#there’s a disdain in your eyes; one i can see; you loath. you hate me. // keter

[manag3rc]

You and I both know that nobody in this corporation will even remember you. They will not remember the man who died because he was salty over death.

You and I know that death is regular in this place.

It's just a Sephirah Meltdown, what you're saying can't be true.

...Right?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Anxious Attachment Style

Common Anxious Thoughts, Emotions, and Reactions

THOUGHTS

Mind reading: "That’s it, I know s/he’s leaving me."

All-or-nothing thinking: "I’ve ruined everything, there’s nothing I can do to mend the situation."

"I’ll never find anyone else."

"I knew this was too good to last."

"I have to talk to or see him/her right now."

"S/he can’t treat me this way! I’ll show him/her!"

"S/he is so amazing, why would s/he want to be with me anyway?"

"I knew something would go wrong; nothing ever works out right for me."

"S/he’d better come crawling back to beg my forgiveness, otherwise s/he can forget about me forever."

"Maybe if I look drop-dead gorgeous or act seductive, things will work out."

Remembering all the good things your partner ever did and said after calming down from a fight.

Recalling only the bad things your partner has ever done when you’re fighting.

EMOTIONS

Sad ⚜ Angry ⚜ Fearful ⚜ Resentful ⚜ Frustrated

Hopeless ⚜ Despairing ⚜ Jealous ⚜ Hostile ⚜ Vengeful

Guilty ⚜ Self-loathing ⚜ Restless ⚜ Uneasy ⚜ Humiliated

Hate-filled ⚜ Uncertain ⚜ Agitated ⚜ Rejected ⚜ Depressed

Unloved ⚜ Lonely ⚜ Misunderstood ⚜ Unappreciated

ACTIONS

Act out. ⚜ Attempt to reestablish contact at any cost.

Pick a fight. ⚜ Threaten to leave.

Wait for them to make the first reconciliation move.

Act hostile—roll eyes, look disdainful.

Try to make him/her feel jealous.

Act busy or unapproachable. ⚜ Act manipulatively.

Withdraw—stop talking to their partner or turn away from him/her physically.

Attachment classifications come from watching babies’ behavior.

Below is a short description of how anxious attachment style is defined in children. Some of their responses can also be detected in adults who share the same attachment style.

This baby becomes extremely distressed when mommy leaves the room.

When her mother returns, she reacts ambivalently—she is happy to see her but angry at the same time.

She takes longer to calm down, and even when she does, it is only temporary.

A few seconds later, she’ll angrily push mommy away, wriggle down, and burst into tears again.

Where Do Attachments Styles Come From?

Initially it was assumed that adult attachment styles were primarily a product of your upbringing.

Thus, it was hypothesized that your current attachment style is determined by the way in which you were cared for as a baby:

If your parents were sensitive, available, and responsive, you should have a secure attachment style; if they were inconsistently responsive, you should develop an anxious attachment style; and if they were distant, rigid, and unresponsive, you should develop an avoidant attachment style.

Today, however, we know that attachment styles in adulthood are influenced by a variety of factors, one of which is the way our parents cared for us, but other factors also come into play, including our genes and life experiences.

Source ⚜ More: On Attachment ⚜ References ⚜ Avoidant Attachment

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Onychinus Personal Chef I

ꩇׁׅ݊ You became Sylus' personal chef based off of pure chance. He's picky, he's annoying and he is just so damn fine. ꩇׁׅ݊ fem!reader, sylus x personal-chef!reader pt 1 of a 3 part series ꩇׁׅ݊ pt. 2 .... ꩇׁׅ݊ pt. 3 A/N: [Based on this] Shout out to @kindalonely-ngl for this idea and thank you for tagging me love. I wouldn't be me if I didn't take some creative liberties though.

Being Sylus' personal chef was never on your bingo card of life yet here you were staring down the red-eyed man with nothing, but pure loathing. That faithful day when you were just about to start closing up for the night he and his two crow masked friends walked in asking for a meal. They looked exhausted and you didn’t have the heart to turn them away. You never thought that one visit would become a daily thing. Not only did he come by daily, but he sent in multiple orders a day. The constant orders were helping your family’s small business so you didn’t complain.

This went on for months to the point where your grandparents considered him a family friend. That all came to a head when he waltz in one day offering you 'a deal you simply can’t refuse'

“You do realize it’s just me and my grandparents right? I can’t just leave them to run this place alone Mr. Qin” You usually address him by his first name, but you knew using his last name would wedge some kind of distance between you two and you wanted him to know how upset you were. You couldn’t let yourself seem welcoming at all especially when it came to this insane proposal.

“I can have new employees here to help and I will pay off the debts your family owes on this little restaurant” Your eyes widened in shock how did he know about your family debt? He grinned as he leaned down to be eye level with you. “Do we have a deal?” Your lips curled in disdain “What's in it for me?” You said through gritted teeth, Sylus could practically see the venom dripping from your lips.

And damn were your lips pretty.

Sylus was focused on your lips as he replied “Free housing and a hefty salary all while you get to cook with the finest appliances and cookware that money can buy” His gaze snapped back up to meet your narrowed eyes. “I have to live with you?”

He stood back to his full height as a chuckle seeped out of him. Damn even his laugh sounded like it could fix your finances. “You’ll be on call twenty-four seven it would be beneficial if you were already on sight dont you think?” You hated that he was right, commuting back and forth would be hell.

“Do we have a deal? Yes, no, maybe so?” Sylus bent at the waist and held out a hand almost as if he was bowing to you. You rolled your eyes and looked off to your left as you stuck your hand in his. You were shocked to feel his lips touch the back of your hand with a quick kiss. You felt your heart rate sky rocket as you pulled your hand away. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow. Leave your address with Mephisto I'll have movers sent to you by morning” With that he turned and disappeared in a cloud of black and red mist.

[helaintoloki]

hi can you do a ben hargreeves angst where klaus is still able to see him in season 3 and he sees how close y/n has gotten to ben sparrow you can do whatever you want with it

warnings: language, lots of angst

notes: okay i actually loved writing this you are a genius for coming up with this scenario

summary: Ben is forced to watch you fall for a completely different version of him

Ben once thought having to watch the woman you love live her life without knowing you looked on as a spirit incapable of communicating with her was the worst fate imaginable.

But he was wrong.

Watching the woman you love grow close to another version of you while you can do absolutely nothing to interfere was more torturous than any other possible outcome.

Ben absolutely loathed the Sparrow with his entire being. He couldn’t understand why you would even consider trying to get to know the man- he was a complete jerk, absolutely hostile, and not at all understanding or compassionate to the dilemma your team found yourselves in. Ben also thought his haircut was stupid, and the Sparrow’s demeanor gave the ghost a sense of second-hand embarrassment every time he talked.

And yet you were drawn to the man like a magnet, and how could you not be? He looked and sounded exactly like what you imagined your Ben would have if he had survived the accident and been able to grown into an adult alongside you. Despite his callousness and his blatant lack of trust in you, you were eager to learn more. Did he like the same things your Ben did? Did they share the same interests? Were their mannerisms the same? You desperately needed to know, and the Sparrow did not deny you this. Though he held a certain sense of disdain for your team, he wasn’t prideful enough to turn down the company of a pretty girl who seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy. He took advantage of your kindness and your vulnerability, and your Ben hated that he could do absolutely nothing to stop this.

You sit on a lone bench and watch as the Sparrow completes his workout for the day. He’s allowed you to tag along so long as you don’t get in the way, and you agreed. You’re completely mesmerized by his toned arms and grunts of effort that escape his lips as he lifts weights, and Ben can only roll his eyes.

“Seriously? This guy?” He asks you in exasperation, but of course, you don’t hear him at all. This doesn’t deter him from continuing his attempt to persuade you to stay away from the Sparrow. “You are way too good for an asshole like him. He’s just using you to feed his ego!”

“Do you like to read?” You ask the man as he sets down his weights and reaches for his towel to wipe off the sweat from his brow.

“Read?” He retorts haughtily, almost offended by the notion. “What am I, a nerd?”

Ben knows neither of you can see him, and yet he flips the man off anyway in response to his answer. Your shoulders visibly deflate at his words, and the ghost can only frown and attempt to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. It goes right through you, the coldness prompting you to shiver involuntarily, but it makes him feel better to know you can at least sense him in some way.

“My Ben liked reading, so I just thought maybe you would too,” you offer meekly, prompting the Sparrow to roll his eyes.

“Alright, new rule. You wanna hangout with me? Then don’t bring up ‘your’ Ben. Got it?”

“Right, sorry,” you murmur quietly while awkwardly fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. You hover over the one on your index, the purple gem gleaming in the light. Ben knows that ring because he gave you that ring, and that’s why it nearly kills him all over again when he watches you hurriedly remove it and hide it away in the pocket of your sweater.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for being you,” he gently reprimands you with a sigh before focusing his harsh gaze on his lookalike. “And you should stop being a dick to quite possibly the nicest girl you’ll ever meet. You don’t deserve her, and I’ll never understand why the universe decided you should get to have her.”

Of course, his lecture is unheard and has no impact on the scene that unfolds before him. He watches in gut wrenching agony as the Sparrow seats himself beside you on the bench, his rough hand coming to rest gently upon your thigh and squeezing to get your attention. Your eyes almost seem to sparkle as you look up at him in search of validation for your efforts to get to know him. There’s a shift in the air that fills Ben with dread, and despite all his efforts to stop it he can do nothing to prevent your lips from meeting the man’s in a purposeful kiss.

Your heart flutters in your chest as the Sparrow pulls away and carefully tucks your hair behind your ear, his voice coming out in a soft whisper as he says, “You’re with me now. Forget about him.”

And to Ben’s absolute horror, you obediently offer a silent nod in agreement to his command.

[pedge-page]

i love your preggo wife drabbles soo much!!! could you write one where joel takes care of reader with her morning sickness? 🫶🏻

Joel dealing with Preggo Reader: Morning Sickness

Notes: Idk why I keep making reader so mean but he's such a trooper! I'm also no pregnancy expert obviously so plz take my minimal effort in research with a grain of salt.

Warnings: mean reader, language, vomitting, morning sickness

- - - -

"I hate your penis."

Joel rolls his eyes. It's only the 11th time you've said it today while being hunched over the toilet, with Joel caringly hovering over you, holding your hair out of the way as you take a deep breath and hurl the breakfast he made you this morning.

"I hate—"

"I know, sweet pea. Just breathe."

You nod in an almost drunken state. He knows its because you've got no energy in you to really fight him, with the baby giving you all the first batch of hell in the life long journey of headaches in child bearing.

He rubs over your spin, caressing the shivers raking over your body so you can focus on not dying right now.

"I hate your toes. I hate your shampoo. I hate your fingernails. I hate your toast.  I hate—"

"Ah huh..."

At first he was pretty upset and angered by how much you loath him, but at some point he's tuned it out and just holds and shushes you. While you pout your disdain for the man, you don't oppose his touch.

For now.

"Doin' so good, baby. It's only temporary, baby's just making sure you're a tough momma—"

"Shut the fuck up and get me some water."

Joel stands, his knees reminding him of his less than youthful age, before running downstairs and grabbing a bottle.

You were both a little surprised that all the morning sickness you were warned about hadn't really given either of you trouble in your first trimester. It came with a surprise by the middle of your second, and comes and goes on a daily basis. Today is honestly not so bad: it's your attitude shift that really gives him whiplash.

By the time he gets back up, you're already meandering out of the bathroom like a lost soul with puffy, sleep deprived eyes, and over to the bed, slowly crawling over the mattress, muttering "too tall". You feel his hand supportively on your back, but you snap "fuck off" and get in the bed yourself. He goes to tuck you in with the sheet, but again your hand slaps his away and you close your eyes into darkness.

You can still feel his annoying presence. "What!" You yell, eyes shooting open to see the bottle dangling from his hand. You snatch it without a thank you and gulp.

Joel's just got his hands on his hips, staring at you.

"Kern I hEp ouu, Hondah?" You gurgle through your water sloshing in your mouth.

He just chuckles to himself. "You're cute like this."

You swallow. "I'll fuck you the fuck up."

He laughs even harder, seemingly unserious in your threats. To him, you looked even smaller than before, despite the obvious roundness growing in your tum tum. You seemed like some small puppy finding her growl, or toddler pointing her finger trying to be intimidating but unaware of how badly you're failing.

"So amusing? Why dont you make yourself useful and rub my feet," you demand.

"You need to eat food, baby girl."

"BaBy GiRl" you mock with puppet hand mouth. "NAG nag NAG. I Don't WANT food. I want my FOOT. In your HAND. before I put it up your ASS."

Joel can tolerate the baby cock-blocking him for a few weeks and the endless assult of your words, but he puts his foot down when your basic needs arent being met. "I need you to eat food. You need energy. Baby needs energy."

"Fine! Crackers, you crackhead. Then—" and you thrust your leg in the hair and wiggle your foot in his face so he gets the picture.

"Okay okay!" And he walks out the bedroom.

Joel spends a record 4 minutes downstairs hurriedly putting together a fancy array of cracker options, from Saltines, to Townhouse, to Ritz. He also pops a few cubes of diced ham in his mouth and then holds a few in his hand to snack on later since he too had to abandon breakfast to service you.

By the time you're conplaining "it's been hours!" He's trotting up the stairs, you wiggle your bum so you sit upright in bed, hand over gurgling belly as he brings the tray to you.

Just as youre about to feast on these dry ass cardboard squares, your nose twitches. You see Joel chewing something in his grasp, popping one cube of pale meat quickly into his mouth, and it takes all of 2 seconds for the smell to travel to your brain before you're throwing the tray on the ground, crackers spilling all over the carpet and b lining to the bathroom again to throw up.

As he hears your dramatic gasps and hurls, Joel pulls out his little note pad he's been documenting your pregnancy so far. He writes "no ham" in the lines , right under "hates my penis", before tossing the paper on the bed and stroking your hair lovingly again as you empty your entire organs in the toilet.

By the time you finish, you've got snot and tears running down your face. "but I LOVED HAAAMMMMM" You screech.

It's true. You used to wrap a thick spread of cold butter on a slice of cheap deli ham and eatnit like a cannoli— something he thought was a weird aquired taste BEFORE he even got you pregnant.

Joel grabs a tissue and plants it firmly in your face, and you squeeze your eyes tight and blow right into his palm like a little snot nosed trumpet. He rubs his fingers in your nostrils to get all the boogers out before tossing it and helping you up to your feet again.

All the while you're bawling "l-l-loved—my hh-ham—n cheese" with gross babbling as he tucks you back in the duvet. You were fine with giving up other aversions like tomatoes, pizza crust, and yogurt. Even sex (occasionally). But your beloved ham is one baby step too far.

"Your—"sniffle— "big—"hiccup—"ugly—"choke—"WORM —" cough—"DID THIS TO MEEE," you accuse his crotch and wail into the air.

Then you hiccup very loudly and go quiet entirely.

You look around with curious eyes, fresh tears suddenly unbothering you at the moment.

"Mmmmmmmn crackers," you moan. "Gimme that one," and you point to the mess on the floor.

"What one?"

"That one!"

He bends down and picks up a piece.

But you shake your head. "No that one."

"No." "No the other." "No."

"Which one!" He shouts, unable to contain the lace of frustration.

"The one I'm pointing to, stupid!"

He finally picks up one hes pointed to 3 times already and you clap your hands.

You snatch it out of his grasp, pull a hair off its curved cracked edge before munching on it happily.

He looks at with uncertainty on his face.

You swallow the dry mushed bits and hum contently. "Mmm. Salty."

-

Not even 12 hours later  you two are getting ready for bed, and you mood has completely changed. Still sick, but instead of being unable to stand Joel's entire existence, you praise it.

"Joel, honey? Can you please prop my feet up Under this pillow. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to reach it myself."

"Baby? I'm a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?"

"Im so sorry, Joel. I just can't stomach this food, I know you put so much effort into it. Ugh! I loved this, I really did! I don't know what's wrong with me."

You rub over the discomfort in your slightly swollen tummy and try to be a brave girl and fight the tears, as Joel's been so attentive to your needs, aches, cries and cravings, only to hurl them back up.

You sniffle and look up to him.

He's a bit tense, almost in a fight or flight stance with fear behind his eyes.

"W-whats wrong, Joel?" you ask with a honey song voice.

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

- - - -

Permanent taglist :

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi! I love your Hazbin Hotel stuff and I wanted to make a request. If you haven’t done something like this, could you write the Hazbin characters, specifically Vox, Lucifer, Husk, and maybe Lute with an S/O (would prefer fem but G/N is fine) who has bad body dysmorphia? Like, they can never take compliments about their body, always thinking they’re overweight, not eating, etc. If this is too difficult/uncomfortable, totally understand! Would hate to trigger anything. Hope you have a great day/night!

If you like what I’m doing consider tipping me for priority requests & access to characters I don’t usually write for such as Charlie, Valentino, Carmilla, and more.

Husk

Husk will never compliment you in public after figuring out that you hate to be complimented.

That does not mean that he’ll never compliment you.

He will because he truly thinks you’re beautiful.

He simply elects to do it in private so he will be able to explain to you in length why he disagrees.

He wants you to understand why he loves every single thing about you.

Maybe you don’t agree but he will let you know why he thinks it’s all so beautiful.

He doesn’t try to make you love it all like he does but he will at least try to make you accept that he loves it.

Lucifer

Lucifer can’t understand why you don’t see your own beauty.

At least at first.

Then he realizes how close self loathing is close to depression and how they can often intertwine and how hypocritical it is to be so befuddled by your lack of understanding of his love of you & your body when he can’t understand how giving people free will is a good thing in any capacity and wow— he was too hard on you and himself.

Hello, something new to unpack with a therapist.

He definitely starts being more understanding after that revelation.

Not that he was ever cruel but he was a lot more insistent on how amazing you are not understanding that his insistence may not help but could make it worse.

It could make you think he was lying, covering up some hidden disdain with an over abundance of praise like he does with sinners who thank him for free will.

He’s not.

Make no mistake. He truly does love and adore you and every single part of you is amazing in his eyes but he understands.

He lets up on his pouring compliments and his combativeness over whether or not he means it.

He still compliments you but he no longer fights with you.

He just says what he thinks and then goes on, ignoring any expression of disbelief with a small, “A difference of opinion.”

Lute

You cannot dislike her partner.

Not allowed. No one can dislike her amazing partner.

Will spare with you when you disregard her compliments.

She means what she says.

Why would she waste her breath with words that weren’t true when she doesn’t have to?

Everything she says is said because she means it.

You best learn that.

Vox

No, no, no, no.

You don’t love your body? Unacceptable.

“Velvette! A photo shoot is in order right now!” “I’m busy!” “Well, clear you schedule!”

Velvette actually has a way of making you feel a bit more confident without seeming like she’s trying.

The photo shoot actually goes well even if you refuse to look at the pictures.

Of course, that doesn’t last long because Vox puts them up in his office, just too large and gigantic to ignore.

He has pictures of you everywhere because he loves looking at you.

Will kiss every part of you in front of a mirror while saying why he loves every part and forcing you to look at yourself otherwise he’ll stop. He records the entire thing to watch back later.

If you like what I’m doing consider commissioning me for canon/canon stories AND personalized canon/reader stories.

[enemiestolovershoe]

Heii babeee. Can you please do a Rafe Cameron x enemies!reader? They are both well known people on Figure 8 but hat each other but one evening at a gala or something they fight and end up fucking in the bathroom. Maybe Ward and readers dad catches them in the end?

Entangled with the Enemy

Rafe Cameron x enemie!reader

Words: 4k

Summary: a heated rivalry ignites passion during a gala, revealing hidden desires.

Ever since you could remember, Rafe Cameron had been a thorn in your side. It wasn’t just a passing annoyance—no, it was a deep-rooted rivalry that had started long before either of you understood the complexities of disdain. It began at the country club when you were both barely old enough to hold a golf club. He had knocked over your lemonade in the clubhouse, laughing in that irritating way that only a spoiled rich kid could. You had retaliated by stepping on his foot with your newly polished shoes, which led to a shouting match that had every adult in the room glancing disapprovingly in your direction.

You hated him then. You hated him now.

Years later, not much had changed between you. If anything, the rivalry had only grown stronger, more venomous, as you both became fixtures in Figure 8’s elite social scene. Wherever you were, Rafe wasn’t far behind, and the feeling of mutual loathing had followed you through middle school, high school, and now, even into your early twenties.

Everyone in Figure 8 knew of your animosity. Some thought it was amusing—two golden children of Kildare’s wealthiest families constantly at each other’s throats. Others whispered, wondering if there wasn’t something else lurking beneath all that hatred, but you always scoffed at the idea.

Tonight was no different.

The annual Figure 8 Gala was a glamorous event, one that drew all the old-money families out of their grand estates and onto the dance floor, where champagne flowed like water and gossip circulated in hushed, excited tones. You stood near the bar, wearing a sleek black dress that made you look effortlessly elegant. You had a glass of wine in your hand, but you weren’t drinking much. Instead, your eyes flitted over the crowd, looking for an exit. As much as you tried to tolerate these events, they always left you feeling restless.

Just as you took a sip, you heard that all-too-familiar voice behind you.

“Surprised to see you here. Didn’t think this was your scene anymore,” Rafe sneered, his presence commanding attention without even trying.

You set your glass down on the bar, not turning around yet. The tension between you two was palpable, even before you exchanged a single glance.

“Rafe, are you stalking me now, or is it just that you have nothing better to do with your life?” you retorted, finallyspinning around to face him.

He looked infuriatingly good, dressed in a tailored black suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and sharp jawline. His eyes, blue and piercing, studied you for a moment before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Always the charming one,” he said mockingly, stepping closer. “Remind me, how many years have you been trying to get under my skin? I’m starting to lose count.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him intimidate you. “I don’t have to try. You make it way too easy.”

Rafe chuckled, a low sound that made your skin prickle with annoyance. “Oh, trust me, princess, you’ve been trying. Ever since we were kids.”

At that, your glare sharpened. "Please. If anyone’s been obsessed with the past, it’s you. I’ve moved on from our childish nonsense a long time ago.”

“Right,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re standing here, looking like you’re about to snap my neck just because I’m breathing in the same room as you.”

“I’m standing here because I’m trying to enjoy my night without you ruining it,” you shot back, voice icy. “But clearly, that’s asking for too much.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You’re enjoying this just as much as I am.”

You pulled back immediately, staring at him like he’d just insulted you. “You’re delusional if you think I enjoy anything about you.”

Rafe tilted his head, considering you with a smug look that only made your blood boil more. “You used to care what I thought. Back in the day. Admit it.”

You scoffed, brushing past him, though he was quick to catch up, his long strides keeping him close. “I never cared about your opinion, Rafe. You’ve always been a spoiled, arrogant—”

“Rich boy?” he finished for you, a sarcastic glint in his eyes. “You keep throwing that around like it’s supposed to insult me.”

“It’s not an insult,” you replied, your voice low but steady. “It’s a fact.”

He stopped in front of you, blocking your path. The tension between you both was starting to draw attention from the surrounding party-goers, who were now casting curious glances in your direction. Some even whispered to one another, probably amused at the latest chapter in the saga of Rafe Cameron vs. You.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Rafe’s question came suddenly, his tone different—less mocking, more…curious. His brow furrowed as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer. “What is it, huh?”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the shift in his attitude. “I—what?”

“You heard me,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping. “Why do you hate me? Because, from where I’m standing, it feels like you put more effort into this than necessary. I know I’m not the nicest guy around, but…” He trailed off, watching you with a sharpness that you hadn’t seen before. It was unnerving.

You swallowed hard, straightening your posture as you searched for a retort. You couldn’t let him get to you. Not like this. “It’s easy to hate you, Rafe. You make it easy.”

He nodded slowly, as if contemplating your words. His lips twitched, forming a tight smile. “Because it’s easier to hate me than admit anything else, right?”

“What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, suddenly defensive.

“It means,” Rafe started, closing the distance between you again, his voice lowering to a near whisper, “you spend so much time convincing yourself that I’m the problem, but maybe the problem is you can’t stand the fact that we’re more alike than you want to admit.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but nothing came out. For a split second, his words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a vice. The tension between you two felt different, heavier, like it was building toward something neither of you could control.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you finally managed to say, though your voice lacked the usual venom.

His smirk returned, but there was something else behind it now. Something almost…challenging. “Oh, I don’t have to. You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not thinking about anything except how to get away from you,” you shot back, turning on your heel to leave. But his hand caught your wrist, stopping you.

“Funny,” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “Because every time you walk away, you always come back.”

A rush of frustration surged through you, his words clawing at something deeper, something you hadn’t been willing to admit for a long time. Maybe it was the constant proximity, maybe it was the years of bickering, or maybe it was the way he stood there, challenging you with every look, every smirk, every damn word. You felt your pulse quicken, your heart hammering in your chest as the room seemed to grow smaller.

You exhaled sharply, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, overwhelming you.

"Fuck this," you muttered under your breath.

Without giving yourself time to think—or regret—you grabbed Rafe by the front of his jacket and pulled him with you, weaving through the crowd. You didn’t know where you were going at first, but the second you spotted the nearest bathroom, you headed straight for it. Your heels clicked furiously against the polished floor as Rafe followed, clearly taken by surprise but not resisting.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, not locking, but you didn’t care.

Before you could second-guess yourself, your hands gripped his collar, pulling him down as your lips crashed into his. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t careful. It was desperate, heated—years of tension and frustration finally spilling over.

Rafe groaned into your mouth, his hands immediately gripping your waist as if he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. The kiss was fierce, all teeth and tongue, neither of you giving the other a moment to breathe.

“Always so dramatic,” Rafe muttered against your lips between heavy breaths, his fingers sliding up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Shut up,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting—needing—more.

He chuckled against your mouth, but the sound quickly turned into a low growl as his hands roamed down to your hips, gripping you with an intensity that made your legs feel weak.

Before you knew it, he lifted you effortlessly, your back pressing against the cool bathroom counter as he hoisted you up onto it. You gasped as the cold surface met your thighs, but the feeling was quickly replaced by the heat of his hands sliding up your legs, parting them with a slow, deliberate motion.

His lips were on your neck again, sucking and biting in a way that made it impossible to think straight. You could feel his breath hitch as he pressed harder into you, his body flush against yours.

“You’re not gonna stop me this time, are you?” Rafe’s voice was rough, low, almost daring you to push him away.

“Try me,” you muttered, breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

Rafe smirked, his eyes dark with something more than just arrogance. His hands tightened around your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours again. "I always knew you wanted me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with that familiar cockiness, but this time, you didn’t bother to deny it.

“You think too much,” you replied, your voice coming out in a breathy rush, and before he could respond, you crashed your lips into his again. This time, there was no holding back, no hesitation. Just pure, heated want.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, parting your legs even further. The counter pressed against your back, the cold contrast making the heat between your bodies even more intense.

Your heart raced as his touch became more insistent, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you. And you couldn’t get enough of him, either. Everything about this moment was wrong, but it felt so damn right.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

You barely registered what you were doing as your fingers reached for the buttons of Rafe’s shirt, fumbling slightly in your haste to get it off. He broke the kiss for a brief second, just long enough to glance down at your hands before smirking. Without a word, he quickly helped you, undoing the buttons faster and shoving the fabric off his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the heat of his body driving you crazy as your hands ran over the hard planes of his chest.

He didn’t waste any time either. His hands slid down your waist, rough and urgent, before they disappeared under your dress. With one swift motion, he pushed it up around your hips, his fingertips skimming over your thighs as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties.

“Let’s get these off,” Rafe growled, voice thick with lust as he pulled them down in one quick motion, leaving you bare beneath him. He tossed them aside carelessly, his hands immediately returning to your thighs, spreading your legs wider.

You gasped, both from the sudden exposure and the way his touch sent a rush of heat pooling low in your belly. Your mind was spinning, caught somewhere between disbelief and pure, unfiltered desire. This was happening, and it was happening fast, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Not when every touch, every breath, made your skin burn with need.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, his body pressing firmly against yours. He took a moment to look down at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust, a cocky grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I always knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with that same arrogant charm that had always made you want to slap him—except now, it made you want him even more.

“Shut up,” you breathed, your hands flying to his belt, desperate to unbuckle it and get it out of the way. The sound of the leather slipping free was loud in the small bathroom, but all you could focus on was the feel of his skin against yours as you finally managed to free him from his pants.

“Someone’s eager,” Rafe murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he kicked off his shoes and pushed his pants and boxers down in one swift movement.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your pulse racing as he pressed his hips against yours, the feel of him—hard and ready—against your entrance sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

His eyes met yours, the cocky grin gone, replaced by something far more intense. Without saying a word, he positioned himself between your legs, one hand gripping your thigh as the other lined himself up at your entrance. There was no warning, no teasing, just the raw, primal need driving both of you.

In one smooth thrust, he pushed inside, and both of you let out matching moans, the sound filling the small bathroom as your bodies collided.

“Fuck,” Rafe groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you. His breath was hot against your neck, his grip on your hips tightening as he fought to keep himself under control.

You gasped, your nails digging into his bare shoulders as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. The stretch was intense, the pressure overwhelming, but it felt so good, too good. Your head fell back against the mirror behind you, your body arching against his as the tension in the air became almost unbearable.

“God, Rafe,” you whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to catch your breath. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the look he gave you was pure hunger. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he growled, and with that, he started to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, as if he was savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. But it wasn’t long before the pace quickened, the heat between you building with each movement. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you against him with every thrust, his body driving into yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his voice rough and filled with raw desire. His lips found yours again, but this kiss was different—hotter, needier, all tongues and teeth as his hips snapped forward, hitting deeper every time.

You couldn’t hold back the moans that escaped your lips, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body rocking with his, matching his rhythm. It was fast, frantic, like you both needed this more than air.

“Rafe…” You breathed his name again, a plea, a warning. Your entire body was wound tight, the tension coiling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice thick and strained as he drove into you harder, his forehead resting against yours. “Say my name.”

“Rafe,” you gasped, your voice breaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. You were close, so close, and he knew it.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing against yours as he thrust deeper, the angle hitting just right, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You could barely respond, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, the overwhelming sensation building with each thrust, each ragged breath. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, as your nails raked down his back.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you managed to gasp, your head falling back as the pleasure built to a breaking point, your entire body trembling.

Rafe groaned in response, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. “Me too, baby,” he muttered against your skin, his voice strained. “Come for me.”

And that was all it took.

With one final, hard thrust, the tension inside you snapped, sending you over the edge. A moan tore from your lips, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed through you, overwhelming your senses.

Rafe wasn’t far behind. You felt him tense, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself inside you, groaning as he reached his own release. His breath was hot against your neck, his body pressed against yours as he rode out the last waves of pleasure, his hips moving in slow, lazy thrusts.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, both of you trying to catch your breath as the intensity of what just happened settled between you.

Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he looked at you, a mixture of satisfaction and something else—something unreadable—in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and still rough from exertion.

You nodded, still trying to process everything. “Yeah… more than okay,” you whispered, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

Rafe smirked, that cocky grin you knew so well making its return. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

As the rush of the moment slowly faded, the sound of your combined heavy breathing filled the small space. Rafe’s hands still gripped your waist, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to come down from the intense high. Your skin was flushed, tingling from where he had touched you, the heat of your bodies still lingering in the air.

Neither of you said a word for a few moments, the silence stretching between you, filled with the weight of what had just happened. You were still perched on the counter, your dress bunched around your hips, both of you completely undressed, the reality of your situation slowly settling in.

Rafe leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning over your face as if trying to make sure this was all real. A small, cocky smile began to creep onto his lips. “That was… something,” he breathed, his thumb gently brushing against your thigh.

You couldn’t help but let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking your head as you tried to gather yourself. “Yeah,” you whispered, your own cheeks still burning, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “Something.”

Just as you were about to say more, the faint creak of the bathroom door opening snapped both of your heads toward the sound.

Panic hit you like a tidal wave, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes widened in horror. You had barely registered the fact that you were still practically naked, tangled in Rafe, when two familiar figures stepped into the bathroom—your dad and Ward Cameron.

The room seemed to freeze for a second. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you stared, wide-eyed, at the two men now standing in front of you. They didn’t even look surprised—more like they had walked in on something they’d been expecting all along.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, your face flushing even redder than it already was. You quickly moved to cover yourself, but it was too late. You’d been caught. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, mortification crashing over you like a wave.

Rafe, equally frozen for a moment, blinked before quickly stepping in front of you, blocking their view as much as possible. “Oh my god, Dad, get out!” he shouted, his voice louder than necessary, sounding more like a demand than a request.

Your dad chuckled first, breaking the silence with a deep, amused laugh that made your embarrassment ten times worse. He exchanged a look with Ward, who simply shook his head with a knowing smile, as if the two of them had been waiting for this moment.

“Well, look at that,” Ward said, his tone full of dry amusement as he turned to face Rafe. “Took you two long enough to finally get along.”

Rafe groaned in frustration, his face flushed as he tried to shield you from view, his hands scrambling to grab his discarded shirt. “Dad, seriously—get out!” he snapped again, his voice full of exasperation.

Your dad shook his head, still chuckling softly. “We’ll give you two a moment,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he turned around to leave. “But don’t take too long. The gala’s still going on, after all.”

Ward followed suit, giving one last look over his shoulder, an almost proud smirk on his face. “Nice work, son,” he said, before closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, that did not just happen,” you muttered, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment. You could still hear the faint sound of their laughter echoing down the hallway.

Rafe let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s just… unreal,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair, clearly as mortified as you were. “I can’t believe they—”

You cut him off with a shaky laugh, your hands still covering your face. “This is officially the worst way this could have ended.”

Rafe chuckled softly, clearly trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, his voice light and teasing, “at least they didn’t kill me.”

You let out a weak laugh, finally pulling your hands away from your face to look up at him. “Yet,” you replied, your voice dry as you shook your head. “They didn’t kill you yet.”

Rafe grinned down at you, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Guess we’ll just have to see how long I can stay alive, huh?”

You laughed again, the tension between you easing just a little. Despite everything—the panic, the embarrassment—there was still that undeniable spark between you, something deeper that neither of you could ignore anymore. Whatever had happened tonight, it had changed everything.

“Let’s just… not talk about this,” you muttered, still trying to shake off the mortification as you grabbed for your clothes, ready to escape the bathroom as fast as possible.

“Deal,” Rafe agreed, already pulling his shirt back on, though his eyes lingered on you with that same heated intensity, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “For now.”

As you straightened your dress and gathered yourself, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, a part of you knowing that whatever came next between you and Rafe, it was going to be far from over.

[reareaotaku]

I Loathe You

Summary: You and Mike have always had this strange disdain feelings for each other, but what if emotions were just misinterpreted Pairings: Yandere! [Aged Up!] Mean! Mike Wheeler x Mean! Reader Tw: Mean! Mike, Mean! Reader, Teenager Mike & Reader [PT 2: I Don't Want to be your Friend, I Want to Kiss your Lips]

"Jump off a cliff, you asshole."

"You first, princess." Mike rolls his eyes, his face detorting in anger.

You didn't know why the zoology teacher had partnered you two together, even though you both were infamous for hating each other. There have been attempts to get the two of you to get along, but it obviously didn't work. People didn't understand why you hated each other, because you shared mutual friend groups and you guys were always around the same people.

"Trust me, everytime I see you I hope to be shot execution style, but I also don't want your face to be the last thing I see."

"Oh, don't worry," He turns to you, looking you dead in the eyes, "The feeling is mutual."

"Oh, isn't that great. For a second there I was worried you liked me."

"In your dreams."

"Only the scary ones."

You are practical nose to nose, as you both glare at each other. Your nose is scrunched up if looks could kill, you would both be dead.

"God, can yall just fuck already and get over with it?"

You both whip around towards Lucas, now glaring at him, instead of each other.

"How about you fall down a case of stairs?"

"And break your arm over the ramps," Mike adds, causing Lucas to put his hands up in defeat.

"Okay- Sorry, damn."

--

The group groaned as you and Mike went on a staring contest, before insulting whoever blinked. It was just another way for you both to not only one up another, but also to insult each other.

You blinked, causing Mike to fist bump the air, before calling you a 'Cockwhore.'

"Again." You straightened your back and you both went back to staring at eachother.

Some would think that one of you would get tired of the game, but you both loved to find any chance to insult each other. But, the group thought that maybe you guys liked looking at each other, especially in the eyes, but didn't want to admit it.

Mike scrunched his eyes and a smirk grew on you. He groaned, before blinking and you cheered, calling him a 'No Pussy Getting Bitch'.

He rolled his eyes, going towards his food and you were willing to take that win.

----

You groaned, tearing off the ticket, seeing Mike talking to your mutual friends. It was one thing that you both went to the same school, shared the same friends, but you also worked together. If you didn't make a shit ton in tips, you would have quit the minute you realized he work there.

Though, some might bring up the fact he had been working at the restaurant longer than you, but you did more work than him. He knew he could get away with it, because the regulars loved him, because he was a, in there words, 'Pretty Boy'.

You didn't think he was all that pretty. Sure, he had nice hands with nice long fingers and a sharp face with a defined jawline. Okay, and maybe his hair filled his face in a cute way and maybe his light freckles that covered his face had a nice charm. You shake your head and rid yourself of the thoughts. He was nothing special, he was just a guy. A guy who you guessed you could see the charm of- If he wasn't an asshole.

---

You grabbed your wound from where you had by clawed into by that plant-looking monster. Thankfully, you had gotten out of there, before it could take your head off. Mike was looking through the medicine cabinets, trying to find a first aid kit. It was... well weird.

Having almost died, you realized something. Life was to short for you to be spending it hating a guy who had never really done anything to you. You looked over at him, your nails digging into your skin, he had finally found the First-Aid kit.

He grabbed your hand, putting it on the countertop, before dabbing it with peroxide. You grimaced and he mumbled an apology. You felt strange, just early that day you had both been telling each other to die and now he was tending to your wounds.

"I'm sorry, Mike."

He looks up at you a little confused, "What?"

"I'm sorry," You looked away from him, not wanting to make eye contact with him, "For everything. All the fights, all the arguments, you know-"

"It's fine. I kind of look forward to our fights. You know? It's become routine." He jokes, wrapping your arm up.

You lightly sighed, "Well, I'm sorry and thank you for patching me up."

"It's nothing..."

There's a moment of silence and you don't know what to say. You want to say something, anything, but before you can break the silence, Mike does.

"You know, when I saw you..." He pauses and you're giving him your full attention. He looks at you, his eyes filled with anger and darkness. His eyes were nearly black, "bleeding... I think I died a little when I saw it. Something inside of me- I don't know, but I wanted to kill that stupid Demogorgon."

You're a little taken aback by Mike's confession. He grabs your hand and fiddles with it.

"I don't want to see anything bad to happen to you."

"Wow, Mike. I didn't know you felt that way about me."

"Of course. You're my friend." The word friend comes out like acid from his mouth. He didn't want to be your friend- he wanted to be so much more- but he didn't want to break the already thin ice.

"We're friends?"

He huffs, staring at your hands, "Yeah. At least I think we are."

"Huh, I thought you hated me-"

He looks at you, wide eyed, "Hate you? I thought YOU hated me-"

"You're always hating on me," You say, over exaggerating your non hurt hand.

"What?" He laughs, "I'm only returning your energy!"

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, "Yeah... If we were friends, I think I'd miss our fighting."

"Who says we have to stop fighting?"

[iouinotes]

Drunken Love | Five Hargreeves (Part 1)

SPOILER FOR THE THIRD SEASON

summary: Five gets drunk at Luther and Sloane's wedding. He seems to need someone to take care of him (even if he doesn't want to admit it).

pairing: Five Hargreeves x female!reader

word count: 673 words

warnings: just fluff

author’s note: I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes...enjoyyy

part 2 is uploaded here!

Secretly, I've been watching him all night. Always hidden in the shadows, from his attentive gaze, which becomes more and more glassy the more alcohol flows through his veins. It is strange to see him in this state. Him, this stubborn man, always walking upright, trapped in the body of a 16 year old.

Whose mind is so sharp, body and soul so out of balance, and whose abilities never cease to amaze me. Like his appearance, that certain stern manner, he always has a goal in mind, always a mission to complete. And I am always by his side. Together we are all the time, but I still feel alone. Because he's so focused on saving humanity to not notice what's right in front of him. Me. I'm so in love with him that it's hard for me to look at him.

And yet I can't take my eyes off him. Because I'm worried, his figure swaying around the room, the glass full of champagne in his hand, the liquid spilling over the rim until it's brought to his lips. And then the entire glass is empty in one gulp, each time it is refilled. It has been for several hours.

I have tried to talk to him, but no chance. He is too absorbed in his hopelessness to notice my concern. Everyone in this room is painfully aware that the end of the world is near. But everyone deals with this realization differently, the only ones who appear to be carefree are Luther and Sloane. The married couple who smiles so happily at each other.

Looking at each other with the kind of infatuation Five looks at me in my fondest dreams. I shake my head, banishing the images that plague me when I realize that this will never come true.

And then in the next moment I see him drop his glass, still half full, and lean on the table. His eyes are narrowed, his figure sunken. And no one but me seems to notice this sadness that emanates from him. Diego and Lila are busy with their son, Ben as always with himself, Allison is talking to Viktor and I am hidden in the farthest dark corner. A sad sight.

But even though my common sense tells me that Five doesn't want me near him, my feet automatically move in his direction. I can no longer leave him to his own devices. He doesn't seem to notice me as I kneel in front of him, his gaze looking right through me, almost as always. It makes my heart ache, ironically, I am just as familiar with it. "Let's go to your hotel room, shall we? I'll help you up."

His mouth moves, his brow furrows, but not a word he says is clearly understood. "N-no, no help. Alone." His head hangs, his eyes blink, his mouth twitches in disdain. "Unfair, your face. Hate it." My eyebrows raise, my chest goes numb, my heart becomes empty. ,,Come on, you've had enough for today." My arms reach around him, trying to help him up.

"Let go, I can do it." Despite his dislike, he doesn't push me away. "I know you can do anything you set your mind to. That's a quality of yours that I admire so much." I answer him in a whisper, his face contorts slightly.

"Don't talk, your voice is- I don't want to hear it." His words are harsh and I back away from him a little. He has always been unkind to me, but now that he's throwing his hatred at me so barefaced, it's even worse to be in love with him. So I just nod. With a heavy breath, I help him get up. I put my arm around his shoulder, make it clear to Allison, who is looking in my direction, that I will take care of him.

And she understands without words, knows even without my confirmation that I will always take care of him.

No matter how much he loathes me.

[floydstruly]

i know it’s been too long.

synopsis: it’s cold, much too cold for a student from Royal Sword Academy—so Floyd figures out a solution that benefits the both of you.

cw. nothing! Yay! It’s just pure fluff >__< not proof read though also! No use of y/n or any mention of name I hate using that so umm not really warning free but still! Whatever!

note. someone give me a request or talk to me in my inbox I’m so bored

pairing: floyd x gn!reader

Winter break is just a week away but even so, it is needlessly gloomy today, clouds shroud the tops of the school and the rain falls down relentlessly, the class is all but silent as your teacher forces you to sit down, lecturing you on the past monarchies���princes, princesses, kings, queens.

You're sure if Floyd was attending Royal Sword Academy with you, he’d be bored half to death. You jot a couple notes down with your ink pen, in the corner of your page is a doodle of what is your best attempt at an eel–or more like Floyd.

Oh, that’s right. You sit up straighter and shudder at the sound of his name in your mind, you promised that you would go and see him during winter break. The thought of going to Night Raven College by yourself, with no entourage or teachers or friends terrifies you.

You think of all the eyes that will follow you around the halls and rude remarks you will receive–it scares you enough to listen to the professor. You immerse yourself in the lecture, trying to keep your mind away from all the possible things that could happen over the break.

Maybe it’ll be worth it if you get to be with your boyfriend, but still, hopefully winter break doesn’t come soon.

No one is around.

You can hear little woodland creatures chittering and the echoes of laughter amidst the snow. The plants are covered in a thin, fragile layer of frost–once green, but now, all wilted and lifeless from the relentless weather. The snowfall flutters down in a serene, peaceful way; like powder, covering the once barren rival campus in a pure white.

Along with the winter season comes the cold, crisp air that continuously nips at you, your skin red with what is reminiscent of blush. You should’ve worn a layer more–you feel as though you will freeze over the longer you spend outside.

You can’t help but admire the spectacle, although it may not be anything special, it reminds you of your home, which doesn’t seem so far away anymore. As you reluctantly trek through the snow and towards the college, it crunches down under your weight.

A cold breeze passes by as you walk, you shiver, burying your face into the scarf Floyd gifted you not so long ago. It craves itself with the image of an eel, wrapping around your neck and comforting your loneliness with what is reminiscent of him. You take a breath in, it still smells like him, sort of like fresh river water.

It’s hard to remember the last time you’ve seen him.

“Shrimpy!” A shrill, excited voice calls out to you when you poke your head into the Monstro Lounge curiously.

That’s right, it’s been at least four months since you’ve last heard that voice in person. Knowing the contempt that Night Raven students have for the ‘pissy and pauper’, you’ve never once tried to venture too far outside of Royal Sword Academy, let alone think about it with the exception of school events.

That’s what you look forward to most–because those are the only times you see Floyd, really.

You can feel a couple watchful eyes on you and your uniform as white as snow, completely untarnished and the face of perfection. You adjust your clothes under the weight of their gaze nervously, you’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have come to spend the holiday with Floyd.

“See? Told yah this was a good idea, they like you already!” You’re not sure that ‘like’ was the right word, maybe something more akin to disdain or loathing. He smiles and waves his hand to beckon to follow him, his rows of pearly, sharp teeth only add to your unease.

You oblige, allowing yourself to be whisked away by merman.

The heart of the fireplace beats against the two of you, slowly chasing away the remains of the harsh winter cold. Floyd is sprawled against the velvety couch in the VIP lounge, his head rested soundly on your lap. You sit stiffly in place and push his hair aside to allow yourself to admire his features more closely.

You’re all alone again, but it feels much more welcoming now.

His fingers find their way under your eel-like scarf, you shudder at the touch of his skin against yours–fingertips pressing against your ever increasing pulse. It’s a foreign, his hands are cool. But you don’t try to swat his hand away, instead, you sigh and press the palm of his closer to your neck.

“You cold?” He asks, shifting his body, sitting up and pushing the scarf away from your neck. You nod quietly in response, underneath the soft, woolly fabric, he manages to make you grin for a moment–melting the confines of your enclosed heart.

He unravels the scarf and tosses it on the dirty floor, exposing your neck to the open air–it doesn’t help at all, but you can’t help but laugh. It takes a moment and comes out gradually, first, as a snicker, then into a giggle, and lastly, into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, “did I help?”

“No,” you shake your head, your smile finally reaches your eyes, “can I have my scarf back? That just made me colder.”

“You don’t need that stupid thing, you have me.” He buries his head into your neck in place of the scarf, his arms around your waist in a constrictive embrace. It doesn’t help either, he is cold blooded after all. You can feel his teeth nip at your skin, just as the air did outside not so long ago. But it’s much more pleasant.

“Stupid?” you ask as you return the hug, “you gave that to me.”

“You have the real Floyd right here! You can have it back after winter break, just pay attention to me for now, I missed you lots.”

For some odd reason, it feels a lot warmer now.

“Yeah, don’t worry, you’ll be seeing me more often.”

Maybe, you can ignore all the hate filled stares if it means just a moment longer with Floyd.

“I missed you too.”

[faithst]

PRETTY MESS ♡ SMT

synopsis you absolutely despise matthew because he somehow always one-ups you. so when he has to tutor you because of your failing grades, you hate it. though, you start to notice features about him that make him attractive through these sessions.

genre academicrivalandtutor!matthew x gn!reader, angst, suggestive [16+] wc 1.6k warnings matthew is a bit of an ass, some swears, makeout

masterlist

some people are god’s favorite. one of them being none other than seok matthew; the embodiment of perfection.

great face, great body, and great personality. he’s adored by all and to say you were envious, it’s true. since everyone treasured matthew so much, you assumed you could one-up him in one thing, and that being grades.

well.. you were incorrect, seok matthew is annoyingly smart as well and that gave you more reason to detest him. if he wasn’t such an ass to you, perhaps you would’ve been less irritated every time he achieved a better grade than you but of course not.

he was an absolute asshole to you; never failing to one-up you every moment. he had all the cables, pulled all the right strings, and had everyone wrapped around his finger no matter how hard you tried to be better than him.

he was never one to converse with you but all these back-handed compliments he gave were enough to confirm the disdain was mutual. you constantly felt frustrated at how he always maintained the spotlight and refused to share the crown. inconsiderate prick.

you yearned for the attention he has, jealousy reeking off you every moment the teachers praised him for something you could’ve achieved if it wasn’t for his smooth chatters.

arriving at the classroom, you sat down waiting for the teacher’s arrival fishing out a book to fill up the missing time. matthew eyed you as you ignored all the commotion created by other students and concentrated on your reading ‘how could you read in this environment? he thought, seating down as the teacher arrived.

“i’ve completed grading your exams and i’ll be handing them out.” he steps to each table one by one, handing the papers that revealed everyone’s grades. as you acquired yours, you were horrified to see a big C- on your sheet.

shocked at how vastly your grades slipped compared to the previous exams. you were ignorant as your grades in chemistry last time were significantly high so you didn’t prepare that much this time.

“and congratulations to matthew for getting the highest score, again.” a proud smirk tugged on matthew’s lips. you scoff, mentally blaming yourself for not preparing better. before the lesson ended, the teacher pulled you and matthew aside.

“your grades are dropping.. very badly.. so i’ve decided you should have a tutor!” he expressed, smiling as he did tiny claps. “so why won’t i let none other than my star student, seok matthew tutor you!” the teacher’s hand pulling him closer by the shoulder.

you slowly blinked, processing the statement while matthew stood wide-eyed “no sir, i can learn by myself or have another person be my tutor?” you panicked, not wanting to be weak about grades, especially to matthew “ridiculous! matthew’s the best at this subject and you could learn a thing or two.” he beamed.

“sir, i don’t think i have the time to tutor someone who is very behind in their studies, that’ll somewhat put me behind too!” matthew voiced out, you taking offense to that. “matthew, i’m certain you can make some time for your classmate and you two could also work on ‘your chemistry’.” the teacher finger-quoted, emphasising on the ‘chemistry’.

“can’t wait..” you mumble under your breath. displeasure plastered on your face. matthew sighed “whatever, i’ll be in the library after school and only for one hour. i’m busy with more important stuff than your failing grades.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes before dismissing yourself.

your mind already filled to the brim from your previous lessons, now you had to be tutored by someone you loathed. you enter the library trying to find him “you’re late.” a voice belonging to none other than the devil himself pops up behind you.

“do you want to continue doing bad or..?” he raised his eyebrows, clearly annoyed. you ignored his comments, not desiring to interact with him. “here, do this sheet and do it quickly so i can see what you’re struggling at. though, i’m pretty sure you’re struggling at everything.” he snickered, sharply sliding a paper with questions towards you.

reading the first question, none of this made sense to you at all. he saw your complex reaction “first question and you’re already out the door.” he snarked, pulling out his textbook. these remarks biting at your self-esteem every second “you talk too much, it’s annoying.” rolling your eyes, huffing out. you had no choice but to endure this.

matthew ignored you and began to explain the details, but after a while those words became fuzzy and your eyes were on the verge of fluttering shut.

“alright, one hour’s up.” matthew stood up, leaving you and your scattered notes. this went on for the following week. to be honest; you learned to just ignore his mean words which decreased by the days as you didn’t give him the satisfaction of snapping back but as accomplishing so, you have absorbed little to no information. you are so fucked.

this particular day, matthew planned to give you the exact test to see if you understood even a bit. rather than sliding the paper across the table, he laid it in front of you. “i’ll give you 15 minutes.” the gears in your brain going full-blown, writing whatever nonsense you could into the paper. eventually, you gave up and handed him a half_done_half_empty paper. he quirked an eyebrow, honestly expecting you not to answer at all although your answers were slightly off.

“your answers are dumb but at least you answered two questions.” as per usual, he brought out a few notes and his textbook, explaining the same things that you couldn’t seem to grasp. instead of the free knowledge in front of you, your gaze fell on his hands, gradually reaching up to his neck, and jawline. his features look softer than usual and less tense. your intense staring caught matthew off guard. a bit embarrassed as you’ve never looked at him so intently.

he cleared his throat “is there something on my face?” attempting to wipe off invisible smudge. perhaps it was the lethargy from memorising multiple equations but you definitely weren’t thinking straight.

“since when did your face become so nice to look at..?” tilting your head to get a better peek at his jawline, your eyes meet his and matthew’s face immediately overwhelmed with heat. quickly packing up “i think we’re done for today..” he managed to let out without any stutters, pulling his hood over his head as an attempt to cover his bright red ears.

matthew seemed less tense (well before you did THAT to him) and less rude. the thoughts of his astounding visuals surround your mind as you thought ‘was he always this attractive?’ quickly snapping back to reality. this was seok matthew, someone you despised for stealing your spotlight. though, you had more problems than a failing grade now.

the following few days, matthew seemed jumpy, flinching at the slightest brush of your fingers, unable to hold eye contact. you on the other hand, just seemed more intrigued by the boy; wanting to learn more about him (was there a real person behind that arrogant persona?)

now repeatedly asking questions, even smiling at him. matthew felt stupid as his heart skipped a beat each time he saw you smile, something he’s never witnessed alone with you. he never would’ve admit that he started having feelings for you.

unconsciously throughout the days, the periods where he tutored you slowly changed from his most hated time to his best time. he began to stare into your features; your neck, your lips, especially your eyes. he wanted to wreck you for looking at him like that.

he sat down beside you for the next tutoring session, making an effort to avoid eye contact at all costs. this came off as odd because matthew would look at you when he was teaching to get ahold of your reactions to see if you understood or not. it bothered you how you couldn’t see his features properly.

“matthew, are you okay?” you ask, a tint of concern laced your words, it sounded as if you had a reason to care “yeah, do you understand this?” he asks back, changing the subject. still determined to find out, you continue “you seem distracted.” which he was; mind trying to erase thoughts of what he desired to do to you.

“i think we should move on to this chapter.” he ignored, pacing through the notes “matthew.” you touch his hand by the slightest, his breath hitched “you haven’t looked at me this whole time, what’s distracting you?” “you.” eyebrows furrowed at the sudden confession “what?”

“because you drive me fucking insane.”

heat rapidly spreading through your cheeks. he grabbed you by the wrist bringing you to a secluded part of the library, your back facing the nearby wall and matthew towering over you. sudden embarrassment from the position, feeling powerless.

matthew tilted your chin making you look back up at him, the smirk he had got you slowly loosing your mind “god, the way you look at me.” he says, one hand on your waist as he pulls you closer, goosebumps swarming your body, amused at the sight of you vulnerable under his touch.

leaning in closer brushing his lips against yours “they’re soft.” he whispers to your ear. your hands now on his shoulders, matthew delicately peppering a trail of wet kisses to your jawline, down to your neck. stopping as he reached your collarbones, shivers exempting your body.

whining softly when he stopped; at this point, you were just as needy as matthew, now gripping on the hand that was on your waist.

fuck it.

you pulled him closer by the belt, lips crashing onto eachother as butterflies erupted in your stomach, knees becoming weak. his lips were intoxicating, eyes shut but your unsteady breathing still audible.

the little gasps and moans that escaped from you made matthew feel dizzy, eager for more. his hands curling around your waist as yours made their way to his hair to tug it softly as he groaned from the action. there was no stopping from this.

parting away to catch your breath, a string of saliva following along as it connects to your lips. matthew’s lips were red and swollen, hair ruffled and messy from your tugging. his eyes glossy with a hint of lust.

this image of matthew will forever be engraved into you mind, he looked like a pretty mess. your pretty mess.

© keiwook | 2023

[manag3rc]

...Corbinain? Is it really you?

It's you. Why did I not expect this? It's always you.

That’s not my name anymore. It's CX. You broke and killed the man that was Corbinain.

[memelovescaps]

Chapter 26 Beneath the Surface: Brewing

In which Harry suggests Severus they brew together, since he can't brew himself yet. Lots of emotions ensue!

Rating: 18+ for strong language and adult themes

word count: 130,152 as of chapter 26. Incomplete fic, Work in Progress.

tags: snarry, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, abandonment and trust issues, slow burn, eventual romance, romantic friendship

Harry stuck his tongue out. “Maybe… but the instructions in the Prince’s book worked perfectly. And I think I can brew something decent—nowhere near your impossibly high standards, of course, but acceptable.”

Severus stilled, the words catching him off guard. They had slipped so easily from Harry’s mouth, yet they struck Severus like a hex.

Even now, with their animosity long buried, such words startled him. Rarely had anyone acknowledged his abilities with genuine admiration. His skill had always been a weapon for others to exploit or a target for envy and disdain.

But Harry—Harry Potter—of all people…

His chest tightened, the sensation unfamiliar and unsettling. He looked away, feigning interest in the article now resting in his lap. His hands felt unsteady, and a strange heaviness coiled in his chest, laced with a warmth that he couldn’t quite understand.

“Severus?” Harry’s voice softened, his concern evident as he leaned forward.

Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, Severus forced his shoulders straight. His smirk wavered but remained intact—just enough to mask the vulnerability beneath.

“You say that now, Harry,” he began, his voice rougher than he intended, “but you had always loathed me.”

Harry sighed, moving closer. His hand rested lightly on Severus’s knee, grounding him.

“I did,” he admitted, his tone free of hesitation. “But even when I couldn’t stand the sight of you, there was one thing I could never deny: your brilliance. Your skill, your intelligence... honestly, I hated you even more for it. You were always right, always one step ahead of us. And it drove me mad.”

Something shifted, loosening the knot in Severus’s chest. Warmth seeped into the spaces left behind, tentative but undeniable. His shoulders, always tense from years of shielding himself, began to ease. He sank back into his chair, the barbed retort waiting on his tongue fading into silence. He allowed the moment to linger, Harry’s words echoing softly in his mind, surprising him with how much they mattered.

Harry’s lips curved into a small, lopsided smile before he rose from the sofa. Padding over him barefoot, he stopped in front of Severus, his closeness gentle. Severus’s gaze dropped instinctively, his pulse quickening until Harry’s warm fingers grazed his cheek. The touch sent an involuntary shiver through him, breaking through his carefully held composure.

Harry sat down next to him, his warmth so close, the smell of ink and parchment surrounding him.

“I thought this was the one thing you never doubted about yourself,” Harry murmured. His thumb brushed aside a stray lock of hair with an almost reverent touch. “You’re brilliant, Severus. You're powerful, intelligent, and skilful.” His voice was steady, his green eyes unwavering. “Only a fool wouldn't see it.”

Then, Harry leaned forward a bit more, inching a bit closer. Severus swallowed and, blinking, looked into his emerald green eyes. He’d looked at them countless times, and still, he could get lost in those eyes of his.

Severus swallowed hard, the intensity of Harry’s words striking him deeply. They pierced through years of doubt, settling deep in his chest like a warmth he hadn’t known he craved.

Harry leaned forward a bit more, the space between them vanishing. Severus’s breath caught as he looked into those vivid green eyes, the intensity in them rendering him motionless.

His eyelids fluttered closed as he felt Harry’s lips press lightly to his cheek, just beneath his eye. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down Severus’s spine, warmth blooming across his face.

He breathed in and curled into him, his head pressing against his shoulder. The smell of parchment and ink still present, clinging to Harry, warming Severus's heart. Harry’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him in, letting out a soft chuckle.

His breath was warm against Severus’s temple. “Merlin, if people knew how soft you can be under all those layers…”

Severus huffed faintly, though he made no attempt to pull away.

“I am not soft,” he muttered, the words muffled against Harry’s shirt.

Harry laughed again, the sound rumbling through his chest. “No, of course not. Perish the thought.”

Available on Fanfiction and Wattpad too.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Did you say her drabbles are back open? HOLD MY BEER

*SCREEEEEEECCCHHHH* is the sound of my feet skidding to a halt when I arrive to you, dropping to my knees!

Can I please request prompt # 20 for JAX TELLER PLEASE 🔥

I did. I said it and therefore it is true. And yes. Yes you can. This one was fun to do, so thanks for requesting it! Oh and it well and truly got away from me, so it's more of a short than a drabble, but I doubt you'll mind! :D

Slight smut below the cut, minors DNI!

It's that fucking sneer. The way he looks at you like you're something that just jumped up and bit him. You know that if you were a dude, he and you would likely have come to physical blows by now, such is your utter disdain for one another, although you're never sure whether it is because you're female, or because he's conflicted by the fact he'd only marginally rather fuck you than fight you that keeps him from swinging his fists.

Because you know he wants to fuck you. That sneer? It's partly driven by the fact he hates that he wants you so badly, being that he loathes you so much.

You're just finishing up cleaning in one of the stopover rooms, helping Gemma get the rancid clubhouse back to some semblance of cleanliness when you hear the door close, looking up from the freshly made bed to see your nemesis standing there.

"The fuck do you want?" Your tone is crisp, biting. God, how you hate that man.

He lifts his chin, nostrils flaring slightly, his eyes narrowing. "To hate fuck the absolute shit out of you. Get undressed."

Well, at least he's direct, but you snort on a mutter immediately upon hearing such a request. "Oh, you think I'm giving up my pussy for someone I despise as much as you? We don't like each other, Jackson. I think that's abundantly clear."

A sharp breath hisses up his nose, Jax slowly walking towards you, eyeing you very, very intently. "That's why I said it'd be a hate fuck. I don’t give a fuck that we don’t like each other. Take off your clothes. Now.”

You're defiant, but still, something in you weakens when you see the want beginning to pool in his eyes, his body tensing as it radiates over his muscles. "Make me."

He shrugs, reaching for his knife. "Alright." Grasping the front of your dress, he brings the blade down into the cloth, slashing it apart before grabbing either side and ripping it, tearing your dress clean in two. "Now, unless you want me to ruin your underwear the same way, get on your fucking back."

Reaching for him, you grab his belt, towing him towards you, the ecstasy of the moment snapping over your skin like tiny storms. You grin, running your tongue up his cheek. "Make me."

He grasps your waist, tossing you onto the bed like a ragdoll, and from the moment your back hits the mattress, it's on. It's carnage, sweet, delicious carnage, utter sexual fury as both rage fuck each other... and the fresh sheets right off the bed. To say the man dicks you the hell down thoroughly would be the biggest understatement ever used.

At least you leave that room knowing there's one thing you do actually quite like about Jackson Teller, although you're loathed to admit it.

[georgieluz]

HBOWAR OC MASTERLIST

OLIVER HARDWICK

intelligence officer, easy company (band of brothers)

ship: lewis nixon | tag: #oc: oliver hardwick

"you'll never fumigate the demons, no matter how much you smoke"

new yorker. former literature and latin student at university. mischievous. wealthy. playful. rakish, maybe even roguish, some might say, in a pretty boy kind of way. think: old money with a rebellious streak. massive ballrooms contrasted with secret parties in tiny apartments. flowing champagne. screaming drunkenly from the deck of a yacht. rage rage and more rage, so much rage. the subtle glare of disapproval from a calculating parent. a disdain for authority and taking orders. winter scarves in every colour, but especially red. kissing older men. dancing until you can't remember your family name. the simultaneous fascination and disappointment your friends and peers feel toward you. running away as a child and nobody even noticing you're gone. picking oranges in the mediterranean. freezing cold new york winters. spinning around in the rain. being too smart for your own good. self-sabotage. self-loathing. self-destruction.

playlist: tell me i'm an angel

TOMMY MONET

private first class, easy company (band of brothers)

ship: joseph liebgott | tag: #oc: tommy monet

"the silence that you're hearing is turning into a deafening, painful, shameful roar"

bostoner. from the wrong side of the tracks. barely got a high school diploma. former teenage nuisance. poet. fuelled by coffee and homeric similes. friends with every cat in the neighbourhood. talks to his cat badger more than other people. think: scrappy. argumentative. observant. smart but wishes he wasn't. hot black coffee running through his veins. flannel shirts. a backpack full of books. a hardshell exterior and deep, deep repression. running races down the railroad tracks until you're completely breathless. smoking because you don't know what else to do with your hands. irritable, but usually with a smile and a hefty dose of sarcasm. fuck the elite. no one can hurt me if they can't get near me. insecurities? what are those? who needs a father anyway.

playlist: let down and hanging around

CHARLIE SCOTT

private first class, how company (the pacific)

ship: bill "hoosier" smith | tag: #oc: charlie scott

"come ease my slumber, sink me into sleep"

mornings spent next to the river. cigarettes for breakfast. brushing the sand out of dark hair. journals filled to the brim. training as a car mechanic. hands coated with oil. overalls tied around your waist. a sarcasm-filled whisper in your ear. a hand gripping yours through the barrage of bombs every night. eyes searching for you as you cross every battlefield. dramatic readings of your stream of conscious poetry until something hits. adopting the dog that you found in the middle of battle. missing the diners you always claimed to hate. wanting nothing more than to run back to the mountains you hiked growing up. realising you never want to visit a beach again. longing for the quiet peacefulness of a lake.

playlist: i once warmed my hands

RHYS LLEWYD

corpsman, king company (the pacific)

ship: eddie jones | tag: #oc: rhys llewyd

"torn down, full of aching, somehow our youth will take the blame"

welsh born, new hampshire raised. gentle hands, sharp eyes. soft-spoken. welsh-lilted american accent. the messiest bedhead you'll ever see. enjoys watching people mispronounce his surname. touch-starved for something more than bleeding guts and bullet wounds. sage green and lavender. realising you never wanted to study medicine in the first place. cloudgazing. comic books shoved into pockets. an impeccable dancer who will never show it. can't handle his alcohol but drinks anyway. misses trees, and grass, and greenery. hands touching beneath the library table. a pile of books next to your bed. the scent of sugar and honey contrasted with the blood dripping from your hands.

playlist: fade me away

MAX JACOBS

platoon scout sniper, bravo company (gen kill)

ship: brad colbert | tag: #oc: max jacobs

"there's nothing wrong with me, this is how i'm supposed to be, in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me"

deadly aim, with a smile to match. skate parks and 7-11s. worn out chuck taylors. suburban fuckery. sneaking out of your bedroom window at 2am. driving out as far as you can because you've got nothing better to do. desperately wanting to escape your town at any cost. sony walkman cd player attached to your belt at all times. fuck the system (but you're in the system). laughing in the face of everything and anything. empty red bull cans littered across the room. kissing boys in empty car parks. getting your fists bloody when the homophobes arrive. taking on the world with nothing but bruised knees and a stick of gum.

playlist: and when we go, don't blame us

MATTHEW "MATTY" CARTER

corporal, bravo company (gen kill)

ship: ray person | tag: #oc: matty carter

"tracksuits and red wine, movies for two, we'll take off our phones, and we'll turn off our shoes. we'll play nintendo, though i always lose, 'cause you watch the tv, while i'm watching you. dumb conversation, we lose track of time, have i told you lately, i'm grateful you're mine. there's nothing like doing nothing with you"

missouri summers. friends who fall somewhere between platonic and something more. pizza nights. staying up until 4am playing uno. laughing so hard your ribs hurt. realising you're a little bit in love with your best friend. following him to the marine corps. losing far too much money playing pool. camping in the rain. smiles so wide. watching the lost boys so many times you can quote every line. sharing hoodies. the colour orange. instant messaging into the early hours. the sunrise laughing as you fall asleep. promises of running away together. fingers in soft wavy hair. ice cold lemonade. the ghost of a confession.

playlist: do you think of me?

CALEB DAWSON

architecture student, hacker, archer (band of brothers zombie au)

ship: ron speirs | tag: #oc: caleb dawson

"yes, it's you i welcome death with, as the world caves in"

sketching buildings from the window of hotel rooms. mugs of cold coffee left on every surface. counting to ten before you open a door. endless recurve vs compound pettiness. the fucking audacity of life. talking with your hands. sarcasm as a first language. stubborn and unyielding, but fiercely protective. clinging to a pencil and paper as a lifeline. realising it's easier to push your buttons than you thought. jokes. lots of jokes. witty one liners. deep, deep inner conflict. bitterness coating your tongue with every word. being suspicious of newcomers but bound to your own sense of loyalties and vulnerabilities. trying desperately to hide every aspect of your gentleness, but feeling it leak through in every moment. being ashamed of your dreams and ambitions. feeling the cracks break open every day, but bottling it up all the same. waiting alone in hotel rooms wondering if your dad will come back for you this time. being taught to hack at twelve years old. finally escaping the only life you've ever really known only to find that a virus outbreak has mutated and changed the world forever. unravelling dreams.

playlist: one wink at a time

ARCHIE SULLIVAN

RAF pilot / lancaster bomber (masters of the air)

ship: bucky egan | tag: #oc: archie sullivan

"wild lovers never get the blues"

flying too close to the moon, "you look pretty in blue", piles of unopened letters thrown in a corner, easy laughs, easier smiles, falling asleep on the wing of your plane, cycling to the pub with your best friend in the pouring rain, turning annoyance into endearment, a pint and a ginger beer please, escaping to the beaches of east anglia on a weekend pass, puppy dog eyes the size of jupiter, pettiness, so so much pettiness, challenging just about everyone you've ever met, thinking you might just be the greatest darts player in all of england, a good ol' dose of the great british repression, yet accidentally flirting with almost everyone you meet, running so far away from home that you ended up in the clouds

playlist: to the top of the big night sky

if you want to read about the ocs from my hbo war f1 au please head over to this post. the ocs there are all platonic ocs, but have a lot of presence in the world and narrative, and if you'd like to see my ocs for top gun, then you can find them on my sideblog here

[bbnibini]

I saw your tags in the Solomon post about his pact with Asmodeus tbh I agree with you maybe because I played the old game and know how cruel demons were shown at the start before they started overhauling the dialogue.

It wasn't until the brothers realized MC is related to Lilith so they started becoming nicer too. I just think it's unfair to put these characters in a box and expect them to act consistently that's called caricature not characterization but hey it's just my opinion.

Hi there! Solomon seems to be even more of a polarising character than Belphie was even if the latter committed an actual murder while the former hadn't done anything as severe (for now...jk lol).

Joking aside, it's completely valid to like and dislike a character. And I can totally see your point. I guess your opinion on Solomon changes depending on how long you had known him or how far you are in the story. Sometimes it doesn't even have a reason at all and that's valid too. It always amazes me how we interpet scenes so differently. Like for example, the current lesson (lesson 17).

In my eyes, the vulnerability he had shown in the bar/tavern was NOT intended. He had even insisted numerous times that we should forget everything that he said. That it was shameful he had even reacted that way. That he was being emotional. He was not in his right mind and it's shameful and disgusting and he should have never acted like that. This is the same man who said that he couldn't stand the thought of being hated by MC, so I think he must have reacted so strongly because this is a rare chance we see him at his weakest point: his true self. Being out in the open to someone who he wants to be loved by so badly TERRIFIES HIM. A lot of unexplored self-loathing in this man that's for sure. He even said you can call him insane because emotions had never been a factor in his decision making process. He's usually very emotionally intelligent and composed but your involvement. Your existence is beginning to shake his values. Because in the end, that air of confidence. Superiority. Magical prowess are years of building up defences against others from SEEING THE REAL HIM. I really like how the person I RB'd the blog from worded it. He's trying, but he's not perfect. He's human. He's hurt but in the cruel world he lived in all his life, he only had himself to rely on.

And there's something tragically poetic about that. Could his desire to make a pact with Lucifer be because he sees Lucifer as a "what-if" version of himself that had fallen from grace WITH people who loved him and believed in him? That if he gains Lucifer's trust, he would also be healing a part of himself who never had the chance nor the privilege to connect with others? If you recall in one of his SSR cards (the Comiket one forgot the name), the Lord of Corruption is his favourite character (possibly because he relates to the Lord of Corruption the most?), and it's been shown in the game a few times how he and Lucifer are comparable to each other (the Cyber event, TSL quiz battle, etc).

He seems to really be clinging into his humanity despite being isolated and even scorned by humanity itself at some point. Is it a saviour complex? Survivor's guilt? Either way, Solomon had been through a lot and he didn't seem to have a reliable guardian to rely on which is why he was acting like that. A stark contrast to how he and Diavolo were treated by Barbatos when his role in their lives had obvious parallels.

That's what's bothering me too. If Barbatos made Solomon "the way he is", then why is he so hostile towards him compared to the guilt and subservience he exhibits with Diavolo? Is it because like Asmodeus, he was also tricked into a pact(highly doubt this tbh unless that's actually the reason for Barbatos' deep disdain towards him? Because he had once treated Solomon with trust and compassion until it had been broken at some point)? Or could it be something deeper than that? A blight to the Fountain of Knowledge? Some forbidden boundaries that Solomon had crossed?

In my case, I have a considerable amount of background knowledge on him based on his "real life counterpart" before Solmare retconned it :'), and it has guided me surprisingly well (almost too well) in understanding him. King Solomon in the Bible had many enemies. But he is also kind and wise and benevolent and fickle and lustful and scheming. Loved by his people. Even given a blessed name by God. He had 700 wives and 300 concubines. He was a player, a fool in love, but for some reason, despite it all only had one named heir and had only one official wife, and when his actual heir had even taken over the throne, the United Kingdom of Israel was close to collapsing...which is weird because he's supposed to be wise and discerning. He could have totally predicted that from happening by defying God's word but kept on building pagan temples and marrying foreign wives anyway (despite how seemingly loyal he is to Naamah??). It's almost as if he wanted it to fall.

Sorry if I rambled too much lol. For me personally I don't really care if you like him or not. I think it's good they're trying to flesh him out although I have very very mixed feelings about them abandoning what they already worked on for his character in the OG. I do want Solmare to at least give us an option to side with him by our own terms. Not as blindly as the limited options they sometimes offer. (Ex. Okay, I'm on your side but can we please deal with this with more heart and consideration? AND HUMAN DECENCY? Not everyone is out there to get you and not all demonic transactions have to be heartless and calculating. Do you want a hug? :( )

EDIT: Idk why people are still liking this but tl;dr - Solomon was morally grey in the original source/Biblical King Solomon already so him being morally grey here should be no surprise. The entire cast is morally grey (except Luke probably). They're demons. You can hate on a character, but you should not bring it to an extent where you're already hurting a real live person for differing opinions.