasks.

And if you dare tried to get out of it or not do it at all it only made things worse.

You were seriously thinking about quitting altogether, but being a barista soothed you and you liked the people you worked with. Of course there were occasional rude customers but you liked how organized the job was and just liked getting out of the house without it being such a hassle.

But working was starting to effect you mentally (since slipping was a coping mechanism and stress reliever) and was starting to effect you at home with the boys.

You started not to slip at home even though they were your caregivers, you were scared of death of slipping. So in turn, you started distancing yourself from them whenever you happened to slip. And then distancing yourself period.

You’d stay in your room most of the day and when it was time for dinner you have short answers whenever they tired to make conversation.

Even though they themselves were busy, your detaching did not go unnoticed. Neither did the fact that you were never little. The longest you’ve able to stay big was a week, but now it was going on three.

Finally, one day when you were off they sat you down on the couch for a talk.

“Y/N, did we do something?” Namjoon was the first to speak and the heartbreak in his voice caught you off guard.

“What?” You asked confused. That’s when you noticed how hurt they all looked. They weren’t pouting, more like sulking.

“You’ve just been distant lately. Always at work and always tired when you come home..” Hobi stated with a cautious voice as you swallowed a lump of guilt.

You hadn’t told them anything. You didn’t want them dealing with your work problems when they had their own. They had always fixed your problems to begin with, you could handle a bully on your own.

“You must be confusing me with Yoongi.” You spoke in a flat voice. You were trying to play it off as a joke but it didn’t come out right. Still, it amused Jin who let out a chuckle.

“Okay well you also haven’t slipped.” Taehyung spoke in a matter-of-factly tone which quickly made the room quiet and tense.

“I haven’t noticed..” you mumbled it obviously being a lie as you looked down at the couch.

“Really? Or did you just think we wouldn’t notice?” Jungkook corrected you quickly with a bitter tone. The words caught you off guard as you made eye contact with him. He looked sad but worried for you.

“Y/N we aren’t just your caregivers, we’re friends. Tell us what’s wrong?” Yoongi’s usual rough voice turned soft which made you shiver and shift uncomfortably in your seat. You couldn’t slip, not now.

This also didn’t go unnoticed and they suddenly had a new plan using only their eyes to confirm.

“Nothing.” You denied again.

“What’s wrong, angel? Why are you lying to us?” Jimin asked with an intention pleading tone.

Your eyes widen in realization. They were trying to get you to slip. But it far to late now.

“I’m not~” you said again in a more whiny tone as you slouched back on the couch. The warm fuzziness in your stomach was too strong to ignore this time. Especially when Tae started to pull you into his lap and stroke your hair.

The more you tried to fight the urge the more your head started to hurt. Flashbacks on your job clouded your mind as you started to cry. That’s when you broke.

“It’s okay princess.” Jungkook soothed you, using his hand to wipe your tears. “Let’s get you into some fuzzy clothes and a pull up.” He proposed taking you off of Jimin’s lap and into his arms as he headed to your room.

Not wanting to crowd you, the rest of them stayed downstairs while Jungkook whispered sweet things to you as he changed you into a comfortable onesie.

When you were back downstairs Jin had already prepared some small snacks for you along with a juice box.

“Baby, something’s made you distant and sad.” Namjoon stated once he had finished the snack and were sipping on the juice box. “We want to help you, but you have to let us okay?”

You nodded, taking a minute to form your words before speaking. “At work. Boss lady mean.” You whispered which immediately made them frown.

“What does boss lady say?” Tae asked with a worried expression as he held your hand while you were bouncing on Hobi’s lap.

“She say littles are dumb.” Tears formed in your eyes as you thought back at her mean shouting. “She yell and tug when I make messes. She no like littles.”

You could feel Yoongi hold you tighten on your hand when you continued as the boys all shared the same looks at each other. The ‘someone is getting fired’ look.

“Am I dumb?” You asked them when they went silent as your lip quivered.

“Absolutely not!” Jungkook immediately answered. “Boss lady doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You are a gift.” He continued in a strong voice. He was trying not to get to angry in front of you but his blood boiled at the thought of someone saying these things to you.

“Why didn’t you tell us this was happening baby? We would of helped you before it got to bad.” Jimin asked with a frown while he tried to maintain eye contact with you.

“I wanted to fix it myshelf.” You state in a low voice, feeling disappointed.

“It’s okay. You can be independent. It’s just when things get to bad you have to tell us.” Hobi told you softly but in a firm tone to know he was serious and you nodded.

“We’re gonna make sure she never does it again.” Tae reassured you with a head pat but you just frowned. “I can’t work?” You asked.

“You can still work sweetie. We know how much you like earning money and how relaxed you are when you work.” Jin reassured you with a gentle smile.

“It’s however the fuck boss lady is that can’t work anymore.” Yoongi mumbled angrily but it only caused you to smile.

“Swear.” You giggled and pointing as the rest of them glared at Yoongi. You loved when Yoongi swore around you, simply because he wasn’t supposed to. You grinned whenever he got scolded or smacked by Jin. Yoongi just ignored the looks and lightly chuckled, your giggles making him slightly less mad.

Once everything was settled the boys immediately had someone on the phone with your manager and she was fired only three days later.

So you vowed to yourself to tell them if anything was bothering you again.

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 1 year ago

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Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #taylor swift #midnights #long post #lyrics analysis #song parallels #Gabby this one is for you friend <3 #here goes nothing #Happy Friday or something idk!#(also i know i said there are things i wouldn’t discuss on main but my dms are open lol)#this is not as structured or well plotted out as I wanted it to be #and turned out to be more stream of consciousness than legit essay #but whatever at least i got my thoughts out there and it can release some plot of land in my brain for other stuff to think over lol #If anyone ever reads this thank you! And I’m sorry?#The best compliment i ever got in school #was when we were doing an analysis of a poem in English lit in college #And i brought something up casually #and my prof went ‘I’ve been teaching this class for eight years and that’s the first time anyone’s ever brought it up like that’#’and that just blew my mind’#and i was like ‘who me?’#so that’s all you need to know about me lol #Midnights: The Great War #Bigger than the whole sky #bttws #Midnights: Paris #Midnights: high infidelity #would’ve could’ve should’ve #Midnights: dear reader #midnights: bigger than the whole sky

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random-blurbs · 3 months ago

Text

Let’s Start Over

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary : Lamenting over the days you guys had together that perhaps starting anew will help.

Warning : Mentions of drug use/addiction ,high key toxic behavior (reader is trying to change)

Author’s note: I wanted to explore this theme lowkey as a coping mechanism because truly it ain’t easy to forgive and forget - we can get a happy ending but we gotta work for it. And I wanted to show that here

Hope you enjoy and if you have requests send them over!!

It was insanely awkward. Something Spencer never thought can happen when you’re in the room with him. He remembers the smiles you used to give him whenever eye contact was made. He knows you’re beautiful, he used to tell you everyday. But god when you smiled… that was everything to him. You were everything to him. You still are.

But there was no smile this time. Just awkward tension as you sit across from him. There was no animosity coming from either sides, but it just wasn’t right. You would’ve made some stupid joke by now to ease into it but it’s like there’s this invisible wall between the two.

Clearing your throat, Spencer immediately looked up grabbing his full attention. “You look like I’m going to get you in trouble.” He knew you would say something to try to ease the tension. “Can you blame me?” He let out an awkward chuckle as you gave back a soft smile. “No, I really can’t… it’s been awhile since I’ve been in here.” He sees your eyes take in his apartment. Nothing had changed about it, as if frozen in time when you left him 3 years ago. Only difference is the emptiness that came along with you leaving. Spencer knew he can’t say that obviously but he wished he can tell you how much he needs you.

Whether it was you waking him up with a mediocre breakfast. Your words not his. Even though he swears anything you make would always make him happy to be able to wake up next to you. Or when you guys would further the dent in his couch with another movie/show marathon. As you indulged his Doctor Who obsession and then your Harry Potter one. Everything you did just made life better. He came home to love, to warmth, and safety.

“How’s been work?”

“Why are you here?” He couldn’t help it. He had to ask and it was clear he had startled you with that question. The eyes he love widen in shock as you try to collect yourself again. “It’s selfish of me isn’t it?” Immediently your eyes met your lap which he really didn’t want. Scooting just a tiny bit closer to you on the couch he tried catching your gaze. It was like being next to a skittish cat.

“No it isn’t… Y/N - I’m glad you came.” Hearing the sincerity in his voice felt like the weight on your shoulders is lifting, as you looked back at him. And almost immediately you saw the kind smile he would always give you. And that grew the guilt that has been eating you alive. “Whenever I think about going on with life, it just doesn’t feel right.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head feeling like you need to stop before you ruin your chances of just talking to Spencer. “The other day I went to this museum and I just… I just wished you were there. To tell me about the art and go on a tangent about all I was looking at.”

Spencer felt something get stuck in his throat as it was his turn to look down. The memories that he cherished were bursting at the seams. The good. And the bad.

He wonders if you’re in the same boat.

“And I needed to apologize more than anything.”

He didn’t want to think about those memories. The one you’re trying to apologize about. Rose-tinted glasses is what Derek calls it as he recounted the memories with his trusted friend. Derek knew you, everyone knew you. And they loved you especially for their boy-wonder. They knew about the breakup and how it killed Spencer for months. They saw the eye bags get darker, how he got skinnier, talked less, and simply wasn’t their Reid. But only Derek knew of the why. And you were sure you aren’t Derek’s favorite person. You shouldn’t be and you know that. You never deserved Reid.

“You don’t need to at-.

“I do though! Please.” You begged him quickly shutting him up. “Spence I… I was horrible to you. A-And I can never forgive myself for that. And you don’t have to either it’s just I need you to know I am so sorry.” With tears streaming down your face you try to gauge his reaction.

Spencer had forgiven you a long time ago much to Derek’s dismay. He knew what you did wasn’t right but he was willing to get you help and tackle it together.

“Y/N I know how bad addiction can get. I know what you did wasn’t… out of complete ill intention.”

“Doesn’t make it ok though. And I need you to know that.”

He doesn’t want you to cry anymore, he just wants to hug you and tell you everything is going to be alright. And you can just stay over and have the movie marathons with that weird ice cream flavor you love. But he knows he can’t. This is something you need first.

“And I do know that. It’s just Y/N I love you more than anything that something like this… I was willing to stick it through with you. Because it hurt more than anything to know that the woman I love is suffering and I knew some part of you wanted to stop. And I was here with you because I wanted to help that part of you. The part that couldn’t voice it out I wanted to be that voice.” He reasoned but you shook your head. The guilt was killing you.

You remembered the bad. Practically all of it wishing the drugs had fried that part of your mind. But you know it just wasn’t right. You couldn’t leave Spencer being the only one dealing with the consequences of your actions.

The screaming late at night as you got agitated when you didn’t get your fix. The worrying of money when you went into those benders. The constant mood changes. The look of worry whenever you were on it. You would be on Cloud 9 being in Spencer’s lap blabbing about whatever. Spencer loves every part of you no matter what. But whenever you were on it that’s when he would worry like no other. The frown in his face never left as he tried his best to make sure you were hydrated, well taken care of, not pushing the limits. And you took advantage of all of it.

“I’m a grown woman Spence. I should’ve done better. It took me awhile but I think me leaving was for the better y’know.” That killed him. He was happy for you. Beyond happy, ecstatic even. He’s so proud of you but you leaving was the opposite for him. You took a part with him. That he wishes he can get back with you.

“And I’m so happy for you Y/N. You deserve the world and more.” Chuckling you wipe your eyes feeling weird that you cried in front of him after 3 years of no contact. “Not too sure about the world but thank you Spence for letting me talk to you. Genuinely I do appreciate it, you had every right to reject my offer of a meetup.”

And then you do it. You flash the smile he loves. The uncaring one where you smile with your entire face. The expression that makes him stop thinking and it’s quiet. It’s only you two in the room and you’re the only thing in his head.

“It did catch me off guard but I know you. You were probably reaching out for a good reason.”

It was a comfortable silence that fell between the two of you. One that you missed.

“If you ever need to talk though I’m here for you.” Spencer offered hoping that would be a good excuse for you to reach out. Pathetic? A little. But genuinely he wanted you to stay back in his life.

Shaking your head immediately at the offer you see his expression deflate as you tried to explain, “No Spence, I really do appreciate the offer. But I think I gave you enough baggage as it is. I have a therapist for a reason even though I know you’re more than qualified to be one to be honest.” Chuckling together at the thought of him being a therapist feels like something so strange you can’t even see it.

“I think I would make my client feel more awkward than it already is.”

“Gotta give you 5 sessions with them so you can warm up to them.” You added making him laugh, missing his laugh. Sighing you know your time is close as you saw the darkening sky. His eyes followed yours and he quickly realized it as well.

“Can I be honest with you?” Peeking your interest you nod at Spencer to continue. You saw the look in his eyes. You saw the million thoughts running through his head.

“Wo-Would you…” He let out an anxious sigh as he fiddled with his fingers. He doesn’t know how to say it. What if he gets rejected that would break him all over again. But maybe this is needed so he can move on. Can he? He doesn’t know anymore. Overthinking was his thing. And you can clearly see that as he left you in silence for a few minutes, not realizing you were staring at him expectantly.

You’re not stupid though. You’ve seen in it his face this entire time. He’s in the same boat as you. You still love him. And he still loves you.

“I’m sorry Spence.”

Looking at you, you can see his brown eyes saddening. As he realizes that you knew what he was going to say. “O-oh no yeah of course. It was stupid of me to ask.” Hearing his voice crack in the middle of his sentence hurt you more than anything. He loves you and you love him. But knowing you hurt him at some point took priority. Even if he’s forgiven you since the day you left, you need him to understand that what you did wasn’t ok.

“Spence some part of me wants to still be with you. Truly just thinking about waking up next to you sounds like a dream. But I still need help - obviously I haven’t been using. But I need to give myself time. And I need to give you time to realize that yeah you love me but that shouldn’t make it ok of how I treated you.”

As he goes back through his memories of being at the other end of the one-sided shouting matches. It’s like something clicked. A feeling he forgot he had buried away when thinking back at those time. And it was fear. Fear he would go back to his own habits. Fear that you would hit him at some point. And fear that he would still stay. He can have the highest IQ in the world and know he would need to leave. But the fear he has of his love for you was something he forgot. He forgot that his love for you is scary. And he knows love shouldn’t be that way.

“Looks like something clicked up there.”

“Y-yeah it’s just weird how it hit me… doesn’t mean I’m all better but it’s a little clearer.”

“Believe it or not Spence you tend to bury things until someone has to yank you out to see it.” You know him too well.

“Thank you for coming to apologize. This really helped me more than you think.” He said gratefully happy to see her smiling a little brighter. “Yeah of course it was something I really needed to do. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I never apologized to you. Someone like you doesn’t deserve that.” He felt his face warm up at her words. He wished that they can stay like this forever. But he knows he needs to recount and let himself feel the things he deserved to feel in those moments. And not worry about saying or doing the wrong thing in fear of losing her.

Already at the door as you was putting back on your shoes as he wanted to do one last attempt.

“Let’s start over?” He blurted out which startled you again considering he practically yelled it out.

“Not like forget everything that happened between us. It’ll always be there. But like friends? I’m not asking to explore until we get together. It’s just Y/N even when I had you as a friend you were everything. You cared for me in a way I haven’t been cared for in a long time. And you loved me in a way that no one else did. You make me happy, you make me happy to continue with my day until I get to the moment I see you. I know this sounds like a love confession it’s not I swear! It’s just I want my friend back at least even if it’s not the same. You were the dream I got to achieve and I just want it back…”

He finished breathless, desperate to keep you. He’s ok if it’s not as lovers. It’s more than ok if that’s what you wish. He still needs to hash out the feelings he has for you as he’s finally letting himself be mad that he was treated that way. But when he’s done he wants to know you’ll be there at the other end. Willing to let him back into your life and you into his. He wants to make new memories and accept what happened and continue life.

“Ok.” He expected rejection if he’s being honest. “W-What?”

“I’m cool with being friends but give yourself time first and then we can talk more. I miss my friend as well. So as a friend give yourself time. Anything more we’re going to therapy first. But I can be friends.”

“Thank you.”

“No Spencer…thank you. You’ve shown me unlimited kindness and I won’t ever forget that. But please do what I told you. Hash out your feelings and we can go on that museum date I was telling you about.” With a small smile you waved bye to Spencer as he closed the door as all emotions hit him harder. He felt like he was on autopilot and when he was finally laying in his bed he cried.

Cried and cried.

He loves you he knows that. But you hurt him and now he’s finally dealing with it. You knew him too well and he was acting on pure love and not thinking logically. He needs this. Yes he missesthe kisses you would share, the hugs, the dates, the pure joy he would feel knowing you were in his arms and he can tell you about his day and you would melt the stress away. Because that’s who you were to him.

But now he needs to do this for him. A part of him will always be with you and only with you. But he needs this. Maybe one day you guys can back to being friends and he knows you’ll be willing to wait for him. But this is needed for any sense of understanding to come between the two of you.

And he’s ok with that uncertainty for once.

#writing #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

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verycharismaticdragon · 1 year ago

Text

Okay, so I went a lil overboard with a reply to LBH criticism over at @controversial-blorbo-bracket, and I figure 4.5K words that probably should be put under a community label are a bit too much for a reblog, so I'm posting it separately.

CW for general discussion of sex, and for rape mention (assumption of rape is discussed and rebutted).

------

You know what, I was going to reply to this the usual way, you know, 'oh look at that, another person with surface level reading who hates binghe!' because fr every single binghe disliker has the same talking points - which, you know, individually were long discussed (and disproved) by ppl in fandom - but then I was suddenly hit with a spoon beam so now I'm writing a long-ass answer.

Starting with the most glaring, this sentence:

Their dynamic ended up coming off more as SQQ tolerating this unmanageable man-baby and letting him fuck (and hurt him in the process, and then cry about that, more than SQQ himself did) him just to get him to shut the fuck up sometimes, like giving a toddler a biscuit to appease them.

has clued me in to the largest thing anon has missed. Remember how I said "surface-level reading"? Let me explain. There are great many avenues for analyzing a book, especially one as crunchy on a meta-level as svsss (you'll see what I mean by that later).

But the most basic thing - the LVL1 if you will - is asking yourself the following questions: (1) whose POV is the book written from? (2) is that POV omniscient or limited? (2.1) are there cases where the POV character doesn't know something we, the reader, have inferred? (3) if it's limited, how reliable is their narration? (3.1) are there cases of their actions not aligning with their narration? (3.2) are there reasons for them to lie to themselves and/or the reader?

For SVSSS, the answers are: (1) mostly Shen Qingqiu's POV; (2) limited; (2.1) e.g. he doesn't know what's going on in Luo Binghe's head (we'll get back to this more in-depth later), most notably not realizing Luo Binghe is in love with him for good 2/3rds of the book; (3) unreliable; (3.1) think him insisting he is fine when he's clearly grieving post-Abyss - which we can see both from other characters' reactions, and from stray thoughts that he himself has and then dismisses (eng.edition chapter 4: "No! Bah! Shen Qingqiu mentally slapped himself. Who are you calling a grieving widow?! Whose husband died?! That's not something you should just say--you're really getting worse by the day.") (3.2) off the top of my head: the trauma SQQ is going through, with his two coping mechanisms being 'not thinking about it' and 'making light of the situation'; internalized toxic masculinity - as in, the idea that it's shameful for a man to have emotions; internalized homophobia - as in, being unable to examine his attraction to men (evident from very early on, actually) without having a knee-jerk 'it's wrong!' reaction.

To sum it up: Shen Qingqiu's POV is limited and his narration is unreliable. What does this tell us? That we should take what he says in the narrative voice with the grain (or like, a spoonful) of salt, and that it's worth to close-read him. Don't just believe him when he says something; look for evidence!

Going back to anon's words, saying that SQQ appears to just 'tolerate' Luo Binghe tells me that you have not caught SQQ's lies at all.

(cont. under cut)

SQQ is, pardon my language, fucking obsessed with Luo Binghe - just in a different way than Luo Binghe is with him. He is constantly thinking about Luo Binghe even when the latter is not around! (Contrast it to how he thinks about his family from his og world like, 3 times over the course of the book, despite loving them.) And when LBH is around, SQQ can't go a page without mentioning how incredibly beautiful he is! (And then blames it on Luo Binghe being a protagonist, like, of course the protagonist is the most beautiful person in the world, that's natural!.. We later get the POV of a literal author of the world, btw, and he says he wrote LBH as a conventionally beautiful prettyboy type, and his own ideal man is completely different. Which is how we know that SQQ going on about LBH's radiant showstopping obvious-to-anyone beauty is really only his own opinion that he's trying to sell to us as a universal truth.)

And, speaking of LBH's crimes anon mentions (I will not be calling them 'warcrimes', sorry, none of the very few less-than-moral things he does can be classified as that) - you may notice that, for both actual things LBH did and for things SQQ attributed to him mistakenly, those never changed the way SQQ feels about Binghe. He thinks LBH killed his kinda-friend and still jumps in to sacrifice himself to save LBH's life. He sees the guy LBH mutilated, and is disturbed by that... but still continues to protect LBH. Gives him a lil forehead kiss like 20 minutes later.

Oh, and let's not forget the scene where SQQ is punished with a hyper-realistic dream of original LBH tearing off his limbs, and his reaction to that is "I need to see my Binghe asap immediately like rn, I need my cute version of Binghe to feel better about this."

This all is to point out that SQQ continuously fails to be normal about LBH. That's a feature! That's what makes their relationship fun! "Clearly you are perfect for each other pls dont involve anyone else in whatever the fuck is wrong with you" kinda situation.

But you must look through the cover of SQQ's misdirections for it - like again, trauma! toxic masculinity! internalized homophobia! It's difficult for him to admit his feelings even in his head, but he is getting better about that. In Mei vs Ge extra, SQQ admits he wanted LBH to push a little more about them sharing a bed and that he would have agreed. And is kinda put out that LBH simply accepted his refusal. Then in Deep Dream extra, SQQ is literally the one to jump LBH. And in Wedding extra, he almost manages to look directly at the fact that he's very happy that LBH is proposing to him! So yeah, he is getting better at admitting it too. But honestly, his feelings about LBH were always really intense. In different ways over the course of the novel, but he adored LBH from before he transmigrated, and that adoration never lessened, despite everything that happened between them. You just gotta look at his actions and not his 24/7 mental stand-up routine.

All right, next, in the same paragraph the previous thing came from, I'll abridge and highlight for relevancy:

Their dynamic ended up coming off more as SQQ tolerating this unmanageable man-baby and letting him fuck [...] him just to get him to shut the fuck up sometimes, like giving a toddler a biscuit to appease them. And it came off very gross, especially in the epilogue, when Luo Binghe was blatantly manipulative about that, pushing and cornering Shen Qingqiu into doing more than he already was, and using his tears to his advantage, in a way that was clearly in the text not unintentional.

...Listen, for someone claiming to hate how one-dimensional LBH ended up, I'm seeing a distinct lack of effort at actually understanding the character. Luo Binghe's teary act (in the moments when it is an act, because there are also many moments when his tears are genuine, we'll get to that later) is, first and foremost, for Shen Qingqiu's benefit.

Shen Qingqiu admits it himself that he finds it easier to be "frank" with Luo Binghe who is "willing to cling to his legs and throw a tantrum to seek comfort" (Return to Childhood extra). It's the internalized toxic masculinity and homophobia thing again. It's actually pretty interesting how he rewires his brain from its knee-jerk reaction of "homosexuality wrong" by mentally comparing Luo Binghe to a girl - like calling him Bing-mei, thinking he's acting "like a lovesick maiden", etc. God I want to study this man like a bug. Anyway, yeah, the point is that LBH acting cute and whiny helps SQQ be more comfortable with giving affection to a man, something that he struggles with because of his personal issues.

And Luo Binghe, while not aware of the exact nature of SQQ's issues (having grown up in a world where homophobia doesn't seem to exist), does understand this - that Shen Qingqiu’s thin face and pride make it difficult for him to show emotions. And it's not something LBH intrinsically knows either; he has to figure it out (not without help, everybody say thank you papa Airplane), confirm it for himself (the "But other than hearing Shizun crying..." - "Who was crying?" - "Other than hearing someone crying, [...]" scene comes to mind), and then accept it as truth (which he doesn't seem to fully do until at least the Maigu Ridge, and Shen Qingqiu outright saying "I do it for you and only you!" - if not even later.) It takes him time to learn how to work with this knowledge too...

And, to be brutally honest, how blatant and over the top he gets with the act is entirely due to how SQQ keeps rewarding the behavior.

Now... you might consider this a conjecture, given how we only get the tiniest glimpses into Luo Binghe's mind - in the rare moments the author shifts out of the primary POV. But fortunately, one of those moments can be used to prove that Luo Binghe is not, in fact, "pushing and cornering" Shen Qingqiu into doing things Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to do.

The moment I'm talking about is in the Mei vs Ge extra: Shen Qingqiu, having agreed to "do some exploring together", sees LBH's giant 🐓, goes "absolutely not" out loud, and attempts to give him a handjob instead — which also doesn't go too well. Bringing us to (LBH's POV emphasized):

No matter how calm Shen Qingqiu kept himself, he couldn’t stop his expression from twisting. Luo Binghe had secretly been paying attention to his face the entire time. At this moment, he carefully said, “Then, Shizun, how about… you do it?”

LBH is attentively watching SQQ's reactions to figure out what he's thinking and feeling. The moment Binghe comes to the conclusion that SQQ is uncomfortable with bottoming, he offers to let him top. Notice how he doesn't start crying or whining to get his way, when it's something that might be a genuine hard line for SQQ?

And it's actually the same in the Regret of Chunshan extra: when SQQ shot LBH's idea down, LBH "looked a bit disappointed, but didn't push the issue". Yes, later SQQ will say LBH was "putting on a pitiful act"; but if you read the scene carefully, LBH did not do anything but look a bit disappointed - and SQQ just walked himself into feeling bad about refusing completely on his own.

Now, when does Luo Binghe use crocodile tears then? Well, the answer seems to be: when it's about small things. Like wanting to do it face to face (after they've already agreed on both sex in general and on who will top), or begging SQQ to call him 'husband' (after they have gotten married). Ultimately inconsequential things, and, likely, things that he suspects SQQ is avoiding only because of embarrassment and not anything more serious.

So, to sum up this section: Luo Binghe's crybaby act is for Shen Qingqiu's peace of mind first and foremost, and Luo Binghe does not actually use it to coerce Shen Qingqiu into anything he wouldn't be willing to do. LBH is not responsible for the fact that Shen Qingqiu has no bottom line when it comes to him and can't handle seeing him even minorly disappointed, let's be real.

Okay, last thing from that paragraph (yes there's another thing):

and letting him fuck (and hurt him in the process, and then cry about that, more than SQQ himself did)

See, with the way anon describes it here, I can't even tell which scene this references, but luckily I have a rebuttal for both options.

Like, is this about the Maigu Ridge? Aka the scene where LBH is not in his right mind (literally hallucinating, among other things) - and then comes back to consciousness to see that he, by all appearances, had brutally raped the person he loves with all his heart? No fucking wonder he starts crying?!.. And to clarify, he did not rape SQQ, because SQQ had given informed consent here. If anything, there was nobody in that scene less consenting than Luo Binghe himself.

Or is this about the scene in Mei vs Ge. Which is like. Entirely on SQQ, who decided to keep quiet instead of telling LBH that it hurts. Like, whatever that was about! It's only, oh, one of the major themes of the novel that hiding your feelings and struggles is bad, and will hurt not only you but people who care about you.

...Btw, if someone not in fandom is reading this with increased befuddlement for why those two are having so much painful sex. Well, aside from the scene where LBH is tripping balls because of a cursed sword, and the situation is forced by the literal will of the narrative (more on this later), our couple are two adult virgins with no sex-ed, and one of them is in possession of (canonically) the biggest dick in the world. Given those factors, it would be weirder if they were able to have flawless sex right away. (And it's a meta-commentary, something we'll also get to later.)

Speaking of the cursed sword, it's somewhat amazing that anon says all this

Why did they make him become this? I understand what he went through, I'm not asking about cause and effect, I'm saying the effect could have been so much better and more realistically (in my opinion and from my personal experience with trauma) written. I'm not saying he couldn't be burnt or bitter or jaded, nor that he couldn't be clingy or overly emotional or manipulative, I just think it could have been done better, and I HATE what his character became for the second half (realistically, most) of the story.

and completely fails to mention that between LBH's return from the Abyss and the end of the main story, LBH's actions are severely affected by a cursed sword that amps up his emotions with the express purpose of destroying his mind. Seems somewhat relevant to why his behavior isn't written as a realistic trauma response? And instead as a trauma response amped up to eleven and set on fire? And that's without even getting into LBH giving himself supernatural brain damage as a form of self-harm. Which uh. doesnt simply map onto any irl concept really.

Continuing from this, I think it's time for me to expand on one of the points from earlier: about how Shen Qingqiu doesn't know what's going on in Luo Binghe's head for most of the novel. It will be tied to this particular bit of criticism on anon's part:

I feel like the author utterly assassinated his character in the 2nd half of the novel (ever since he came back from the abyss) and turned him into a one dimensional caricature of himself, and I HATED IT.

What I want to suggest here is tied, once again, to how Shen Qingqiu’s POV is limited and unreliable. So, a new batch of questions: (4) is our understanding of other characters' actions affected by the limited POV? (5) is there a particular reason for the author to keep other characters' motivations opaque to the POV character? (6) can anything be gleaned by reconstructing other characters' perspectives?

The answer to (4) is a yes so resounding the POV character himself admits it: "First, he'd thought Luo Binghe was unbelievably cruel and evil, then he'd thought Luo Binghe was unspeakably strong and bright." (ch.21) Shen Qingqiu has the very same problem as anon does: he sees Luo Binghe as one-dimensional, making assumptions about how he's supposed to act - instead of trying to understand what's there.

Which leads us neatly into the answer to (5): people making assumptions about what's best for the other person instead of asking them what they need, and hurting them as a result, is also a major theme, present in many relationships throughout the novel! And that's only half of the answer.

The other half will require us to go a little meta. You see, BingQiu's relationship, among other things, are meant to echo the relationship between the reader and the character. The reader loves the character, but they are also the reason for their suffering - as for the story to go on, the character must continuously face more and more difficult obstacles. Shen Qingqiu both loving Luo Binghe and causing him unspeakable amount of trauma is meant to mirror that. Shen Qingqiu's expectations for how Luo Binghe should act, and attempts to fit him into one or the other archetype, are also, yknow, reader behavior.

And... are we not also readers? Are we not expecting Luo Binghe to act a certain way (for example, when I first read the novel, I fully expected him to keep being a classic ML: to swallow all his grievances and keep being unquestioningly and ardently devoted to MC. Which, once articulated, is such an unfair expectation!), and feel it's "character assassination" - to borrow anon's words - when he does not adhere to the role he's supposed to inhabit, based on our idea of his personality and place in the story?

So: is there a reason the author seems to deliberately make Luo Binghe hard to understand, irrational, or one-note, to both Shen Qingqiu and us? Making it harder to sympathize with him? For example, can it be commentary on oversimplifying complex characters to just their role, or just one aspect of their personality...

As for the answer to (6), I ultimately want to leave it for you to try it out and decide. I'm literally the person who wrote a 90k character study fic to try and figure out the minutiae of Luo Binghe's post-Abyss mental state, so my answer is I think obvious. He has a lot going on!

Which kind of brings me to another of anon's gripes:

And actually that made me really sad because I wanted to enjoy it so much, because I LOVED the beginning, and I love Shen Qingqiu, but the evolution of Luo Binghe and the refusal to let him KEEP evolving inescapably ruined the story for me. He was insufferable, and I kept hoping he would grow and get better, but he just never did.

Look, I simply cannot agree that Luo Binghe did not grow and get better; it just largely happens at the very end of the main story and in the extras. I know anon has missed that, since they missed the more obvious things like Shen Qingqiu being obsessed with Binghe right back and Binghe using the pathetic act to help Shen Qingqiu feel more at ease, so I'll get to that in a bit. But first, I want to make sure we are on the same page about everything before that.

The part of Luo Binghe's arc between the Abyss and the Maigu Ridge is a downward spiral. He's going through the corruption arc, just as the original version of him did; the narrative demands it.

And it's not like 'the narrative' is a nebulous force here; there are literal actors of its will in the story, the System and Xin Mo sword. Like, in particular, the Maigu Ridge sex scene is a perfect example of how those two actors push Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. The System literally withholds a key item that can help Luo Binghe regain his conscious mind until Shen Qingqiu has sex with him - you know, until the demands of the narrative of a romance story are fulfilled. And Xin Mo literally corrodes Luo Binghe's mind so that he acts like the original version from PIDW, because the truth is, SVSSS Luo Binghe would rather die than actually force himself on Shen Qingqiu. (Binghe's first reaction to seeing what he'd done is to ask "Why didn't you kill me?" and like. understandable. im crying also)

Oh, right, I promised to explain how bad sex is meta, this is a good spot for that. You see, it's a commentary on the 'flawless first time' trope, and also 'sex is a cure' trope. The author posits that two virgins having sex would naturally be awkward and not magically good. And that having sex in a highly stressful situation where one of the parties is not in control of their faculties would naturally be really fucking bad, and also not magically good.

But back to narrative demands. The point is, Luo Binghe simply cannot get better until "the story" ends. He can't heal while the world around him is literally deadset on dragging him down to become a bloodthirsty, sex-obsessed tyrant. The only thing that saves him is Shen Qingqiu managing to get them into the happily ever after zone by the skin of his teeth. There's a reason the main story of the book ends with: "The story circulating through the world might already have ended. But the story between you and me has only just began". 'The story circulating through the world' is the narrative the characters were trapped in; only once it has ended can Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe be allowed to go free, to actually live their lives and be happy. (This novel is very meta, I'm telling you.)

All right, now, back to how Luo Binghe actually did grow and get better! We're almost to the end! I fear to see how long this post is, at this point!

Now, I could be pointing out specific details, like Luo Binghe letting SQQ be brought back to Cang Qiong because he thinks that's what SQQ would want - when his whole breakdown before was about how he couldn't keep SQQ with him. Or I could be reminding you of the second section of this post, and saying that Luo Binghe learning to bypass SQQ's embarrassment by playing cute is actually also character development, even if you didn't like it.

But I think we should go for the heart of the issue. You see, yet another prominent theme in SVSSS is toxic masculinity. It's baked into the setting, with the "original" book our MC transmigrated into being a heterostraight harem novel; it's something our MC struggles with, when his learned toxic behaviors screw over both himself and the person he loves; and - most important to our current topic - it's the chief source of tension within Luo Binghe's character.

Literally, there are even names for two polar axes of his personality in the story: Bing-ge (ge=big brother), coined by in-story fandom to describe original Luo Binghe of PIDW, and Bing-mei (mei=little sister), the nickname SQQ comes up with specifically for "lovesick maiden"-acting Binghe.

"Bing-ge" side, of course, represents toxic masculinity. Extremely obviously in OG!LBH's case, what with him being the protagonist of 'male wish fulfillment and misogyny: the novel', but if you think about it, SV!LBH also demonstrates toxic masc behaviors, starting post-Abyss and up to Maigu Ridge. Noticeably, exactly when he had Xin Mo fucking him up - Xin Mo in general is symbolic of the "original" narrative, pushing SV!LBH to replicate the OG's behavior. And also it's a sword. The symbol of toxic masc version of the narrative is. A sword. RIP Freud you would've loved Scum Villain.

But what does "Bing-mei" stand for, if we detangle it from SQQ's 5D chess with his own sexuality? We know Bing-mei cooks and cleans and gives waist massages. We also know Bing-mei shows affection freely, and isn't embarrassed to cry, and has a sensitive heart. A man who is caring instead of controlling, a man who is not afraid to be vulnerable and emotional... Bing-mei side is meant to represent the healthy / soft masculinity.

And Luo Binghe's arc is rooted in the struggle between healthy and toxic sides of masculinity. What I think is tripping up a lot of people is that he starts at the healthy place, in his "white lotus" days. He is caring, he is affectionate, he shows the full range of emotion.

Then, the world comes for him, and he falls (or, yknow, is pushed) into toxic patterns of behavior. He hides his vulnerability, the only show of emotion he allows himself are outbursts of anger, he tries to control the person he loves... and thus hurts people around him and himself. His breakdown at Maigu Ridge is about thinking he can never be good enough, no matter what he does - see, the very idea that there's some level of achievement that can make a person unequivocally lovable is a toxic masc mindset!..

But the thing is, him breaking down here - admitting that he can't "win", showing the messy, undesirable, emotional side of himself - demonstrating that he can't be the Bing-ge version - is what opens up a path for him to communicate with Shen Qingqiu. Giving him the genuine connection he needed, that Bing-ge could never have. And thus allowing him to destroy the toxic-masculinity-representing sword.

So, the evolution path the author charts out for Luo Binghe from there on is him growing into the healthy masculinity patterns. Starting with, again, putting caring about his partner above controlling him and letting SQQ be brought back to Cang Qiong. Which SQQ didn't actually want, but we've already covered that he's his own kind of freak(affectionate). And continuing to try to do better by SQQ and listen to him (eg the whole SQQ refusing to share a bed and LBH acceding so easily SQQ was left reeling, because he was planning to agree once LBH pushed). And learning that he can show emotion and be validated for it (see Return to Childhood extra with its "if you are unhappy, say so"). And accepting that he doesn't need to be perfect to be loved (the guy faceplanted trying to propose and still got his man...). And, hell - count 'doing his best to learn how to pleasure his partner in bed' with this as well!

So, once again, as a closing note: I simply can't agree that Luo Binghe doesn't grow and evolve. You just have to let go of your preconceived notions of what his character should be like, and learn to see, understand, and appreciate what's there. The same arc Shen Qingqiu, his most faithful reader, goes through.

For a book as meta as SVSSS, that's obviously no coincidence.

#cw rape mention #(assumption of rape is discussed and rebutted)#luo binghe #bingqiu #svsss #svsss meta #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain's self-saving system #mxtx #danmei novels

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