#i could talk for days and days about these two and their abuse

[7-deadly-cats]

fuck valentine's day

genre: one shot, angst but happy ending, no explicit smut

pairing: taken!s4!rafe cameron x fem!bsf!reader

cw: strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy but no explicit smut, my reccomendation: 16+

summary: After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you where emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

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Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death, back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrust into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death was simply the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he said and did things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he was truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking for something serious, you stayed silent. Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another girl got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed “old money.” She was the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend.

Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience. Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his support but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping him pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaining about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there—promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that—next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits, all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud). You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes—but every so often, he sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he was genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course—those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you smiled back at her. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction was overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you look at him... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I’d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that—a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more. Wouldn’t she, Rafe?

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy—dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of—that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe. These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out—and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That was what Ward had valued above all else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group—Topper, Kelce, everyone. But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina—it was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve gone after you like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life—until Sabrina showed up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, to love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly—quietly—in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger—anger at himself for losing you. And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this—not because you were there to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off—no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it: he didn’t want to lose her. So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better.

Especially because deep down, Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him. He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island, complete with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was the plan, anyway—until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again. Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. Your chest tightened.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat. Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/N?” His voice sounded confused but also alert.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually answer.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, sharper now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No! I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice but also unmistakable concern. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips. For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt weighing heavy on you, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/N,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/N is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe—it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could breathe freely, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her was almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much—his jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it almost made his chest ache.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on—you’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, the guilt churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No, Y/N,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though. He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/N, why didn’t you say something?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Hell, even Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was—you were his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you thought was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame as you were for all of this.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What--”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped. A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? You felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should—it all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke. All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—the frustration, the sadness, the guilt, and the fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe raised an amused eyebrow, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you. Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her. So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. “God, I could just rip my hair out. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was. You’d said everything you’d bottled up, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable—was he stunned, irritated, frustrated? You couldn’t tell.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike. Before you could ask him what he meant, Rafe closed the distance between you and his hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still as a thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and sank into it. Your fingers clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.

His kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, fucking her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/N. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead girl. If you called, I would’ve come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside. The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, and there was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me—even when I’m a complete fucking idiot. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of the feel of his lips on yours. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper—like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, and the cold surface sent a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “This isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. The days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have, shit no, you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Please, I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again—not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—the weeks, months, maybe even years of feelings neither of you had dared to name. His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: Pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even–and maybe especially–if they were your former best friend.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - First "I Love You"s

Happy Valentines Day, all~ I wanted to make a special post for today. So here are short stories about the first time you exchanged I love you with Lucifer, Vox, and Alastor

CASUAL REMINDER: What was supposed to be the Angel Dust part in this post got too long because I have no self control. Its now its own story >>over yonder<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; allusions to heartbreak, cheating, abuse, just lots of past bad stuff; but its all in the past, this content is fluff and feels; Lucifer has a panic attack in his part cause he needs therapy Cavity content and brainrot below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Lucifer ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Lucifer knew the words. Of course he did. After all, he was a married man. Obviously. But… They seemed to carry so much more weight now then they ever did before. Ever since Lilith left. Now they felt much more like a burden then something to celebrate. Perhaps he was idealistic, if not naïve before. But just the thought of love had made him giddy. It always held the promise of endless laughter, dancing under stars, and countless ever afters.

But now? Now, thinking of love scared him. It made his heart clench and the cold weight of dread harden in his chest. Lucifer’s mind would always go to that horrible moment when he realized Lilith was gone. That she wasn't coming back. Now, love just seemed like a promise of pain. A promise to leave in the end.

However, if there is one thing Lucifer can reliably do, its ignore a problem. Its his special talent to be able to simply not register any smoke or embers until its an all-engulfing, burning blaze.

With how close the two of you were getting, Lucifer should have seen the signs. He should have noticed the warmth that stained his face, the excitement that burned in his stomach to the point of making him sick, as well as the pure sense of comfort and affection that welled up in his chest. He should have done alot of things. But instead, every thought, every notion Lucifer got that there is more, that there is something beautiful blossoming between you two is thrown to the wayside. Buried deep, to be dealt with later.

Until it can’t be dealt with later. Until it bursts out in a way only Lucifer can manage to do; on complete accident.

Neither of you remember how the conversation started, or honestly, the majority of what was said. You were folding what felt like endless paper crafts for Charlie. All while Lucifer rambled to you about his latest duck related project. He fiddled and spun one of said ducks in his hands, using it as a fidget toy while he spoke. Lucifer did… attempt to help you when he found you. But you correctly assessed that he would be much more of a detriment then an asset with his mind so focused elsewhere. So here you two were; him passionately talking your ear off while you did the delicate work he couldn’t.

When it happened, it was sudden. Lucifer had just bounced up to leave when the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them; “That sounds great! I love you, Duckie~”

Just like that, it was like a live bomb had been dropped between you two. Time itself seemed to stop and both of you remained completely still. Lucifer’s heart pounded; blood rushing so fast it was deafening. His hands trembled. He could already feel overwhelmed tears pricking at his eyes and fogging up his vision. He could feel his lungs burning for air while he fought to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide in his room and cry. He wanted to turn to you and try and explain and beg you not to leave him…

But instead Lucifer just stood there. Frozen. Paralyzed in fear that he had just broken whatever you two had going. That he had ruined his only chance at a fresh start like he ruins everything else-

“Do you mean that?”

Your gentle words broke through Lucifer’s rapid spiral and put a harsh stop to any further thoughts in his head. He simply blinked dumbly a few times. A subconscious attempt to get rid of the excess wetness in his eyes. “W-w-what?”

“Do you…” Lucifer could hear the trembling in your soft voice. The hesitance in your breathe as you held it for a moment to try and gather yourself before finishing, “…really love me?”

At that, Lucifer finally found it in himself to turn around and look at you. In your eyes he saw the exact same fear that he had. Fear of the future. Fear of pain. Fear of the inevitable.

For the first time in forever, Lucifer felt understood. For the first time, Lucifer felt that something for him might turn out okay after all.

“Yes. I love you so much.”

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Vox ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Vox had certainly thought about the words. He had said them to you in his head countless times. But he had yet to work up the courage to actually say them to you outloud. Everytime Vox was sure it was going to happen, they would always end up catching in his throat. Then his thoughts would start racing, his fans suddenly whirring trying to keep him from overheating, and the words would end up dying before he could get his shit together.

What if he was moving too fast? The last thing he wanted to do was jump the gun. Especially when it came to you. What if he says it too soon, coming off desperate and scaring you off? Or worse, what if he got the timing wrong? What if those words, those ever important words, came out at the worst possible moment? Vox was well aware that his own lightness and euphoria could be blinding him to your mental state. What if he was reading the entire situation wrong?

What if… you just didn’t feel the same?

That was the notion that ended it. Ended any attempt or thoughts Vox possibly had of confessing. Vox was pretty sure he couldn't handle another heartbreak. Another rejection. So he kept the words to himself and settled for whatever it was you had now. Your current “relationship” was better then the possible alternative. So he would settle. Vox told himself he was okay with whatever scraps he got like he always did.

You had gracelessly fallen asleep on Vox one evening; the movie marathon he had coaxed you into losing the battle with your sleep deprived self. When Vox noticed your body relax against him as you fell asleep, he couldn't help but chuckle lovingly. It was cute and… sweet that you trusted him like this. Enough to fall asleep on him like something out of a stupid teen romance.

Vox hummed to himself and playfully rolled his eyes, shifting around so you could sleep more comfortably on his chest. He held you close, his claws gently petting you and his heart beating a little too loudly in his own head for his liking. Despite how much he complained, in whatever poor attempts he did to keep up his bravado, Vox would be lying if he said he didn’t love moments like this. Moments where you two were just something from a stupid romance.

Vox continued his humming, but now with more purpose. It was as if he was trying to sooth you. To lull you into a deeper sleep. He gently pressed his screen against the top of your head in a makeshift kiss. The words escaped his mouth before he could consciously register them; a gentle “I love you.” It just felt… right in that moment. For once, he wasn't panicking internally or overheating with dread at your possible response. Everything was calm. Quiet. Besides, it wasn't like you were even awake to hear him anyway…

“…I love you too.”

Vox immediately went silent and every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn't fully sure he heard you right at first. That is, if he didn't outright hallucinate it. Your words were groggy, partially slurred; clearly having responded to him in your sleep.

But did that fact really matter? You had said it to him. You said the words back. So you must have loved him on some level, right? Vox could feel himself trembling as his grip on you tightened protectively, as if you were at threat of being taken away from him in that very moment. As if you might just slip away through his fingers like a gust of wind. Vox pulls your sleeping form ever closer, curling around you, desperate to be as close as he can possibly be.

He swears from that moment on, that he is never going to let you go.

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Alastor ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Alastor had… honestly never really thought about those words. Or even what best describes his own feelings for you for that matter. He simply acknowledged that, yes, he did feel some sort of… “affection” towards you. So “affection” was what he called it. It didn’t matter what it actually was. You seemed to return it. You let him express his feelings how he wished. Things between you two seemed to be going swell. So… was there really a need to name it?

Alastor certainly didn't think so. Perhaps it was just in his roots to not give something like that a name. A name acknowledges it. Gives it shape. Gives it power. A name makes something tangible. Turns the ethereal into something to be wielded. Either for, or against you. But that was the risk you accepted when you played with fire. That its flame could scorch you and leave you just as charred as those you hoped to use it against.

It was early. Dreadfully early. But Alastor was wide awake and in the Hotel kitchen preparing the residential breakfast. Already singing and humming to himself like it wasn't too early for even the birds. Your footsteps were weighted with sleep as you meandered your way towards the kitchen. Alastor’s only acknowledgment of you was the flick of his ears when you stomped particularly loud.

You lethargically pulled out one of the dining chairs, unintentionally dragging one of its legs against the floor and making a horrid squeal. Most people would have been terrified at the sight of the radio demon visibly recoiling at the sound; his ears flattening back as he shot you a look over his shoulder. But you were not most people.

Instead, you settled yourself. Your head leaning sleepily against your arms on the table while the radio demon simply stared, motionless at you.

“Dear.” Alastor only spoke when you started staring back. Unabashedly meeting his unwavering eyes with your own. His voice crackled with static. “You-are aware of how early it is, aren't you?”

You gave an affirming hum. “Are you?”

Alastor visibly retracted himself, slowly turning back to his work despite his ears remaining pinned back. He… didn’t actually have a response for that. You both knew he had no business being here at this hour. Especially since his only reason for being the Hotel’s chef at all was some misplaced sense of culinary pride.

So Alastor resigned himself and silently continued. Slowly relaxing once again into his normal rhythm as you watched from the table. Your eyes tracing his every movement like he was a show in and of himself. Looking at him like he was a work of art.

“Al?”

Alastor simply made an acknowledging sound at your inquiry. Letting you know that he had heard you, but most of his attention was still on preparing the Hotel’s breakfast.

“I love you.”

It wasn't a groundbreaking declaration. Something yelled in a moment of despair and desperation as if the earth itself was being ripped out from under you. The ground certainly wasn't breaking apart at your words now. No. This was just a simple acknowledgment. A voicing of fact.

Perhaps that reverence was what gave Alastor pause. Made him actually consider the notion.

Love. Was that what this was? Was that this tightness, this need he had deep in his chest? Was that the name of this longing, this warmth he felt whenever you were too wonderfully close or pulled away too far? Was this… fondness, this comfort he had in moments like these… what love was?

“Alastor?”

He didnt notice he had slowly stopped what he was doing. So lost in thought that he had ceased all motion. Alastor looked back at you and affectionately chuckled when he saw the concerned look in your eyes. He found himself with a genuine smile for once. Not the usual grin that he plastered on, the one that could easily find itself more on the side of a snarl then a grin. But a real smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m fine, Love. Just thinking is all.”

If this was what love was, then he could certainly learn to live with it.

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AN: Happy Valentines day everyone! I hope ya'll find real love and happiness while I'm over here gargling my fictional men (˵˘ ³˘˵) (Also tag which type of love/way of saying 'I love you' you are; I'm Luci ◉〰◉)

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

The Angel Dust Section: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

Ngl, Vox's section was inspired by the strange like... silent agreement that alot of people have that Vox definitely tells you he loves you while your sleeping. Ive noticed a bunch of people have him do that in their fics and its just funny to me that so many people have come to the same conclusion.

One such fic is this adorable little drabble over >>HERE<< by @voxisdaddy

There is a super cute post about trying (and failing) to cook for Alastor and Lucifer and them having to step in to help you by @alastor-x-reader-stories over >>HERE<<

ALSO HAVE THIS STUUUPIDDD-- fic that I actually almost had a panic attack over because I couldn't find it and I thought it got deleted-ANYWAY. Its by @girlboypersonthingy and its a wonderful fic about Lucifer desperately pining over the reader and I reread it ALOT its over >>HERE<<

[redrose10]

I wasn’t 100% sure on which prompts to use, but I really hope you like it! @maryhopemei

(Underrated outfit choice)

<The Boy Next Door>

Yoongi X Female Reader. Arranged Marriage AU.

Warnings: Lots of angst but Yoongi is fluffy and tries to make it better, mentions of abuse of different kinds, insecurities, feeling like having to pay for things with sex, drinking, bullying, hints of being forced to do things

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

You were five years old. Your dad had come home on a rampage, he was upset about something that had happened at work which he then tried to drink away with liquor, but the only thing that did was make his mood worse. It wasn’t the first time he had come home like that. Screaming, cursing, throwing things around the apartment. He went after your mother first. He went after your older sister. He then set his sights on your brother. Before he could find you though you slipped out into the hallway. You stood there crying unsure of where to go or how to even get anywhere. Then you heard something.

“Pssst.”

You looked around unable to find the source of the sound.

“Over here.”, they said.

A few doors down you saw someone peaking out into the hall. You took a hesitant step towards them when they opened the door a little more and stepped out. A boy about your age, the same height, with chubby cheeks, a button nose, and cat like eyes.

“Shhh, come here.”, he motioned for you to come inside with him. You were unsure because your mom had made sure you were well aware of stranger danger, but when you heard another glass shatter inside your apartment you decided you would rather take your chances with the boy next door.

He took you inside and gave you a glass of milk and a few of his cookies he had secretly saved from dinner to have as a late night snack. He didn’t say much. Just sat there with you as you tried to calm down. He gave you a blanket and grabbed a pillow off of his own bed and then walked you over to the couch. He gave you a warm, comfy, safe space for the night until his mom took you back home the next morning. Your parents moved away shortly after that. But that night was the first of many encounters you had with Min Yoongi.

The next happened just a few years later. You were in the fourth grade. It was one of the first warm days of spring so you were sitting on a bench enjoying the sunshine and just minding your own business while reading a book during recess when Jun Park walked up to you with two of his friends following close behind.

“Whatcha reading nerd?”, Jun laughed.

You pretended to ignore him hoping he would just loose interest and go away, unfortunately you were not that lucky.

“Maybe if you had friends you wouldn’t be such a loser.”, he added, but when he still didn’t get a reaction like he wanted he grabbed your book throwing it into the mud next to you.

“I’m talking to you.”, he spat going to grab your hand, but someone else was faster, “Don’t touch her or I swear I’ll take every single one of your Pokémon cards and light them on fire while you helplessly watch.”

Jun and his friends backed away with their hands up, “S-Sorry Yoo-Yoongi.” They turned and ran back over to the playground far away. Yoongi bent down and grabbed your book out of the mud. He used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe away the dirt before handing it back to you. Silently he walked away and rejoined his friends who were waiting for him by the basketball court. You watched him play finding yourself smiling a little every time he scored a basket.

In high school Yoongi had been a little more prominent in your life although not by his own doing. He was the captain of the basketball team, leader of the student council, one year he was even class president. Everywhere you looked his face was plastered or he was giving a speech. He had a gaggle of girls that followed him around constantly trying to get his attention. In the years prior his dad had started a tech company that quickly soared to the top of the ranks making the Mins one of the wealthiest families in the country so their only son was quite the hot commodity.

In the twelfth grade a boy, Ha-Joon, started showing interest in you. He would flirt in between classes and buy you lunch. To your surprise one day he asked you out on a date. Hesitantly you accepted and as the day got closer you even started feeling a little excited. The day of your date the bell rang and you happily ran to the door and swung it open, but you were shocked to see someone else other than Ha-Joon.

Instead, Yoongi greeted you, “Ha-Joon only asked you out as a joke. I heard him talking about it in the locker room last night. His plan was to never show up at the restaurant while his friends took pictures of you sitting there alone to post online and make fun on you.”

You nodded feeling your throat close up and tears begin to form. “Thank you.”, you whispered trying to close the door, but Yoongi’s boot blocked the way. “Y/N, I’ll uh I’ll take you to dinner instead…if you’d like.”, he offered, but you politely declined not feeling much in the mood after that and not wanting to burden him. You were thankful he saved you from being even more embarrassed than you already were.

Then on your Twenty-fifth birthday your parents dropped a bomb on you. Your father’s company was failing. Your father was stubborn and refused to give up his place so he chose to give you up instead. You were to marry the son of a competitor so that the two of you could pretend to be a loving couple for good publicity and in return his parents would invest in your fathers company. You hadn’t ever planned to get married. You had very little trust in men after what you had endured growing up so it wasn’t part of the plan for you. Yet they still introduced you to your soon to be husband, Min Yoongi.

After the wedding he showed you around your new penthouse. The kitchen had breathtaking views of the city. The living room was large and well furnished. He showed you his office. The gym area. He gave you a quick tour of the bedroom and then he walked you down to the end of the hall encouraging you to close your eyes. Gently he guided you into the room before prompting you to open them.

“I hope it’s okay.”, he said nervously scratching his arm, “I went to the library and asked for recommendations based off of the books you already had.”

You spun around looking in awe at the shelves and shelves of books. A big comfy couch adorned with pillows and fluffy blankets sat next to the window. The corner of the room even had a little coffee station and a small cooler for bottles of water and there was a bin for snacks. He thought of everything.

You had never had anything so wonderful done for you before. But then a realization hit you. Most men, at least in your experience, never did anything nice like this without expecting something in return. And you were his new bride after all so of course he was expecting a thank you that went beyond words.

You started getting a little dizzy at the thought. You knew that day would come. You weren’t quite ready for it yet, but you wanted to try and make him happy.

“Umm sh-should we go to the b-bedroom now?”, you questioned not looking up from the floor.

“Well I mean it’s only like 4pm, but if you’re tired you can certainly take a nap. I know it’s been a long couple weeks.”, he chuckled looking at his watch.

“Oh so um how do you want to do this then?”

“Do what?”, he asked.

“Sex. I…You built this whole library for me. Don’t you want a thank you?”

“What?!”, he choked on air, “No no no Y/N. I just wanted to do something nice, make you a comfy safe space to go to. I…You don’t have to thank me, especially like that, especially if you’re not ready.”

By that point both of your cheeks were bright red and there was an even bigger awkwardness in the room.

“I uh I have to go take a quick business call.”, he said standing up, “Feel free to stay here or go take a nap or whatever you want. I’ll let you know when dinners ready.”, he nodded and left the room swiftly.

The next few weeks with Yoongi were practically perfect. You just couldn’t stop the fear that one day he would change and become just like every other man had been in your life.

Every Friday he came home with a bouquet of flowers for you to brighten up your library, but you assumed it was because he had done something wrong and needed your forgiveness. You’d seen your father do it a million times before, except Yoongi never did anything other than throw away the old wilting ones and replace them with the new lively bunch.

A few months later on your birthday he surprised you with a cat he adopted from the shelter. She had soft white fur and beautiful blue eyes. She looked just like the kitten you had as a child. You named her Petunia. Even though it seemed like Yoongi never came home without a new toy or treat for her (he claimed they were on sale or just somehow magically ended up in his bag) you still feared the day you would do something to upset him and he would re-home your precious cat just like your father had done after you failed an important math test.

And then one day you opened up one of the cabinets in the kitchen and three of his whiskey glasses fell and onto the counter and shattered. They were one of a kind and handmaid in some country you’d never even heard of. They were extremely expensive and he was very proud of them. Quickly you cleaned up the glass and threw it in the trash before returning to your room. When Yoongi got home a few hours later excited because the bakery finally had your favorite blueberry muffin in stock, he found all of the broken glass in the trash after going to throw away the bag. He went looking for you to make sure you hadn’t got hurt, but what he found hurt him more than any shard of glass could.

You were curled up in the corner of the library tightly clinging to Petunia sobbing and begging him not to take her. If he hadn’t known about your past he probably would’ve laughed thinking you were joking somehow, but he knew something must’ve happened back then to lead you to this state. He remembered seeing you with the little kitten around the apartment until one day he didn’t. So he sat down next to you gently scratching at Petunia’s chin and letting you know that the whiskey glasses could be replaced and that neither you nor the cat were going anywhere.

When your sniffles finally settled down he turned to look at you gently whispering your name, “Can I hug you?”, he asked. For a second you froze but ultimately agreed by releasing the cat and turning to let his arms embrace you. That was the first bit of physical affection the two of you shared and the first big chip he made at the wall you built.

Tonight Yoongi wanted to take you out to dinner. You sat across from him taking in the scenery. It was one of the nicest restaurants in the city and because they knew who he was, the wait staff put in extra effort to make the experience special.

Yoongi was really attentive. He asked about the books you’ve read, even writing down a list of your absolute favorites so he could read them himself. He asked about the places you wanted to travel to and any dreams or goals you had. It was a nice evening and for the first time in your relationship you really started to relax a little thinking that maybe he really wasn’t like the others.

But then those feelings returned all too quickly. Yoongi was talking about wanting to plan a trip to the Maldives, but he was worried about who would watch Petunia because he didn’t trust anyone enough when you saw it. A beautiful woman walked by in a tight mini dress that she was filling out perfectly. Yoongi looked in her direction as she walked by. It was slight and if you blinked you would’ve missed it, but you saw it and you felt your entire mood deflate. It all made sense now. Why he wanted you guys to get dressed up. Why he took you to this fancy dinner on a random Wednesday night. Why he was being really sweet this whole time trying to make you feel comfortable. The two of you had been married for almost eight months and had yet to be intimate together and you knew it was probably killing him if he hadn’t been getting it elsewhere.

But then it hit you again. What if he was seeing someone else? He has needs and they were needs you had refused to provide for. Why wouldn’t he find that release in another woman? He was handsome, wealthy, successful, charismatic so he probably had women lined up. If you denied him tonight he was going to be angry. He’s probably fed up and at his wits end with you. He’ll kick you out. Leave you on the streets with nothing. The last boyfriend you had kicked you out of his car in the middle of the highway because you refused to sleep with him after a dinner similar to this. And Yoongi will do the same. You’ll be homeless. He’ll keep Petunia. Oh my god Petunia! Your eyes started to tear up before hearing your name.

“Y/N how does coffee after dinner sound?”, he was asking with his head cocked to the side noticing you hadn’t heard him the first time, “There’s a really nice cat cafe a few blocks from here. I think they do adoptions too. Maybe we can find Petunia a sister. She’s been really clingy lately and this cat psychology book I read said that it could mean she’s lonely and needs a friend, but like a cat friend not one of us. Which is dumb because I thought I was her best friend, but I guess I could see why she’d want another cat running around. I mean if I was a cat I’d want another cat around to talk about cat things with.”

Normally you would find his little tangent somewhat endearing, but at the moment you were coming to terms with the fact that your marriage was over and the only decent person you’ve ever had in your life was going to be gone for good.

It all became too much and you didn’t even bother to answer him before running out of the restaurant letting the cold rain drench you outside. You felt like you were sprinting down the street, but it didn’t take long for Yoongi to catch up to you anyways.

When he did he quickly took off his jacket and wrapped it around you, “Y/N what is wrong? I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you. If you’re not ready for a second cat you just say so.”

“It’s not about the cat.”, you cried into the air.

“Then tell me Y/N, tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it?”

You shook your head, “I saw you looking at that woman. I know what you want tonight. I’m just I’m not ready and you’re going to be angry and finally get rid of me.”

“What woman?”, he questioned genuinely unsure of who you were talking about, “Y/N I’m sorry if I did something to upset you, but I wasn’t looking at anyone. You are the only woman I’ve noticed this entire evening. You’re the only woman I ever notice. I didn’t bring you here in an attempt to get you to do anything. I’m really sorry if I made it seem that way.”, he sighed, “I just wanted to take you out to a nice dinner and get coffee. Kind of like a date. We’ve never really done that before.”

You continued to stand and cry out in the rain not realizing how badly you were shivering. Yoongi noticed though. Slowly and gently he reached for your hand keeping his eyes on you to see if you would have a negative reaction to his touch and when you didn’t his grip tightened a little and he pulled you back to the parking lot. Once in the car he cranked the heat and made sure your seat warmers were on. When your shivering finally stopped and your sniffles had almost subsided he pulled out of the parking spot and headed home.

The drive was silent for a while until he stopped at a red light. “You make me the happiest person alive, you know?”, he said confidently reaching for your hand again, but keeping his eyes on the road not wanting to completely overwhelm you, “And I never expect anything from you especially things you aren’t ready for. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I just…I just want to make you feel loved and safe and happy and comfort. You deserve it. I hope that one day you’ll learn to accept that.” The light turned green so he shifted into drive and you began crying again, but this time for a whole different reason.

“Babe, are you home?”, you heard Yoongi shouting from the hallway. The last couple of months had seen big improvements in your relationship. While you were still a little unsure at times you stopped comparing him to the prior men in your life and started accepting him for the kind, loving, faithful, patient man that he was. You were definitely more open to hugs and hand holding. Cuddling on the couch was a new normal and even in bed you tended to fall asleep tightly wrapped in his arms, but there was still one step you had not taken yet.

Tonight you were finally ready.

You were sat on the edge of the bed in the white silk nightie you recently purchased as an impulse buy. Your heart race increased a little more with each of his footsteps that brought him closer to the bedroom. All of the practice you did trying to pose seductively went out the window thanks to your shaking knees.

“Hey babe let me take a quick shower and then we can figure out dinnerrrr oh my god I am so sorry!.”, Yoongi squealed before quickly covering his eyes with his hands, “I didn’t see anything I swear!.” He tried backing out of the room, but ended up backing straight into the wall instead hitting it with a big oompf sound.

“It’s okay. I…I planned it so that you would find me like this.”, you said getting off of the bed to go to him. Softly you pulled his hands down so he could look at you. His cheeks were bright red as he fought for his life trying not to look below your face. “Y/N.”, he breathed out deeply, “You don’t…we don’t have to do this.”

You smiled and took his belongs from his hands setting them down on the desk in the corner.

“I know, but I’m ready. I want to…with you Yoongi.”

It took a little more reassurance on your part, but eventually you ended up on the bed lying underneath him as he rested on his forearms above you, his head hanging low to kiss you softly.

“Are…Are you sure?”, he asked for a final time feeling it getting harder and harder to hold back. “Yes Yoongi. I’m ready. I trust you. You make me a better person love, and I hope you know most of this character development is because of you. Thank you for being patient with me. I love you Yoongi.”, you said rubbing your hands up and down his arms soothingly.

He smiled, “I love you too Y/N. More than I can ever tell you.”

That night was one filled with gentle kisses and soft touches and sounds and movements and praises and mostly just love. A love you didn’t know existed. A love you didn’t think was possible. A love that started by that boy next door who saved that scared, hurt, broken little five year old girl all those years ago and a love that continued to work day after day to make sure she never had to feel that way ever again.

[taeaura]

Thomas {Hewitt}'s Voice

Because I swear he can talk 🙏

Hii - I’ve been thinking about this for a while now: What would Thomas’ voice sound like? I decided to waste my time {watching TCM interviews / bts} so that I could gauge what Thomas’ voice would sound like.

Evidently, Thomas would have an accent reminiscent of those around him. Luda Mae, Henrietta, and Kathryn / The Tea Lady have the most authentic ‘Texan’ accents out of the family, considering those actresses are the only ones from Texas. Hoyt / R Lee Ermey is from Kansas, and Old Monty / Terrence Evans was born in Pensylvania. Andrew Bryniarski {Thomas} was also born in Pensylvania - Which is very evident in his accent in later interviews.

Things to consider: Bryniarski has been suspected of the usage of sterroids and alcohol abuse - Which can alter your voice - This is extremely prevalent when comparing modern interviews to older interviews.

Bryniarski’s voice is slightly nasally, a bit raspy, and on the deeper-end of the spectrum. At times, his pitch is average - Others, it’s lower. His voice never gets ‘high’ when he’s speaking, but it can through non-serious or extreme measures. I.E; When Thomas' leg gets cut {1:19:15}, Erin chops off his arm {1:25:07}.

Speech Pattern:

Thomas' vocal cords don't appear to be damaged, just scarcely used. This could make speaking a difficult and uncomfortable {mentally, physically} task for Thomas. It's a chore rather than second-nature. This also applies to his oral and mastication muscles. The only time he uses his mastication muscles is when he eats - which is AT MAX three times a day. I'd say maybe just two. This would lead to muscle atrophy - weakening or loss of mass in the muscles. When we talk, the neck and tongue muscles {Strap muscles, Thyroid muscle group, Cricoarytenoid muscle group, Genioglossus, hyoglossus, palatoglossus, styloglossus, Superior lingualis, inferior lingualis, vertical lingualis, and transverse lingualis} do the majority of the work.

Considering Thomas' mastication muscles are weaker, he'd {most likely} have difficulty pronouncing "t", "k", "d", "g", and "r". Thomas would also be prone to slurring, mispronunciation, slow speech / common pauses, enunciate the wrong syllable - or enunciate equally, and inconsistent speech / errors.

Here's clips of Andrew speaking on the TCM set - I figured clips of him on / around set would be more accurate to how Tommy speaks JUST BECAUSE Andrew would be in the headspace of Thomas during this time.

{Warning: The audio quality is so ass I apologize 😞}

I think Thomas' voice would be more like Bryniarski's in the third video - where he's talking about Leatherface's relation to the chainsaw | 'Leatherface's best friend is his chainsaw.' {Which I will be making a post about that specific statement.}

Obviously - Thomas would have a southern {Texan, specifically} accent, though I don't know how 'rough' or 'thick' his accent would be. I have an inkling that Thomas would have a rasp because of his weakened vocal cords. Probably lots of depth to his voice, though it wouldn't be excruciatingly deep. Most likely reminiscent of Andrew's pitch - With minor changes depending on the situation, energy levels, hydration, headspace, and how much he's spoken that day {I'm projecting here ☝️🤓}. His preferred form of communication would be minimal, blunt statements, using as little words as possible. Simple 'yes'' and 'no's' would be portrayed through nodding / shaking of the head. Directions would be communicated via pointing.

For example;

"Have you eaten yet? / Are you hungry?" = "You eat?"

"I like green." = "Green, good."

This is NOT because Thomas is dumb - Contrary to popular belief of the town. It's because talking is a chore for Thomas. It's something he has to think and put effort into as opposed to yapping your ear off. He'd also only speak if it was really important. I doubt he'd be a chatterbox, but he'd make noise like grunts or groans - Some incomprehensible sounds that are only distinguishable by those who've been around him long enough. You'll get the hang of it - Recognizing certain sounds correlate with specific experiences or responses. Do NOT try to imitate them - He'll glare and shut off socially; Which is the opposite of what you want if you want to get close to Thomas. {And Luda Mae would beat you black n' blue for making fun of Tommy.}

--

tldr; Thomas would {most likely} have a voice reminiscent of Andrew Bryniarski's - Slightly raspy, heavily molded by a Texan accent and pronunciation issues.

____

[vettelsvee]

COME WHAT MAY | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ ACT I: LOSS OF MY LIFE [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

come what may masterlist | formula 1 masterlist

Red Bull Sebastian Vettel x Red Bull intern & Webber girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: During 2010 RB6 presentation and preseason testing, Mark starts acting quite weird with you. To your surprise, Webber gives some opinions on your work that start making you overthink, even when Seb tries his best to calm you down. You know 2010 season is going to be a hell when Webber asks to have a private conversation with Christian Horner and Helmut Marko.

WORD COUNT: 3695

WARNINGS: Angst, curse words and bad language, toxic relationships involving mental abuse and manipulation, such a toxic Mark Webber, mentions of death and suicide

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @residentdemonhunter @astronomyandfrogs @herdetectivetheorist @prttylight @i-love-sirius-black7 @dreamauri @03071987 [feel free to join the taglist!]

VEE'S NOTES: I didn't post this earlier because I wasn't in a good mood after the prologue wasn't pretty liked to be honest, but here I am! Sorry for the delay, and if you read this hope you like it <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Jerez, Spain 10th February, 2010

You hadn’t received a single call from Mark since the day you last spoke to him. In fact, you hadn’t expected him to call, but that didn’t stop you from feeling disappointed.

The only thing you got from your boyfriend was an endless string of missed calls, followed by the sound of his voicemail, his pre-recorded voice telling you to leave a message and that he would call you back later. And you did leave messages, knowing full well you wouldn’t get a response.

Instead, it was Seb who spoke to you every day.

The German hadn’t said anything else during that fateful dinner that should have been a refuge for both of you; nor did he bring it up for the rest of his stay in Linz or even when he was back in Heppenheim. Even though you had agreed not to see each other again until it was time to fly to Spain for the presentation of Red Bull’s new car, the RB6, Sebastian never stopped worrying about you. He called you daily; he was the first to hear about your grades from the penultimate semester of university, and sometimes, you even fell asleep while still on the phone with him. You both stayed up late talking, no matter how many times you promised to sleep early, only to curse yourselves the next morning for breaking that promise, despite knowing you would do it again.

You tried, with difficulty, to get some sort of call, message, or even a breakup and an explanation from Mark about why he no longer wanted to continue your strange relationship. You did everything you could to let him know that the team had contacted you, requiring you to be in southern Europe in February, but it was impossible.

The blue-eyed man who made your days easier, especially as your father’s health worsened and you were already grieving before the inevitable, not only showed interest and happiness that Red Bull Racing’s intern would be at the event, but he also offered to travel to Austria and stay with you for two or three days before the flight. He knew how terrified you were of flying and didn’t want you to go through it alone.

You didn’t see Mark or anyone from the team, except for the obvious Sebastian and his PR manager, Britta Roeske, during the two days leading up to the big event. That Wednesday, however, anxiety took over as you got ready in your hotel room. The feeling only intensified as you headed to the circuit with your best friend, realizing that you would have to face Mark.

It was barely ten in the morning, and the air was already thick with the persistent scent of burnt rubber, oil, and fuel, not to mention the noise caused by photographers, journalists, team members, and the occasional fan roaming around.

The RB6 had just been unveiled, and now, everyone was behind the cameras, hidden in the garages after dealing with the press. All that was left was to wait for the mechanics to finish the final adjustments before the first day of pre-season testing began, with both Webber and Vettel taking part.

Sebastian stood beside you, tucked away in a corner of the garage. His arms were crossed, and his eyes constantly moved, not out of nervousness, but out of an effort to stay in control of everything. He knew you would run into your teammate at any moment, and more than wanting to prevent an altercation, he didn’t want the Australian to create a scene big enough for others to notice.

More than anything, he didn’t want all of that to be another burden for you.

You, on the other hand, were nervous. Your hands fidgeted, grasping each other, playing with your hair, or clutching your jacket. Your eyes darted around, and each time a door opened or someone entered, your body tensed, only to relax upon realizing it wasn’t the person you dreaded seeing most.

It hadn’t even been a month since your last conversation with Mark, but enough time had passed for you to try to push it from your mind, or at least, to not give it so much importance. But you couldn’t. It still hurt to comprehend that he only called to demand explanations about your life and judge you, fully aware of how important Seb was to you, rather than to apologize for forgetting about you for weeks despite your insistence on staying in touch.

You gave up, but that didn’t make you feel any better. The only thing that comforted you was knowing that you had been there for Sebastian when he needed a friend the most. But what made you question whether it was all worth it was the fact that Mark had already made up his mind, and nothing you could say would convince him otherwise.

When you turned to look at the man beside you, and he gazed at you with a light in his eyes that you had never seen in your boyfriend’s, you knew you would endure a thousand more fights with Mark just to see Sebastian happy.

Finally, Mark appeared, his race suit half-unzipped. He started chatting with some team members, who seemed more than happy to see him after so many months.

As he cheerfully greeted each one of them, playing the part of the charming prince, Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see his teammate the same way anymore—not after hearing him yell at you over the phone and, worse, manipulate you in ways you didn’t seem to notice.

“Y/N, you don’t have to talk to him right now,” Sebastian murmured, stepping closer to you.

You felt a shiver run through you but tried to stay in control. You saw Webber approaching, and by instinct, you moved closer to Seb, almost knocking him over. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you from falling.

“Sorry…” was all you managed to say, unaware of what he had just told you.

“Talk to him when you feel strong enough,” Vettel continued, his voice just as calm. “Take a deep breath, and think carefully about what you want to say.”

“No, Seb, I need to talk to Mark as soon as possible…”

“Y/N—”

“If he’s going to act the way he did on the phone or make passive-aggressive comments through veiled insults, I’d rather he say it to my face,” you declared. Then, sighing, you forced yourself to relax before walking toward your boyfriend. “I’m sorry…”

Sebastian sighed this time, and despite knowing Webber was watching, he hugged you. Then, glaring at the Australian, he gently cupped your face in his hands.

And oh, how he wished he could not only kiss you but also make you see that you deserved far more than the love Webber had made you believe you were worth.

“Be careful, okay? Mark… He knows how to hurt you.”

You nodded timidly before kissing his cheek, promising him that everything would be fine, even though you had no idea what would happen or how things between you and Mark would end.

Without saying much more, you started crossing the garage, trying to follow Mark’s steps. After seeing how you and Sebastian had been acting, the two of you, who claimed to be nothing more than best friends, Mark had decided to leave, holding back the urge to cause a scene that would land both you and him on the front pages of every Formula 1 gossip magazine… if that was even what he wanted, of course.

"Can we talk?"

You quickened your pace slightly and carefully grabbed Mark’s fireproof suit. He turned around, coming face to face with you, frustrated, maybe even disappointed. You knew he was angry, even though your voice sounded firm. At least, that’s what your body language was screaming.

"Oh, now you want to talk?" Webber laughed bitterly.

"Don’t start," you warned, raising your voice a little more than you should have. "I just want to clear things up because, since you didn’t give me the chance to do it on the phone, maybe now that I have you in front of me, you will."

"Let me remind you that you were the one who hung up the call after I… I don’t know… maybe started pissing you off by calling you out for hiding things from me?"

You tried to argue back, but you knew it wasn’t worth it. Instead, you stayed quiet, though you rolled your eyes just enough to let Mark know how impossible he was—and to irritate him in the process.

He wanted you to torment yourself, to let the guilt eat you alive until you admitted the truth—the way he saw it. And deep down, that was exactly what he wanted.

"Fine. Go ahead," the Australian finally conceded.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm before speaking.

"You accused me of things that aren’t true, Mark, and you know it. Seb was in Linz because he needed a break, okay? He needed to clear his head, disconnect from everything… He and Hanna had just broken up, and I offered to let him stay at my place for him, not for me. He needed support, and that’s what friends do."

"And out of all the people who could have been there for him, he had to choose you?" Mark scoffed, tilting his head slightly at your explanation. "That’s a bit strange, don’t you think?"

"It’s not what you’re thinking, Mark."

"Yeah, I know. But let me tell you, it’s pretty damn strange. And forgive me for doubting you, but isn’t it interesting how you’re always there when Seb needs someone? It’s almost like… like you want him to need you."

Your hands clenched into fists on instinct. You were quickly reaching your breaking point.

"I was just being a friend, you know? Not like you, who couldn’t even bother to pick up the damn phone once or even send me a single message since the season ended."

"Oh, so now this is my fault?" Mark pointed to himself, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"I just want you to know that I didn’t do anything wrong."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. Do you know what your problem is, Y/N?" He stepped closer, forcing you to take a few steps back, not that it mattered, because he grabbed your wrists before you could escape. His grip was tighter than you would have liked. Even when you tried to pull away, he didn’t let go. "You always think you can fix everything. You think you can save everyone from whatever pain they’re going through. But I don’t blame you. Maybe it’s just your way of coping… making yourself feel better after your mother killed herself."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You were speechless. Breathing became harder, and seeing became nearly impossible with the tears welling up in your eyes. Everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the man in front of you and the words he had just spoken.

Maybe it’s just your way of coping… making yourself feel better after your mother killed herself.

For years, you had convinced yourself that your mother had been sick, that you weren’t at fault for not being able to save her. That you weren’t to blame for not getting home earlier that day, only to find her lifeless on the bed. You had told yourself, over and over, that you were just another victim of that suicide.

"Mark, I… I didn’t…" The lump in your throat made it impossible to speak, and neither did the tears that spilled from your eyes. "I’m not seeing Sebastian… I only love you…"

The words slipped from your lips automatically, but you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Mark… or yourself.

He only shook his head, trying not to laugh at how pathetic and ridiculous you must have looked to him.

"If that’s what helps you sleep at night, keep lying to me. But if you really aren’t cheating on me with Vettel, I suppose I’ll have to see it for myself."

"Hey, Webber! Quit messing around with your girl and get over here! Didn’t you say you had something really important to discuss with us?"

Both of you turned toward Christian Horner, who was standing at the door of one of the makeshift offices. Through the window, you could see Helmut Marko buried in paperwork while marking something on his phone.

"Yeah, of course! I’m coming!"

You felt a wave of relief as Mark turned his back to you and walked away, without another word, without even saying goodbye, heading toward that room. You wanted to argue, to keep insisting that you had nothing going on with Seb, but you knew it was useless. Nothing you said would change Mark’s mind.

All you could do was stand there, staring at the door he had just walked through. You tried to peek through the window to see what that sudden meeting was about, one you had heard nothing about, but you gave up when your boyfriend suddenly glanced in your direction. He shot you a knowing smile before pulling the blinds closed.

"Shit…"

Your stomach twisted into knots as you turned around, aimlessly walking through the garage.

"You’re scrunching your nose. A lot, I’d say," a voice, too familiar, spoke in front of you.

If it hadn’t been for the German standing in your way, you would have walked right into him.

Why did Seb always show up when you needed him most?

Maybe because he knows how much you’re being hurt… and he was listening to the conversation as well.

No, that was impossible. He had probably just been waiting around in the garage until they told him he could do another test lap.

"You know I always scrunch my nose when I’m mad." Seb raised an eyebrow, and you rolled your eyes. "He was talking shit about you, Seb."

"Talking shit about me? Or talking shit about you and blaming you for doing things with me that, by the way, we haven’t done?"

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to answer because, once again, he was right.

Mark knew exactly how to get into your head, how to manipulate you until you started doubting yourself. Meanwhile, Sebastian had somehow become your voice of reason when you felt like you were losing your mind.

"I feel like he thinks I feel too much, you know?" you admitted, dodging his question, dodging the conversation entirely. You didn’t want to talk about Mark. You just needed to get this off your chest. "Like I have some kind of savior complex…"

"Because you couldn’t save your mother," Vettel finished for you. You cursed yourself for letting him hear that part. "Jesus, Y/N, that’s complete bullshit. Not about your mom," he quickly corrected himself, stumbling over his words, "but him saying that. You just want to help people… maybe the way you wish someone had helped you."

"But you help me… My dad, my aunt, my uncle and, well, my sisters," you muttered. "But whatever. The point is, you try explaining to him that everything he says is complete bullshit."

"Honestly? I would if I thought it would do any good," he said. "But since I know he won’t change his mind, I’d rather not waste my time. I’d rather spend it with you."

You gave him a tired smile. Seb could tell you were trying to put on a brave face, just like you always did when things weren’t going well. At that moment, something deep inside him burned with the need to protect you from everything that hurt you.

That was how he had felt for the past few months, but he did his best not to show it, to try to ignore it… yet all he managed to do was make it grow larger and larger.

And that was exactly what scared him the most about yourself in that moment.

"Come on, let's go," was all he could say as, unlike Mark, Seb took your hand as if it were a delicate, breakable piece of porcelain.

"Where? The pretesting session is about to—"

"Fuck the pretesting session," he cut you off, not giving you a chance to say anything else.

Seb’s fingers intertwined with yours, and even though he wasn't entirely sure where to go or what to do, one thing was clear, he just wanted to get them out of there, far away from where Mark had once again treated you so badly.

As you crossed the paddock under the watchful eyes of some journalists, you ran into Britta Roeske, Seb’s PR manager and, in many ways, his savior… or even a second mother, depending on how someone looked at it.

The woman, perfectly dressed in her Red Bull uniform, wasn’t surprised to see you together, but she was surprised to see you that together. She couldn’t help but glance down at your still-intertwined hands and then back up at both of you, incredulous.

"Don’t you dare be late. Thirty minutes, Sebastian," was all she said.

"Seems like you don’t trust me," he answered with an innocent smile that, rather than a trick, seemed completely sincere.

"With her?" Roeske pointed at you, who merely shrugged and curled your lips into a small smile. "Not really, to be honest. Be careful and don’t do anything you’ll regret later."

Neither of you answered that, but you both knew exactly what she meant.

You continued walking in a comfortable silence around the circuit, getting further away from the paddock. Seb went along with what you jokingly called a "track walk rehearsal" until you reached a grandstand area. Once seated, you had a perfect view of the entire track.

"Thanks for everything," you murmured, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Seb, on the other hand, draped an arm around your shoulders and, noticing how cold you were, took off his jacket and placed it over you.

"You don’t have to thank me. I hate seeing you like this. Out of all the people in the world who don’t deserve to feel this way, you’re at the top of the list."

Neither of you said anything else. You simply smiled and, for the first time all day, without fear, leaned against Seb’s chest. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pressed a kiss to your forehead and started playing with your hair as he always did.

"I don’t understand why he’s talking to Helmut and Horner," you broke the silence, sitting up slightly to look at Seb. "What could possibly be so important that they had to have a meeting today?"

"Yeah, I was wondering the same thing," he frowned. "To be honest, I don’t like it…"

"Do you think it’s about me?"

Vettel bit his lip at your question. He wanted to be honest with you, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make you worry more or overthink something that might end up being trivial.

"I don’t want to assume, but… Webber is the kind of guy who likes to control everything and, with that, do whatever it takes to stay in the spotlight," he commented, carefully choosing his words. "If he feels like he’s going to be the second driver again, like last season…" Seb hesitated before continuing, trying to find the right way to say it. "I don’t know, Y/N, maybe he just wants to twist the narrative to fit his paranoia."

He couldn’t lie to you. You didn’t deserve that.

You swallowed hard.

"Do you think he’s going to turn them against me?"

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that whatever he’s saying won’t change the fact that you belong to this team, that you belong to…"

My life, he thought without a shred of regret, but with too much fear to say it out loud.

"You’re smart, Y/N," he continued. "This is your second year with the team; your third with me. You know everyone here, and most of all, you know me perfectly. And if that wasn’t enough, you work harder than anyone, Rocky’s words, not mine, while also juggling university and taking care of your father and sisters."

"It’s just what I have to do…"

"If they don’t realize what an incredible person they have right in front of them, that’s their problem, not mine."

You lowered your gaze, unable to stop yourself from blushing.

"Why do you always know exactly what to say to make someone’s day better?"

"It’s not about making someone’s day better, Y/N. It’s just telling the truth about what an incredible person you are."

For the first time, you found the strength to look at Seb without feeling embarrassed. It felt… strange. You didn’t know what exactly, but you were sure that the way he spoke to you, the things he said, the way he looked at you…

It was as if Sebastian truly saw you as more than just a friend.

Once again, neither of you dared to speak.

Seb wanted to say a thousand things, but he knew it wasn’t the right moment. And when it came to you, you wanted to take things slowly, savoring every moment, and, most importantly, putting your well-being first.

You, on the other hand, had always seen him as your safe haven since you arrived at Toro Rosso in 2008. But now… it felt different. Maybe it was what you had been denying to yourself finally coming to the surface, the thing that had been there for about two years, back when Seb were still dating Hanna.

Maybe, the silence you were now sharing would, one day, turn into the confession neither of you had been brave enough to admit, to yourselves or to each other.

"Seb…"

"Come what may, okay?" Seb interrupted you gently, taking your hand and tracing small hearts on your skin. "Never forget it: I’ll be there, here, wherever… but with you. Come what may."

[kingsmoot]

ok we're back with ten more image slots to talk about joffrey's inherent badness because the text argues vehemently against this thing that people keep saying in my tags that joff is just uniquely bad and wrong and was destined to be a cruel, violent, spiteful despot. someone said that robert hit joff so hard he got brain damage and that's why he's Like That™️. this is no different than saying that joff is A Bad Apple because he is a bastard born of incest, abhorred by the gods. or that he is bad because his mother is a lannister and so he is of tainted, evil stock. the argument that joff is not only uniquely but inherently bad is refuted time and again by the text, and by me. let's discuss.

agot; chapter 30, eddard vii

above, robert confides in ned that he loathes his son and heir. cannot abide him. is terrified that he will one day take his throne. he claims that ned does not know him as he does (when ned has suffered far more for joffrey's actions than robert! his lady wife's hands disfigured by joff's hired catspaw, his daughter's soulbonded warg beheaded thanks to his lie that both his parents accepted) and crucially, robert blames cersei's parenting and joff's lannister blood on the fact that he is unfit for the throne.

yet joffrey is the image of his father (robert, not jaime). he acts in ways that he thinks will earn robert's approval. he acts out because of robert's disdain and abuse. robert (and many others) says he sees nothing of himself in his son, and yet this is time and again proven false.

asos; chapter 53, tyrion vi / asos; chapter 63, davos vi

cersei and stannis both recall the incident where robert was so enraged at joffrey that he hit him hard enough to knock out two baby teeth. hard enough that stannis thought he'd killed him with the blow.

and the act of animal cruelty that provoked this ire in robert was a clear mirroring of (genuinely i cannot remember if it was ser amory lorch for real or gregor clegane who did this idr which version of the story is a lie) presenting robert with the dead and mangled bodies of princess elia's children, who were viciously butchered in their beds. it would make perfect sense for joffrey to have heard that story more than once, and to have understood the pleasure robert took in seeing the dragons slaughtered. killing a pregnant cat and presenting robert with her dead unborn kittens is something a small child exposed to his father's brutality and violence would do to please and emulate him.

(much pithier post by @visenyaism about this same passage: https://www.tumblr.com/kingsmoot/724517618713837568)

and, of course, none of the three adults in the room with joff when this happened thought to teach him anything about why this was not something they wanted him to do. his father beat him while his mother (robert's property even more so than joff. understandably helpless in this situation) and his uncle (not helpless. should have opened his mouth) watched. there is always an adult in the room and they are always doing nothing.

and even after this. years after this!! after who knows how many more instances of scorn that would not have registered with the other adults present because they were not physical violence, joff still tries to emulate his father:

acok; chapter 53, tyrion vi

asos; chapter 77, tyrion xi

WELL A SON TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER :(

could it be that there is somewhere else in the text where we have seen a father disparage his cruel, violent, monstrous son on the basis of his inherent wrongness? absolving himself of his own responsibility for the boy's behavior? 🤔

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

i've made one post before comparing joff and ramsay as expressions of their mothers' rage and as characters driven by the entitlement their mothers sowed in them (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/723616029989896192/) but this time i want to focus on their fathers' culpability and denial

i do not draw the comparison between joff and ramsay to either:

absolve ramsay of his responsibility for his actions as a serial killing serial raper who tortures theon and donella until they lose every last shred of their humanity. he's like thirty. OR

compare or equate the actions of an adult man doing leatherface/otis driftwood shit to a little boy being supported in his terror and violence by the huge and powerful group of adults around him (ramsay's violence is his own. he is skinning and raping women in the woods. he is killing children. he is torturing theon and donella and raping jeyne. joffrey's violence is not his own. it is carried out by willing participants thrice his size and twice his age at least.)

i draw the comparison because roose and robert both blame the intrinsic, immutable, corrupted nature of their sons on why they are monsters, and yet both of them also acknowledge (subtly) that the fault is theirs.

robert's "jon despaired of me often enough, yet i grew into a good king! (...) ah, say that i'm a better king than aerys and be done with it!!" to ned is telling. he knows that he's a horrible king. he knows that he hasn't grown out of anything. (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/773495838881333248/) he claims to ned that there is something wrong with his son and he blames the lannister bitch for it, but somewhere deep down in the parts of his grey matter the light or the conscious can never touch... he knows what he is. and he knows whose son joffrey is. and he knows what that makes the both of them.

and roose, who blames his son's monstrosity on his bad blood, leaves us with the very obvious question of whose blood it is that's in him? roose's preoccupation with his own bloodletting takes on a very different cast after this exchange with theon. the leeches suck the bad blood away, all the rage and pain. the rage and pain ramsay is filled with would poison even the leeches... but how much rage and pain does roose need removed?

roose sent a serial killing serial rapist to raise the child of a woman he brutally raped and whose husband he murdered (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/757215882916265984/) and acts as if ramsay growing into the kind of man that he grew into is an issue of his low birth out of wedlock. robert is a huge violent wife beating drunk who delights in the gruesome slaughter of babes in their beds and acts as if joffrey's cruelty and violence is the frigid lannister bitch's fault. can you see how the text purposefully sets up two of its most vile and overtly hateable characters to have the exact same justification for their sons' actions and how by doing so it is suggesting that you, the reader, should not believe them?

overall, the asoiaf series stands in staunch opposition to the concept that your birth determines who you are (yes, even with the prophecies and the chosen ones and the many heroes' destinies). to believe that joffrey baratheon was born bad is to misunderstand the core of his character and also to forgive and absolve the many characters who have actual power of their responsibility for "his" actions, and to forgive (and praise!) robert, cersei, tyrion, and jaime for their abuse.

to believe that there was nothing anyone could do to stop joffrey baratheon's reign from driving westeros into the ground but to kill him, is to concede that the murder of children is justifiable and necessary, something that the text pointedly and repeatedly refutes (the murder of elia and rhaegar's children repeatedly defined as a fracture in ned and robert's relationship and a stain on his reign, jon snow switching gilly and mance's babies, stannis' refusal to burn shireen, davos' saving of edric storm, cersei's murder of robert's bastards, the list goes on and on and on and on)

joff is literally 13. how is this lost on the vast majority of asoiaf's audience. have you ever met a 13 year old? he's a 13 year old boy who was beaten and neglected. the fact that a traumatized child has the "power" to doll out life and death sentences is in fact a structural issue. the fact that a bunch of 30+ year old professional body guard attack dogs nod along and happily beat the living shit out of the 11 year old girl joff is engaged to is very pointedly not joff's fault. would you, tumblr user reading this, beat the shit out of a child if another child told you to? probably not, right? that would be fucking insane, right? you would feel that it was your responsibility to NOT beat the shit out of a child no matter what position the other child telling you to do so had above you, right? you know that the smallfolk of king's landing, who were literally being shot at and murdered by joff with his automatic crossbow, also said that it was the adults on the counsel's responsibility to reign in the boyking on the throne? ok well they are imaginary people being shot with an imaginary crossbow and you as the real flesh and blood audience have so much more perspective on this situation than them. OK, GOOD TALK.

[noirsdoll]

just a quick drabble abt reader picking up prison!jimmy from jail!

(for context this is an au where he went to jail for what he did to anya. cw for mentioned rape/abuse and smoking)

His hair could do with a trim.

Jimmy’s thrown it into a bun that’s more of a limp knot than anything— jagged strands frame his constant grimace and splotchy stick-and-pokes peek out from under his collar. 

He put on muscle, it surprises you. The man’s only ever been a deadbeat to you, you’re shocked his eyes even had the strength to look at a barbell. The fat jokes you brainstormed on the way here promptly die on your tongue. 

There’s a nasty split in his lip and a bruise frames his cheekbone like crappy blush. He's wearing the same leather jacket that he had on when he got arrested, it's gray on the shoulders from water damage. Ratty jeans and even rattier sneakers— at least he’s not sagging. 

The automated slammer doors roll shut behind him with a beep. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet and pretending like you’re not the only one standing here to pick him up. 

“Over here, sweetie.” You snap your fingers at him like you’re calling a dog with a toy in its mouth. “Hurry up— I’m double-parked.”

You turn without checking if he’s following you— Orpheus has nothing on you. His grunt of annoyance confirms there is a cat in your box. 

You pop your gum, rounding the hood to the driver’s seat. The keychains on your keys jingle as you unlock your car. It’s one more accident from falling apart, your wheel’s missing its horn and the entire radio unit’s been stolen. 

Spitting the gum onto the pavement, you slide in front of the wheel. Jimmy stands awkwardly outside the shotgun door— it’s still locked because you think it’s funny that he gets so annoyed when it is. 

Your shiny pumps stomp down on the gas and you pull out onto the street, clearly speeding along the barren road. Jimmy stares out the window with his arms crossed, giving you the silent treatment you expected. You watch the plains melt into shitty residential areas and the street lanes get more crowded. At a red light, you light one of your many cigarettes of the day. 

After a moment, he reaches for your cigarette like a greedy toddler, you swat his hand away without a glance. With the cigarette tucked firmly between your lips, you complete a two-handed turn onto your driveway. 

Jimmy kicks over one of your lawn gnomes on your way to the door— for looking at him funny, you guess. You pay it no mind.

“Your room’s exactly how you left it,” you say, tossing your keys by the door.

When he doesn't answer, you turn to face him. “What, so you’re just not gonna say anything to me now?”

“You could’ve paid my bail,” he says quietly, malice tinting his voice.

“You could’ve not gotten arrested.” You lean on the kitchen counter and light a fresh cigarette as soon as the current one fizzles out. “God, Jimmy, do something with your life, why don’t you?”

He stands there on the other side of the room, staring at the ground, silent. The way he gets when you’re right and have talked him into a corner. You’re angry now, continuing the tirade.

“Two years, Jimmy. Christ—,”  You run a frustrated hand through your hair. “Do you expect people to always just clean up after you?”

“I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“But you wanted me to, right?”

He snorts. “You act like you know me.”

“I clearly don’t! You got that girl pregnant, Jim. That poor fucking girl, God, I— I can’t believe you.”

His eyebrows twitch in surprise. “She got pregnant?”

You nod. “She kept the baby. The kid’s sixteen months old.”

“Oh, and you two are friends now?” Jimmy asks cooly.

“The least I could do was help out after what you did.” You scoff. ”Why’d you even do it in the first place? Am I not enough for you?”

Jimmy half-rolls his eyes. “Did I ever say that?”

You can’t believe this is the man you waited for all this time. “Don’t you feel ashamed? Remorseful? Anything?”

“I was fucking drunk, okay? I don’t wanna talk about this again—”

Your eyes go wide in shock. “Being drunk doesn’t make you stick your dick in the first pussy you see! It doesn’t make you strangle a girl half to death!” You bury your face in your hands, tears swimming in your vision. “God, Jim. Fuck. Fuck!”

Jimmy walks closer, draping his arms around you. “Don’t… cry, please.” It’s said with as much empathy as he can garner— a net total of zero.

“I shouldn’t be here right now. I fucking shouldn’t.” You look up at him with glossy eyes. Your cigarette blazes out in your limp hand, all but forgotten. 

Your hand cups his face, running your thumb over his prickly stubble, catching on his fresh shaving nicks. He tried to shave for you today. He tried.

You look away. “I fucking hate you. I hate you.”

“I know.”

[loveandmurders]

Hi, I don't know if your requests are open. But you would ask me what the slashers would be like (thomas hewitt, hannibal, bo sinclair and any other slasher if you like). with a mute s/o (who does not speak and only communicates by signs).

I love your blog

Hey darling, I hope you'll enjoy these little thoughts for the three slashers you mentionned.

It was my first time writing for Hannibal (I used the one from the series, hope it's okay!) and it was a lot of fun 🥰

SILENCE ISN'T WEAKNESS (gn!reader x Thomas Hewitt / Hannibal Lecter / Bo Sinclair)

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of bullies in Thomas' headcanons but he is there to protect you, violent and abusive/abused!reader in Hannibal's headcanons, mentions of a toxic family, killer!reader, cannibal!reader, mentions of murders and Bo being an ass (as usual), let me know if I forget anything.

Thomas Hewitt

When you arrived in town, you were still a child. You had cried so much and you had begged your parents to not move out from the town you had forever known.

Back there, you had struggled so much to get friends, because of your mutism, so you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to befriend anyone else.

People weren’t always nice to you, and they often forgot about your existence because they couldn't hear your voice to remind them you were there. You were also an easy target for bullies.

Thomas spotted you right away obviously.

And the first time, he stood up against bullies was for you. He couldn't stand that someone like you could get hurt.

You grew up together and you never left each other's side. Not even when his family decided to kill people to survive, and he was so grateful for that; he would have been completely lost without you.

You both enjoyed the silence full of love and tenderness between the two of you.

Actually, because you knew each other so well, most of the time, you didn’t even need to fully sign a word or a sentence for the other one to understand what you meant.

Your complicity and love for each other turned into something more than just friendship pretty naturally as you became adults.

Thomas truly felt blessed to have you in his life, because he knew someone was able to understand him and to be on his side no matter what. And vice versa.

Once a man moved in front of you while you were waiting in a line, and when you tapped on his shoulder to let him know you were there, he faked not understanding you and he laughed at you for not being able to speak.

It upsetted you quite a lot. You talked about it to Tommy because it was unfair for someone to treat you that way. Thomas simply asked you what the man looked like.

And the next day you found the man kneeling on the kitchen floor, begging for your forgiveness. His nose was broken and his face was already swollen from the hits he received from Thomas.

The Hewitts let him go once you accepted the apology. After this event, no one ever mistreated you.

You were happy among the Hewitts, Hoyt enjoyed your silence, Luda Mae enjoyed how soft you were to Thomas and Monty enjoyed how sassy you were when people were turning their back to you.

Hannibal Lecter

You grew up in a very poor and abusive family. Violence was the only thing you ever know. You quickly learnt that the people who should have taken care of you, would easily forget about you.

You had to learn another way to express yourself; a cruel and rough way. You couldn’t count all the time your knuckles got raw and bloody after you had beat someone to almost death.

Well the “almost” disappeared at some point. You were a hungry beast who didn’t trust anyone or anything. You knew that one day you were going to die in the street or die in prison, but truly you couldn’t care any less. 

You killed a man twice your size one night. He had stolen and eaten the food you just bought. It was the only meal you might be able to afford this week, so you had gone absolutely crazy.

When the police found you, covered in blood, they thought it was just another homicide in the poorest neighborhood of the city. That was until they saw that the man was missing a leg… and that you deliberately cut him into pieces, to cook and eat him.

Your case didn’t go unnoticed by Hannibal. He quickly used all his relations so he could get you as his patient. He wanted to meet another cannibal like him.

When he saw you for the first time, he didn’t get disappointed. Of course, you looked so ill because of the absence of food but he promised himself he was going to take such good care of you.

You didn’t understand why the man was so careful with you, so gentle even. He didn’t know a lot of ASL but he learnt more for you.

He carefully and patiently coaxed you into talking to him. The fact he brought you food all the time helped a lot, of course. He was the first person who used a soft voice to address you, he was the first to look after your wound, he was the first one to gently touch you.

You started to fall in love with him, and once he was certain you were hooked, he revealed his true nature to you and you only loved him more for it. You understood him, like he understood you. 

He never felt so much happiness when you eagerly ate the meal he prepared for you, while knowing where the meat was coming from.

Bo Sinclair

At first, Bo thought you were going to be a very easy prey. After all, you couldn’t scream for help and he noticed that your group of friends weren't checking on you as much as they should to keep you safe.

But because of your mutism, you were listening and observing people very well. Your friends were under Bo's spell but it was obvious to you that he was no good. Something in the way he looked at your friends when they weren’t watching made you wonder.

You also noticed someone moving from the corner of your eyes when you were visiting the House of Wax. You felt in danger until you used ASL to answer your friends. It was as if the shadow lurking in the dark couldn't hurt you anymore.

You did your best to never stay alone with Bo or in the House of Wax, no matter how much he tried and flirted with you.

Bo was quite dejected you weren’t falling right into his arms. He wasn’t used to that, so it quickly became a new challenge. He started to get interested in you because clearly you were a smart person.

At some point, he made a slight misogynistic remark about one of your friends and you sent him such a full of rage and venomous look that he shut up. He thought you were incredibly hot and he wondered if you might be as dangerous as his twin.

He started to sign to you as a peace offer and you were surprised he knew ASL. He told you about Vincent and he noticed it changed a lot of things for you. You started to get less impatient with him even if you didn't trust him

It didn't save your friends though. You mourned their death in the Sinclair's house.

You hated to admit it but talking with Vincent helped you a lot. You felt understood and you slowly stopped being afraid. You didn’t really have a choice anyways.

Bo never stopped trying to seduce you and it slowly started to work.

With you, the man was different. Your silence was bringing him peace. Your presence was casting his demons away. Your eyes were the most breathtaking things he ever witnessed. Your touch was driving him absolutely insane.

And maybe you were enjoying the silent and yet complete power you held over the man.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Dave being brutal with reader while eating her out and fingering her until she squirts🥵

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), squirting, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Music meant a lot to Dave, he always came to you to talk about his bands and his playing, always showing off to you. When he got the Metallica gig he wouldn't shut up about it, and you were the first person he told after they fired him.

He asked if he could stay with you for a bit, you had a good job and an apartment to yourself. It was just one bedroom but Dave was fine on the couch, anything was better than the streets.

You hadn't quite factored in how he'd be feeling -you did to a point, he'd be angry, frustrated, sad, what you didn't think about was how that would be expressed.

You could barely get a word in before he was guiding, more like pushing you to your room. His lips were on yours in an instant, his hands on your hips, leg pushing between yours and grinding you against him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, gently pushing him off. "Davie-Davie, wait, what-what are you doing?" You asked, he was going through a lot and you didn't want to take advantage of him.

He was breathless and panting when he replied, eyes dark and desperate, glassy but he wouldn't let you see him cry if it killed him. "I need a win today." He said. "Please, just-just give me that." You couldn't say you wanted him to stop, Dave was big and hot, it wouldn't be your first time together, he was definitely better than other guys you'd been with.

With no consequences you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down again, his lips crashing against yours once more.

He pulled and tugged at your clothes until they were scattered across the room, leaving you in nothing but your pretty pink panties. They weren't lace or silk, nothing fancy, it was laundry day after all, but Dave had plans.

He planted open mouth kisses on your clothed clit once you were on your back, your hands knotted in his hair, hips bucking up into him. He pushed your panties to the side and pushed a finger into your sopping entrance, easily finding what made your back arch and not hesitated to abuse your hole right out the gate.

He was using you to get out all his anger, all his emotions, he just needed something. He needed a win and you were easy when you were whining and crying just from a few kisses and his fingers.

Two fingers pistoned in and out of you, curling and stretching you out. Your back arched away from the mattress, if you tried to move, to roll over, Dave stopped you with a harsh smack to your ass -or hip, whatever was closer. He'd use his free hand to keep you in place, swatting and slapping, holding you in place while he ruined you.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking while his tongue swirled around the sensitive nub, flicking it and pulling you closer to the edge. Dave had never done this with you before, never used his hands like this, it was always just straight to fucking because it didn't count unless he got his dick wet.

"Davie! Davie it-it feels weird!" You whined, pulling at his hair to get his attention, all it did was pull a low groan from him that went straight to your clit. Your eyes rolled back, jaw dropping as Dave's name flooded past your lips what must have been a thousand times.

Dave kept fucking you with his fingers as gushes left you, making your legs shake uncontrollably. The sheets were drenched, so was his shirt so when you calmed down he pulled it off and climbed over you.

Your eyes didn't quite focus on him but a tired smile found its way to your face. "There's my pretty baby." He mused, kissing your cheek sweetly. "Now, you're gonna show me every way I can make you do that again and again." He said, voice taking on a much darker tone now. "You don't have work tomorrow do you?"

You gave a small nod. "Five-five till closing." You mumbled, checking the clock on your nightstand.

Dave sucked his teeth. "Oh, well, guess you better hope you can get your legs working before then."

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 53

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1100

Masterlist

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I opened my eyes.  

My room was bathed in soft, muted light filtering through the thin curtains. It must have been late in the morning.  

I turned over.  

She was there. Lucy. Lying on her side, facing away from me, she seemed to be in a deep sleep. I could hear her steady breathing. I only saw her tousled ebony hair and her shoulder, bare beneath my white sheets.

I smiled, my thoughts drifting back to the wild day I’d had yesterday.  

...The deep disappointment I had felt leaving that office. Lucy’s attitude, her tone, had hurt me terribly. With tears in my eyes, I’d sought comfort in Alexia’s arms—and a few glasses of champagne, which managed to lift my spirits. I was furious with her, cursing her, swearing it was over, that this story was going nowhere.  

...The profound surprise of seeing her there, at my door, past two in the morning. How fragile she suddenly seemed!  

At first, I wanted to slam the door in her face, to tell her it was too much, that I was exhausted from it all.  

But nothing was simple with Lucy. I knew it, I loved her. It was that need to see her, to speak to her, beyond all logic or reason.  

So, I let her in.  

...The sheer disbelief I felt seeing her faint. She must have barely eaten all day. And let’s not even talk about sleep!  

Could our situation have affected her as much?  

Lucy had shown her vulnerability—the woman who always wanted to appear strong and unshakable.  

She touched me in ways I couldn’t put into words.  

Were our problems resolved? No, obviously not.  

But yesterday, what seemed insurmountable—her stance, the consequences of our relationship—now felt trivial.  

I had missed her so much. Feeling her so close warmed and soothed me entirely.  

I was no longer afraid.  

I placed my hand on her shoulder, wanting to feel the softness of her skin against mine. I felt a small movement, like a shiver under my palm.  

Without seeing her face, I could sense that she was smiling.  

Suddenly, her voice:

"Are you trying to abuse your position, miss?"

It was my turn to smile at her comment.

"Hmmm... maybe! You see, I’m in a position of power—I’m on my own turf!"

She laughed, turning slowly to face me.  

Now, she was right in front of me, just inches away, her gaze locking with my blue eyes. Stunning.  

"You might start to think it’s you making me weak!"  

She had that playful, sparkling look in her eyes.

"Which is only the truth! I’m irresistible, what can I say!"

I loved this game between us, teasing and circling around each other, without any real control.  

"Not in that hideous colorful sweater you’re wearing! Don’t dream!"  

We burst into laughter together, growing closer, our hands intertwining, seeking, tangling together.  

She added:

"Although, I did notice you gave me your sexiest pajamas! You’re impossible!"

Indeed, the situation was hilarious—me in baggy sweatpants and an oversized, multicolored sweater, the ultimate outfit for a night of sulking. And her in her rather tight-fitting shorts and top.  

I straddled her, looking down at her teasingly.

"So... what are you waiting for to take off that ugly sweater?"

I never broke eye contact. Slowly, wordlessly, still holding my gaze, she peeled off that first layer that stood between our two bodies.  

Her hands caressed me gently, moving from my stomach up to my breasts.  

I was completely on fire—mind and body.  

Suddenly, she flipped us over, straddling me with a commanding look.  

I ran my hands along her thighs, inching up her shorts, sneaking my fingers under them. She bit her lip with a moan of pleasure.  

My hands found their way to her shirt.  

"You look sexy in this top, but I think I prefer you without it."  

I carefully slid it off her, taking my time. It was clear that we were both desperate for each other, yearning to rediscover sensations we had missed for months. But we also wanted to savor the moment.  

Her breasts stood proud in front of me—perfect, firm, pointed in my direction. I cupped them in my hands, caressing them, teasing her hardened nipples.  

The tension was unbearable, my heart racing uncontrollably.  

Her lips—I could only see her lips now.  

I needed to taste them again, to feel her tongue against mine.  

Quickly.  

I leaned in closer. She whispered in my ear, smiling:

"Weren’t we supposed to talk?"

The ultimate provocation.

"I want you so much..."

What followed was a whirlwind. Her lips met mine, and I was overcome by exquisite sensations.  

There was no need to take our time anymore.  

Our bodies craved each other with insatiable desire.  

Soon enough, my awful sweatpants and her shorts found their way to the floor.  

Our moans of pleasure, our cries, and our ragged breaths echoed between those four walls. We were like two souls parched with thirst for one another—a thirst for desire, for insatiable pleasure.

In a shared cry, our entwined bodies dripping with sweat, we climaxed together. Unable to let go of each other, we stayed locked in silence, trying to catch our breath and gather our thoughts. No words were necessary at that moment.

I drifted into a drowsy state, disturbed only by the sound of the shower running. Lucy had gotten up, and without her warmth, I felt a bit colder. A few minutes later, she returned, smiling brightly as she sat on the bed. Leaning toward me, she kissed me, caressing my cheek.

"I have to go, Ona!" she said.

I pouted. "On a Saturday morning?"

"I need to have a quick debriefing with my team about yesterday, and I'm having lunch with my sons at noon. Shall we meet this afternoon?"

"Fine. Are you coming here?"

"Yes, if that's okay with you. The twins will be at my place today, so it’ll be easier to talk here."

I smiled and flipped her onto the bed. "I love it when we 'talk'..." I teased, kissing her neck passionately.

She laughed, trying to free herself from my grip. "I'm late, Ona, hands off!" she exclaimed, kissing me one last time before leaving my apartment with a playful wink.

My heart felt light as I had breakfast that morning. My gaze wandered to the day's newspaper, which I had just fetched from my mailbox. On the front page was Lucy, standing confidently next to the minister, exuding strength, charisma, and determination. I smiled. I knew that was only one side of Lucy. She was so much more than that.

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Not-So-Lonely Valentine's Day – Glen Powell

When I saw the date for this weekend, I groaned internally. Instantly, I grabbed my phone and texted my best friend from childhood.

Me You in town this weekend or have I lost you to some on-location extravagant filming adventure?

It didn't take him long to text back.

Partner in Crime Nope. Nothing extravagant planned.

With a smile on my face, I instantly responded.

Me Good. Because I'd hate to share the great Glen Powell with anyone.

Partner in Crime I'm all yours, gorgeous.

Me What Netflix romance movie did you just finish?

Partner in Crime How do you always know??

Me It's the "gorgeous".

Partner in Crime Come again?

Me You only ever call me "gorgeous" when you are filming or finished filming a romance movie. Those always turn you into Glen "Romeo" Powell.

I laughed out loud when my phone started ringing and a picture of Glen popped up on my phone. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"Is that what you call me, darling?" He asked as soon as I answered the phone.

"You get tired of texting?" I teased instead of answering.

"You know me," he said simply. "I'd rather hear your perfect voice than imagine how your voice would sound as you make fun of me."

"Damn," I chuckled. "Your last movie did a number on you."

"I don't believe you," he teased. "You think that the movie I'm working on has any influence on how I act in real life."

"They do!" I said the same time he said, "I don't!"

"Glen, true or false," I challenged, "you texted me and called me gorgeous?"

"True," he stuttered.

"True or false," I said again, "you called me "darling" as soon as I answered the phone?"

"True, but. . ." He tried to counter.

"True or false," I cut him off, "you described me as having a "perfect" voice that you'd rather hear than texting me."

"True," he grumbled, accepting defeat.

"True or false, all of that happened within the last three minutes?"

"Okay," he cut me off. "I get it. The movie I'm working on slightly influences me in real life. Not like it's a bad thing."

"I'm not complaining," I laughed. "It's better than you becoming violent."

Silence fell between the two of us and a thick tension built. It was clear we were both thinking about my first college boyfriend. I was with him for two years. The last year of our relationship, he started to get violent. First, verbally. Then, physically.

"You know me, Y/N," Glen said, breaking the silence, his voice steady. "I would never hurt you."

"I know that," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's why I ran to you after the first time Kyle hit me. It's why I begged you to help me get away from him. It's why I stayed with you until we were sure he wouldn't come after me."

"I never would have let him," he said through clenched teeth.

"I know that, too."

The silence returned. I hated talking about my ex. Glen always reacted like this. He got so angry and blamed himself for how far the abuse got even though I kept it from him longer than I should've.

"You were asking about my weekend plans?"

"Yeah," I stuttered, still shaking off the PTSD. "I was hoping you weren't working so we could spend the holiday together."

"You really want to spend Valentine's Day with your childhood best friend?" He teased.

"It's either that or I watch a violent movie and drink away the singleness."

"Well, now you got a drinking buddy."

* * * * *

I opened the door, a smile instantly spreading across my face as I saw Glen holding a Valentine's bear that was holding a small balloon, a fake rose, and an overly big box of chocolates.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He cheered.

I smirked before grabbing the Valentine's puppy dog, box of chocolate, and balloon I bought him today.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" I cheered back. We both laughed as we swapped cheezy presents.

"What would you like to do tonight?"  He asked, his playful smirk slowly forming.

"Honestly," I sighed as I walked back into my apartment, "I don't want to do any of the cliche Valentine's shit. I just want to treat tonight like a normal day."

"Normal best-friend date," he teased. "You got it."

I ignored my heart jumping into my throat when he called this a 'best-friend date'. He always called our hangouts that. And every time he did, it made me melt.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back outside. With our hands intertwined, he led me to his car. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I didn't care. I was just happy I wasn't alone.

"Has it ever occurred to you that we've spent more Valentine's Days with each other than people we've actually been dating?"

We were at a red light, so Glen looked at me. "That's not necessarily a bad thing," he said, trying to comfort me.

"I know," I sighed. "I mean. . . It's a little sad, don't you think? It's hard for you to get a girlfriend because of your schedule. Me? I've never had a boyfriend because I was too busy winning science fairs and studying brain functions."

"To be honest," he chuckled, reaching across and grabbing my hand, "guys only stayed away from you in high school because I threatened any guy who looked at you."

"Wait, what?" I chuckled.

He cleared his throat, slightly adjusting himself in his seat. "Our junior year of high school, I overheard some of my teammates talking about you. They kept saying how much they wished you were at our games for them and how much they wished they could take you for burgers after practice. It got on my nerves. A lot more than I should probably admit. I kinda snapped. And next thing I knew, I was threatening to break their kneecaps if they kept talking about you."

I didn't know how to respond to that. My mind instantly went into overdrive as I thought about how Glen's team seemed overly nice to me in high school.

"You're not mad, are you?" Glen asked a few minutes later.

"No," I said with a small chuckle. "I'm just thinking. It makes sense now."

"What does?"

"Why your team was always so polite to me."

"They were?" He laughed.

"Absolutely," I smirked. "They'd say 'hi' to me in the halls. Hold the door open for me if I was behind them. Asked how my classes were. They always asked if I was going with you to their parties or hangouts. They seemed to believe we were inseparable."

I turned to look at him when he tightened his hand around mine. "That's because we are," he said, his voice slightly softer.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I guess we are."

* * * * *

After getting the pizza, Glen and I decided to go back to my apartment and watch an action movie.

"I still don't know why you went let me watch it," I teased as we got out of his truck. I smiled when he reached over and grabbed the pizza out of my grasp.

"I already told you," he let out a playful and exaggerated sigh. "I don't want you watching Hitman or Anyone But You."

"Why not?" I asked with a playful whine. "They're your movies."

Glen stopped walking and pulled on my hand, making me stop too. "I know they're my movies, Y/N," he said, his voice suddenly soft. "And that's part of why I don't want you to watch them."

"That doesn't make any sense," I said, dropping my voice as well. My heart sank when he looked down, slightly shaking his head.

"I know," he whispered. When he looked up at me and continued talking, his voice was a little louder. "Truth is, Y/N, I don't want you to see me playing those types of roles. As successful as each of those movies has been, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit ashamed of some of the scenes."

"You shouldn't be," I tried to reassure him. "They were just scenes, Glen. I know you. You're not really like that."

He looked into my eyes and smiled softly. "I'm glad," he chuckled. "Because for some reason, I care what you think about me."

I bit the inside of my cheek when he leaned in and kissed my forehead. He started to head to my apartment but it took me a second to sort through my recent flood of emotions. I cleared my throat and jogged towards him.

We made it all the way up to my door before I realized something.

"Damn it," I mumbled.

"What's wrong?" Glen chuckled. I sent him a hesitant smile.

"I may or may not have left my key. . . in my apartment."

"That's a helpful place," he smirked. He looked around, trying to figure out what to do.

"We could go to your place," I shrugged.

"Nah," he shook his head. "I got an idea."

"Am I going to like this idea?"

"Ehhh."

"Okay," I sighed. "Let me rephrase. Is it safe?"

When Glen looked at me, he had a soft smile on his face. "Would I ever knowingly put you in danger?"

"No," I said softly. With the pizza still in his hand, he used his free hand and grabbed my hand. He led me into the alleyway, making me slightly nervous.

"You sure about you never knowingly putting me in danger?" I joked as he let go of my hand. "You just led me into a dark alley."

He handed me the pizza and sent me a wink. I watched as he jumped up and grabbed the ladder leading up to the fire escape. When he turned back to me, he had a proud smirk on his face.

"Great," I said sarcastically. "Except, how do you expect us to get up the fire escape while holding the pizza?"

"Oh ye of little faith."

He took the pizza and started slowly climbing the ladder with one hand. I shook my head before following him up to my apartment. One-handedly, Glen opened my window. I bit my lip to stop the laugh when he turned and sent me a playful glare.

"Your window is unlocked."

"Hey," I said pointing at him. "Get mad at me all you want but this is how we're getting inside."

"When we get in," he started, "you are going to start locking your windows."

I laughed as he stepped into my room. He put the pizza down on my bed before turning and helping me through the window.

"And," he said, still holding my hands in his, "you are giving me a spare key to your apartment. I need to know that I have a key for the next time you forget yours."

He leaned in and kissed my forehead before turning around and grabbing the pizza. He opened the door but stopped when we heard the music drifting down the hall.

"Gross," I groaned.

"What?" He asked, turning back around.

"My roommate has a visitor," I said, leaning around him and closing the door.

"At least someone is getting laid on Valentine's Day," Glen joked. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the pizza from him.

"Dinner on the floor it is," I sighed. I sat on the floor, instantly leaning my back against my bed. Glen grabbed two pillows, putting one behind me before sitting next to me and putting a pillow behind him.

"Not so bad," he shrugged. I didn't hide my surprise when Glen randomly jumped back up.

"What are you. . ." I cut myself off with a laugh when Glen grabbed my computer.

"Just because we're quarantined in your bedroom, doesn't mean we can't watch a movie on your laptop, on the floor."

I smiled when he sat next to me. I opened and logged into my computer as Glen opened the pizza box. We ended up watching a random spy movie on Netflix. Halfway through the movie and all the way through the pizza, we moved onto my bed.

I barely got through the first hour of our second movie before I leaned my head on his shoulder and fell asleep. I didn't wake up until Glen gently touched my face. When I did, the credits were rolling.

"What time is it?" I mumbled sleepily.

"A little after 11," he whispered. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair.

"You should probably head home, huh?" I asked even though that wasn't the question I had wanted to ask him.

"Yeah," he sighed.

Was it just me or did it seem like he also wanted me to ask him something different?

"I've got to be at set by 10 tomorrow and with LA traffic. . ."

He didn't finish his thought. Instead, we fell into a weirdly tense staring contest. I broke the contest by looking away. Without saying anything, we got off my bed and I walked him to the front door. When we got to the door, we both stopped. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and turned toward him.

"Thanks for making today a little less depressing."

"Anytime," he smirked. I held my breath as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. My heart sank as he left my apartment. As I closed the door behind him, I leaned my forehead against it.

"Why can't you just tell your best friend that you have feelings for him?" I scolded myself. I was just about to kick off the door when someone frantically knocked. When I opened it, I wasn't expecting him.

"Glen," I stuttered. "What are you doing back? Did you forget something?"

"Yeah," he said, slightly breathless. "I did."

"Okay," I said, looking back into my apartment. "Just tell me what you forgot and I can help you. . ."

When I turned back toward him, he grabbed my face and pressed his lips firmly to mine. My body reacted instantly. I gently grabbed his waist, pulling him closer, as I started to kiss him back. There was a small voice in the back of my head screaming at me to stop. That voice made me break the kiss.

"Glen," I whispered, out of breath. I leaned back, my face inches from his. "We need to think this through. Once we cross this line. . . There's no going back."

"Do you wanna go back?" He asked, his voice so soft it sent chills down my spine. As I studied his eyes, I couldn't miss the hope in them.

"I don't," I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be. He smiled, letting out a sigh of relief before kissing me again. We broke the kiss slowly, each of us with matching blushes on our faces.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Glen."

[violinios]

kind of a Dream analysis?

i don't know how to start this without saying "sorry for my bad english". i'm not confident when writing long texts in english. will include personal visions/headcannons.

i want to talk about Dream's childhood and adulthood more, and how he was also abused by the villagers, yet people think Dream was extremelly loved by them. not only that he was loved, but also that he was one to blame for the events that happened during the apple incident.

there's a difference between Dream feeling guilty for not being able to do anything and him actually having blame for what happened in the village. (cof cof, survivors guilt.)

first of all, can we talk about how Dream and Nightmare were BOTH suffering on the villagers hands, but in different ways? Nightmare wasn't the only victim of the malicious people. let's start with the fact that both carried a burden since they were young. two 6 year old children aren't capable of protecting anything from those who are older and are susceptible to being manipulated by adults.

they took advantage of Dream's naivety, they exploited him and that was extremelly overwhelming. there was no adult in who Dream could actually trust besides Neil, because Dream was the one who had to support everyone else with his help, including the adults, and ended receiving no support back at the end of the day. he is seen as nothing more than an extension of that tree: it only serves to offer you fruits and satisfy your needs. people forget that this tree also has its own needs and act as it will survive and serve them forever (this kind of neglect will be further explored in my second point). this burden they carried on their shoulders made them mature in a younger age than they should actually have matured, but they're still childish enough to not being able to know how to deal with a situation like that. you can't give a child the responsabilities of an adult and expect them to not grown up way too fast, but you can't also expect them to fully understand the task they received and do it correctly.

they both were neglected as children. yes, even Dream was, don't leave him out of this topic. they had no proper education, never had a childhood a normal child would have and were never given anything unless if the villagers wanted to manipulate Dream somehow with gifts and stuff. they didn't actually cared about none of their needs. the only ones who cared about Dream and Nightmare were, well... Dream and Nightmare. yes, Dream DID cared for Nightmare, he was worried for his brother, but as Nightmare got extremelly depressed, he started to isolate himself from Dream and didn't knew how to express his emotions/was trying to protect Dream's feelings. he was naive, yes, but the fandom acts as if he was completely ignorant about Nightmare's suffering, when Dream TRIED to help him, he noticed something was wrong but Nightmare hid it from him. i just don't understand how people are blaming a 6 years old for what happened in that day. i wish people understood that Dream didn't had a good childhood either, and tried to understand his side.

Dream's traumas/the effects the traumas gave Dream during his adulthood are also extremelly overlooked. the neglect from the villagers makes Dream suffer in the future with self-neglect instead as some kind of self-punishment. he has a self-forgetting mindset. the only way he seeks pleasure is by making others feel pleasure too, and the only way to feel satisfaction is through connection with other people. he might feel guilty when he allows himself to feel pleasure, as if he doesn't deserves happiness. why be happy when there are people who need it more than i do? he "forgets" to connect with himself, as if he has no identity when he's alone, as if there's no 'himself', no 'Dream', only the 'guardian of positivity', and this leads him to not knowing how to access his inner self. merging with groups or individuals is the only way he can feel like he's an individual too, because they NEED him, but they don't need Dream by who he trully is, they need a idealized version of Dream. the one that can handle anything and serve them without receiving anything back (that's basically how his relationships with the villagers worked). that's why he doesn't investigate his own feelings, and instead, uses unhealthy coping mechanisms to scape reality on his free time, and i think those are one of the rare moments where he feels like he's getting in touch with himself (even if this is unconciously making him run away from his own feelings and scape trauma).

[lunasanguismusic]

Offering some safety tips in these atrocious times. Because fuck this shit!!!

For those who don't know me from my past, I am a survivor of an attempted murder/hate crime. I trusted the wrong person because he was my brother's friend. He was kind of weird, but I didn't think he was that much of a bigot until it was too late. I also assumed he wouldn't ever be dumb enough to do anything crazy at my job. Assumptions can get you killed.

The first time I turned my back on him he attacked and smashed my brains in pretty badly for quite some time, before strangling me near death. I had a gun in the office but it would not have saved me. In fact, if it was on me like it usually was, I feel he would have used it on me and I wouldn't be here today. Having my friend there did save me though. She scared him off right as I was about to die. Without her I would be dead.

While arming yourself is extremely important, please don't forget or take for granted the single most important safety tool a trans person has available. Don't go out alone if you're trans. Always have backup if you can. If you have no friends, find someone to be your backup as soon as possible. Two or more sets of eyes is so much better than one.

Never turn your back on a person you don't know exceptionally well either. Most people are loving, kind, caring souls, but trust me I've run into quite a few monsters who I didn't think were threats at first. Always be aware of your situation. Keep an eye on exit paths. Be prepared. Never go to a strangers house on a first date.

Arm yourself while you still can legally. Build a community. Join trans support groups. Take safety lessons. Triple down on vetting strangers and confirming they are a real person before meeting them. Talk to them for months if you need to. If they won't put up with your vetting, that is a red flag. Most people know or can at least understand the shit we are dealing with and will gladly make us feel safe. Pressure to meet quickly is a red flag.

I can't stress enough that most people, even conservatives are not usually bigots. Be nice to people and build strong ties. Most people just haven't met a trans person yet. The cops even, were the kindest most loving people and one stayed with me most of the night to make me feel safe that day. I don't know if he realizes how much of a difference that made in my life that day. Don't judge a book by it's cover.

Someone misgendering you repeatedly? Let it go. Give them a compliment to try and deescalate the situation. Doesn't matter how right you are, or how wrong they are. I've seen crowds turn on us. Just go home and enjoy your life. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Most trans people get murdered or harmed by someone they know. If you're in an abusive relationship, just please get out of it. Walk away. It's not worth it. Someone will love you unconditionally. You deserve better. Don't become a tragedy.

Lastly, if shit hits the fan, don't go down without a fight because you could end up tortured like our beautiful brother Sam here. They will probably add more charges later btw. That's typically how this works at this stage. Rip brother, you didn't deserve this. Hope everyone who did you wrong in life burns in hell. I'm so fucking angry you had to go through this.

Sam's go fund me. Please consider helping his family out.

A transgender man was held, tortured for MONTHS, assaulted, murdered and dumped in a field in the state of New York. The suspects are being held and charged with SECOND DEGREE MURDER (aka intentional but not premeditated.) As someone who lives in the North Eastern US I am disgusted by the depravity of this crime. The motive has not been identified and a hate crime has not been ruled out, but the justice system is historically not favorable of transgender individuals and it is possible that justice will not be served. Do what you can, tell someone about this case. Say his name: Sam Nordquist.

Transgender people: please stay safe, do what you need to do to be safe, carry weapons, be aware of your surroundings, and always tell someone where you are.

Horrible people are everywhere, the best we can do is be here and be heard.

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[rainbowcoloredpalmtrees]

get to know you tag game ✨

tagged by: @cosmicdreamgrl 💛

pronouns: she/her

star sign: cancer

siblings & fun facts about them: two younger brothers. the middle one is always up to something - recently he was hired to sell knives door to door? but we’re not sure if he kept up with it or dedicated more time to his shoe shining gig. the little one (he’s twelve) is our geographer. We always ask him where a country is and he can point it out or draw a map of it. He knew more when he was younger but he can still name capital cities of a ton of countries

pets: four dogs. they’re all my annoying babies

fandoms: there’s probably too many to name. If there’s a tag for it I was probably super invested at one point or still am super invested

favorite colour: yellow

favorite song: I’m gonna go with Yun. I hear the first few notes and it’s like I’m calm immediately.

favorite author: I haven’t read enough books by the same author to pick (outside of a series) Pachinko by Min Jin Lee is my favorite book though so maybe her? I’ll come back to it when I read her other book.

hobbies: I’m an art and pretty building lover, trying to visit more galleries and pay attention to the buildings/architects around here. Making lists should count. I’m still trying to get into journaling but no where near those who can do it all pretty.

do you have any partners? nop

fun fact about you/anything extra you want to share: I’m still pretty proud of that one time a friend asked me about a sculpture on top of a building and I was able to recognize it as the she wolf that nursed Remus and Romulus. Gave them the whole backstory and everything

tagging: @senor-hoberto @raplinenthusiasts @longlegsnamjoon420 @saraminia @ramonaflow 🫶

[todayisafridaynight]

I wanted to write in about my thoughts on Jo as a CSA survivor separately for a couple of reasons:

I already more or less have what I have to say on the topic in order thanks to talks with @starssystem and another friend [<3]

This is a massive tonal shift from anything else I could be discussing

This Is Massive In General For The Love Of God PLEASE Help Me

Obvious CSA CW for anyone else reading; I only discuss statistics, psychology, and the aftereffects seen in survivors here, but it's worth a warning.

With the disclaimers out of the way… I'd mentioned before I've only ever added one thing to Jo's background, and you were right: this is it! To me, there's so much thematic overlap in Jo's narrative with the experience of surviving CSA it's worth it to examine his character through the lens of that being the case. Of course, there are clearly-stated reasons for it all that Aren't That, but…

It's the pervasive guilt and shame, the lifelong secret that becomes too unbearable not to tell, the faulty coping mechanisms aimed at burying the trauma without having to face it, the reluctance to be sincere [vulnerable] and the lies and half-truths used to maintain the facade of invulnerability, the pursuit of power and control and the knee-jerk anger response when it's threatened, the pursuit of mastery over his body and the indifference to what happens to it. And the way a lot of it really does stem from a deeply traumatic childhood sexual experience from before either he or Ikumi understood what they were getting into, from before they could give informed consent.

Statistically, the further below the average age someone is for their first time, the likelihood of [at best] having been introduced to sex inappropriately and [at worst] having been abused at the time or earlier rises exponentially. Jo was 15 when Masato was conceived--possibly 14, since he was saying he "met" Arakawa at 15, and by then Masato was already born. To put this into perspective, since what ages register as concerning is largely cultural, the average age in the US and UK is 16-18. But in Japan, it's over 19.

To a Westerner [or even a heavily Westernized non-Westerner], having a kid at 15 is unfortunate, but not untenable; you've seen it on TV, you might know people like that, you might even be that kid or that parent. But in Jo's case, with him being 4 or 5 years younger than average, it's like if someone told you they had their first time--had a /kid/--at 13 or under. That's the equivalent discrepancy. That /is/ concerning, to me.

It's also something that's linked to negative outcomes in adulthood, partly because of the likelihood of forming bonds with poorly-adjusted peers. Jo specifically states he and Ikumi were only together because others who came from backgrounds like his own were all he had back then. [As an aside, it's interesting to see him instinctively seek out a relationship where his pain would be understood without having to say anything--or one where he could assume it would, at any rate.]

When it comes to his relationship with Ikumi, I've always felt there was this "adult dynamic" between them--in the sense it feels like one that'd be more fitting for adults to get into than a couple of teens. It was, based on his wording, a primarily physical relationship neither of them expected to last even if they were living together. To me, it's one thing if you're fully convinced you're in love or you're experimenting or whatever and that results in an unplanned pregnancy, but it's another thing entirely to have such a bleak yet objective outlook on your relationship so young.

And it didn't have to be that way. He could've been just like Arakawa, head-over-heels in love with this girl who was The Only Good Thing He Had Going, or something like that. But the sheer contrast between how Arakawa was crazy about Akane and never forgot about her for the rest of his life, while Jo more-or-less-clearly didn't have feelings for Ikumi and can't bring himself to remember her name after living with her for at least a year and experiencing life-changing events with her…

It's notable to me that Arakawa maintains an interest in women while nearly every in-character interpretation I've seen makes Jo averse to women. Obviously, we don't really know that; it's probably just based on his general attitudes, his contrast with Arakawa, and maybe his immunity to Charm. But I think there's a reason a lot of people pick up on it and tie it to trauma rather than/in addition to a lack of interest in women.

I've talked about this through the lens of comphet already [and Jo being gay or ace or both would present other difficulties], but I can't overstate how notable it is on its own. We see Jo's response to traumatic events, and it's to become preoccupied with them, to investigate further if he has any leads. That's why he remembers every minute detail of the night Masato was born and the time he saw Arakawa attempt to comfort Masato when he was crying and hitting himself. I think it's also why he gets as far as he does when looking into Arakawa's death, and why he entrusts the search to Ichi. He never seems to manage to block them out, even if that's what he'd rather do--even if that's what he thinks he's doing.

So if he "[doesn't] even remember" the name of the mother of his child, I get the feeling there's something more going on. Like I've [probably] said in the past, Jo genuinely sounds traumatized by the relationship as a whole. More than anything else he's been through, and he's been through a lot. It's often the case that CSA survivors who are also survivors of other trauma view it as worse than anything else that happened to them.

And that's not to implicate Ikumi at all, I don't think it's a case of COCSA--everything I've said holds just as true for her, and she had to suffer the additional trauma of an unwanted pregnancy and childbirth, at that. Rather, I think it would make sense for something like CSA, which often incontrovertibly reconfigures one's relationship with sex and love, to be a factor in why they rushed into a something physical before they were mature enough to handle it.

Some victims end up having perfectly healthy experiences, some victims end up avoiding them, some victims end up re-victimized, and some victims end up with a mixed bag--there's a lot of variation. But some victims do end up having relationships like this and making mistakes like this, because that's all they know, or because they want to heal but don't [or don't know how to] go about it in a healthy way, at a healthy pace. And I definitely think if you recognize that's what the basis of your relationship was, that it all comes back to something you'd rather forget, it'd make sense to want to forget the relationship as a whole.

To that end, it's possible to come away from a relationship traumatized even if no one did anything wrong. I've [probably] talked about how the way Jo comforts her at the station feels like he's doing it for her sake and pushing his own feelings down, but neither of them is really buying it. If that's a pattern in their relationship, perhaps he wouldn't have been able to communicate if maybe what they were doing was dredging up bad memories, if he wanted to stop but didn't think she did. So to go through with it, then get the news months later…

Either way, the fact Ikumi couldn't bring herself to tell him she was pregnant until nothing could be done would, for Jo, invariably cement the feeling he has no control over what happens around him. I think the sense of powerlessness he felt is why he blew up at her when she told him, because it's really the only time we see him lash out like that at her. At the park, he objects to going back for Masato, sure, but he's passive. And I think that unbroken pattern of powerlessness in his life [which CSA would only compound on] is why he's so reactionary, why he's so emotionally dysregulated, why he expresses his rage through what basically amounts to power-tripping.

But I do think Jo does have a great deal of awareness. A lot of his wording when he's telling Ichi about it borders on poetic, or at the very least candid and effective. That requires both prior reflection and a command of language. I think there's a lot he understands deep down, at least after sitting with it for long enough, but he isn't capable of voicing--or doesn't know how to voice--what's on his mind, most of the time.

So when he joins the Arakawa Family, when he rises the ranks and has that control back, his control has to be near-absolute. If it's undermined in any way--such as, for example, a certain someone failing to answer a call within two rings--he loses it. On the other side of the coin, I do feel a lot of why his devotion and gratitude towards Arakawa goes to the extent it does, why he's so comfortable with him, is because Arakawa gave him the safety of the Arakawa Family, gave him back his autonomy, gave him the environment--and treated him with enough humanity to give him the reason--to learn to regulate himself, to better himself.

And Arakawa /gets/ trauma. He really does. Aside from his own abusive background, literally the only time the word trauma comes out of any character's mouth in this series, it's Arakawa's. It comes back to Jo saying others who came from backgrounds like his own were all he had; that never changed, did it?

Lastly, For Funsies [<- LIE. COMPLETE LIE. TURN BACK NOW] I wanted to go through the items on this [CSA] Survivors' Aftereffects Checklist I could check off with near-certainty. 19/34, by the way, give or take. Now, as I said at the beginning, there are existing concrete reasons for why he has many of these experiences… but it's like the trans allegory with Masato, To Me… If I can check off over half the list based on a very limited backstory and an hour of screen time total, that's indicative of a notable overlap… TO ME…

Note that the book this list is from was published in 1990 and focuses on women's experiences. It was a huge step forward in giving survivors a voice back when a lot of existing research indicated CSA had neutral or even positive effects on children, but it's definitely a product of its time. With that out of the way…

Wearing a lot of clothing, even in summer […]

To be fair, most male characters in RGG are fully-covered and have near-unchanging designs, and it's winter in both 2000/2001 and presumably 2019, but… when it comes to Jo, it feels a little different.

He does have Some Heavage in his twenties [although the necklace takes the attention off of his actual chest], but as time goes on, he shows less and less skin and adds more and more layers. When he has the gloves on, it leaves no skin exposed at all, and there's this direct symbolic correlation with secrecy that isn't there for other characters. And if you're wearing three layers of leather [or even one], you can neither feel what you're touching nor feel anything touch you.

Pure Speculation, but I just can't really see him underdressed for any occasion… That's why his fit in Day with the Sun is funny as hell but also… yeah…

As a behavior, if it's rooted in anything, it's probably rooted in having to hide signs of physical abuse, of course--but then he kind of already had an excuse, with how he was constantly getting into fights. I guess it depends on the specifics, but I think it's interesting to consider this as one way CSA victims attempt to regain control of their bodies, avoiding emotional discomfort at the cost of physical discomfort.

Self-destructiveness

It's nothing super overt, but I see this most clearly represented in his second boss fight in particular; his willingness to wield a blade bare-handed while using enough force he could very well render his hand useless. I think it's potentially also evident in how he has severe cataracts he chooses to ignore and allow to worsen, despite having the reasons and resources to undergo surgery to restore his vision. In doing so, he literally and figuratively blinds himself to so much.

I also kind of think the assassination of Hoshino/the anonymous call and The Eye Scene are examples of self-sabotage. I mean, he literally was sabotaging himself in the former, but it's also the specific way he feels the need to be physically taken down in order to be stopped--possibly a holdover from RGGJo, who's only too happy to be beaten into a coma.

I don't know… It's hard to pinpoint, but I feel like he would be averse to most of the more "obvious" self-destructive behaviors--especially when he has people in his life who might notice and worry, like Ikumi and Arakawa. That and because many of them are addictive. He's seen what that's done to his father, and he's also developed this incredibly rigid sense of discipline he can't maintain if he doesn't have a clear head.

From how he talks about himself [as having lost his humanity and lived a half-assed life], I definitely think he's at the very least unkind to himself, but I also think he does externalize it by provoking others to harm him [in the case of physical fights] and reject him. Like he needs some kind of proxy perpetrator. For some abuse victims, this specific manifestation of self-destructive behavior is a way to regain control--whether or not you "deserved it" back then, you do now, as a direct, logical result of your actions.

Need to be invisible, perfect, or perfectly bad

I think each of these needs manifests in different ways for Jo. The need to be invisible can be seen with authority figures (mainly Aoki, but also Arakawa in The Yubitsume Scene, a little; how drastically he pulls back and tries to act "normal")--this relates to what you were talking about with being reluctant to intrude or take up space. If you fall under the radar, maybe you won't get hurt.

The need to be perfect can be seen in his seemingly "impossible" standards, I would say. Of course, because we see things from Ichiban's perspective, we tend to see them as unfair and often arbitrary demands. But they aren't arbitrary to Jo, are they? They're standards he holds himself to through and through. If you're good, maybe you won't get hurt.

The need to be perfectly bad can be seen in and relates to much of what I discussed under self-destructiveness [The Eye Scene and the way he antagonizes Ichiban specifically by making himself out to be worse than he is]. If you must get hurt, it can at least "make sense"--be "deserved."

Suicidal thoughts, attempts, obsession (including "passive suicide")

Obviously he's not like… Mine Levels Of Overtly And Consistently Suicidal, and he doesn't attempt suicide himself, but at the same time, I have to note his total ambivalence towards Aoki seeing him as a "bullet" (a kind of hitman sent on suicide missions). He agreed to what he himself viewed as a suicide mission and he didn't care what would happen to him afterward, as he says to Joon-gi, Zhao, and Adachi.

Aside from that, I certainly feel he's at least had passive thoughts like wanting to disappear or wishing he'd never been born. Y'know. Nothing concrete, but reflective of his mental state, and just as detrimental to dwell on long-term.

I think there's a sort of childishness [for lack of a better word] to thoughts like these [in that they're impossible], but also a level of maturity in that it probably doesn't escalate to something more actionable because he understands he has responsibilities he can't abandon. I think if he was ever seriously suicidal, it would be at the points of his life where he really didn't have any responsibility to anyone, like between Ikumi leaving and him joining the family, or after he was arrested.

Depression (sometimes paralyzing) […]

I'm trying not to over explain going forward because I Have BEEN Overexplaining It Is SUCH A Disaster… he's depressed If You Have Eyes And/Or Ears… I'll leave it at that…

Anger issues; inability to recognize, own, or express anger; constant anger […]

Lol

Rigid control of one's thought process; humorlessness or extreme solemnity

Relates back to what I was saying about how disciplined he is [and expects everyone else to be], but in general, he's incredibly, incredibly serious and focused. I don't think he's /entirely/ humorless [but then again, very few people are]; I just think his specific sense of humor is. Like. What Is Your Problem [I Know What Your Problem Is I Have Been Discussing It In EXCRUCIATING Detail But What The Fuck Is Your Problem]

Trust issues; inability to trust (trust is not safe); total trust; trusting indiscriminately

That's why he was planning on taking his secret to the grave, isn't it? It was only when faced with the realization it would soon be too late to say anything that he was able to tell Ichiban. He could've trusted Arakawa, should've been able to, but… in his mind he never could.

This book [and this checklist] is about "incest" actually, but it redefines "incest" to mean any instance of CSA perpetrated by any individual the victim trusts or has an expectation of being able to implicitly trust. Which… is most CSA as we understand it today, so I've edited some parts to just say that.

Anyway, I've never given much thought to the specifics of what Jo might've experienced--who did it, what happened, how long it went on, etc.--so there's no conclusion I can draw here [and elsewhere, I'm sure]… but even without that, to grow up unable to trust the one person who should be in his corner, his father, and to have his trust betrayed by Ikumi, it's no surprise Jo ended up like this either way. So… I'm happy he had the courage to tell Ichi, in the end.

High risk taking ("daring the fates"); inability to take risks

I think these are supposed to be mutually exclusive, but to me, Hoshino's assassination and Arakawa's assassination represent both sides of the coin, although they're not the only examples. There are risks Jo won't think twice about taking and risks that paralyze him.

Boundary issues; control, power, territoriality issues; fear of losing control; obsessive/compulsive behaviors (attempts to control things that don't matter, just to control something)

Lol…

Guilt, shame; low self-esteem, feeling worthless; high appreciation of small favors by others

Lmao Even…

Feeling demand to "produce and be loved"; instinctively knowing and doing what the other person needs or wants; relationships mean big tradeoffs (love was taken, not given)

I actually think this encapsulates a lot of what I've been saying about his work ethic, his ideas of discipline, and his relationship with Ikumi, but I also think it's why Masato took a liking to him. His attentiveness. It ties back into wanting to be perfect; when you're abused--especially long-term--you become attuned to observing and responding to any shifts in mood or tone. This is another area where I can't draw any conclusions relevant to my point, but it does certainly relate to his father's abuse, at any rate.

Abandonment issues

Kind of contentious… The anticipation of being abandoned by or losing someone he cares about appears to be worse than the actual experience. He's fine with Ikumi leaving him, and he's… not Fine With, but able to come to terms with Arakawa's death and Aoki's abandonment of him. At the same time, he really does try to make Ikumi's stay in his life comfortable, and he spends almost forty years doing his damnedest to keep his family together, whatever the cost. If I were to extrapolate from RGGJo, though, /he/ does have an obsessive, unhealthy attachment to Arakawa.

Blocking out some period of early years (especially 1–12); or a specific person or place

Ikumiiiiii that's what I'm SAYINGGGG

Feeling of carrying an awful secret; urge to tell, fear of its being revealed; certainty no one will listen; being generally secretive […]

Rofl Perhaps…

Denial; […] repression of memories; pretending; minimizing ("it wasn't that bad") […]

He admits to it himself. Not much else to say. Though I don't think he necessarily minimizes what he's been through by dismissing how bad it was; rather, he tends to overestimate his ability to move past it.

Pattern of ambivalent or intensely conflictive relationships (intimacy is a problem; also focus shifted from [CSA] issues)

Also kind of contentious… we don't see a pattern of romantic relationships, as I assume the author meant here, but at the same time, the romantic relationship and non-romantic relationships we do see fit this pattern. I guess I'd say I definitely think intimacy /would/ be a problem, and he /wouldn't/ be ready to address his issues.

Limited tolerance for happiness; active withdrawal from happiness, reluctance to trust happiness ("ice=thin")

The quote that prompted this ask in the first place. It's sort of connected to the point about humorlessness and extreme solemnity; if that was the "what," this is the "why." He doesn't know how to relax ["holidays don't exist" and all], he doesn't have much to be happy about, but even rarer is the occasion where he doesn't feel too conflicted in the moment to be able to enjoy himself. That's just how I see him.

[…] verbal hypervigilance (careful monitoring of one's words); quiet-voiced, especially when needing to be heard

EXACTLY what I was talking about in this ask, so I'm leaving that one up to past me…

......

... That's It That's The Essay I'm going to hibernate until Infinite Wealth comes out and somehow refutes my points but UNTIL THEN. Farewell, take care, and once more, don't worry too much about matching my energy… Like I Said if I were the one receiving this ask I'd just delete my blog, so… I'll just be happy to know you read it :] If That lmao

ok i read it :) 👁️👁️ READMYTAGSTHERESMORETHEREIPROMISE