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inkykeiji · 1 day

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are we having fun yet?

characters: todoroki touya, todoroki enji warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (adoptive siblings), rough sex, tw enji, fem!reader, toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy, touya’s just very mean) words: 1.7k

From the moment you stepped through the estate door, you’ve always been the princess of the family; babied to the point of patronization, pampered to the point of spoiled brat, rotten right to your sugary core.

The Todoroki family’s cherished little charity case, orphaned by a building Endeavor had failed to catch when you were only five years old, welcomed into his arms and his family and his big, big home.

His.

Everyone loved you instantly, took to you like a swarm of maggots to a piece of fresh, ripe fruit—swathed you in adoration, gorged themselves on your sweet flesh, consumed your seeds and planted you in their hearts, let you take root, fester, grow.

Except for Touya, who, despite his big age at eleven years old—a whole six years older than you—developed a lifelong penchant for yanking on your pigtails or braids just to hear you yelp out that pretty Touya-nii!, filtered through a cutely scrunched pout.

Everyone still loves you, even well into adulthood, desperate to aid you, to wait on you hand and foot, to take care of the poor little orphaned girl.

Except for Touya.

Because Touya loves you even more than everyone else. Touya loves you the most.

He wouldn’t be so goddamn mean if he didn’t.

But regardless of how precious you are to all of the Todorokis, you are not perfect.

And there is one teensy, tiny, slightly distasteful habit you just can’t seem to kick.

It’s a habit you developed when you were just a child, only a few months into officially being a Todoroki.

It’s a habit you should’ve grown out of by now—any respectable young woman would have, at this point.

It’s a habit you’ve been spoken to about several times—but, evidently, nothing quite seems to stick.

It isn’t normal for a fully grown adult to jump into her father’s arms like that, Fuyumi had tried to explain gently, eyes brimming with sympathetic pity. It isn’t entirely appropriate.

Maybe not. But you’re not entirely sure you care.

Because you just can’t help it, legs taking off the moment you hear Daddy’s engine cut, bare feet padding down the hallway as Daddy’s boots collide with the cobblestone walkway, rounding the foyer corner just as he’s stepping through the front door, barrelling into his waiting arms with a syrupy sweet squeal of Daddy! sounding in your throat.

“Hey, princess,” he’s saying as he catches you, hoists you up by your armpits and cradles you to his body, large hands strong and secure beneath your bum. “How’s Daddy’s girl?”

A routine procedure, question murmured out like clockwork, but you never tire of it.

“Better, now that you’re home,” you sigh into him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms twined around his neck, resting your head on his broad shoulder as you stare up at him.

The familiar scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, infused with notes of dirt and rubble and a hint of sweat, and you breathe it in deeply, desperate to fill your lungs with it, that Dad Aftershave that never seems to fade, no matter how long or ruthless his shift was.

Your ribs stretch, strain, press into Daddy’s strong chest, and he chuckles, the sound rumbling warmly against you.

He knows what you’re doing.

“Trying to inhale me?” he asks, but amusement streaks his tone, crystal eyes melty and lidded as they stare down at you, a small smile on his lips.

With an embarrassed little squeak, you nod, burrowing your burning face into his shoulder, Enji laughing again; gentle, soft, full of love.

“Y’jus smell really good, s’all,” you mumble into him. “You smell like home, Daddy.”

“Even all sweaty and icky from work?”

“Even all sweaty and icky from work,” you confirm with a lethargic nod, thighs tightening around his thick waist, desperate to hug him closer.

Droplets of exertion still adorn his neck, little beads glittering delicately in the setting sunlight spilling through the front windows in large beams of gold. With content humming in your throat, you nuzzle your cheek into his damp skin, smearing his sweat across your flesh, letting it seep into your tissues, forcefully marking yourself with his scent.

“That’s gross, dad. I don’t know why you let her do that to you.” A smooth, dark voice sounds behind you, two pairs of eyes snapping to the source.

Touya.

Leaning against the cased opening, he smirks—a cruel little curl up of his lips, sharp and void of mirth—his arms crossed loosely over his chest in practiced apathy.

Sapphire eyes skim down your knotted bodies slow and languid, appraising, degrading, before climbing back up to meet your own stare, blue flames licking around his pupils.

“It’s not right,” he continues. He’s talking to Daddy, but his eyes haven’t left your own, the inferno blazing in his irises so bright you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blooming in your vision.

It hurts, but you won’t bow, you won’t break—not here, not now, not for him.

With decided defiance, you trail the tip of your nose along the sharp edge of your father’s jaw—slow, soft, sensual—planting a chaste kiss to the strong, defined hinge, steadily holding your eldest brother’s unblinking gaze.

Oh, Touya knows what you’re doing.

And, oh, Touya fucking hates it.

Something sours his face, twists his features into a bitter wince—anger, or heartache, or both, morphing his handsomeness into something ugly, stained with envy.

“Oh, Touya,” Enji dismisses with a grumble and a roll of his eyes. “Can’t a father hug his little girl when he comes home? What’s the issue with that?”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious,” Touya snorts, and it’s caustic, gnawing through the heavy atmosphere. “Your ‘little girl’ is a grown fucking woman. It’s weird.”

It’s wrong.

“Touya’s got a point, Enji,” Rei says as she rounds the corner, lips pressed in a flat, thin line. “Sweetheart,” her eyes find yours, mouth stretching into a small, tight smile, straining beneath the pressure of contrived cordiality. “We talked about this.”

Brow furrowing, your eyes swap between their faces. “But I’m—I was just—”

But it’s no use trying to explain; they’ve already made up their minds, already sentenced you to damnation, ice and slate scrutinizing, suffocating as their combined stares weigh down on you.

A garbled noise hitches in your throat, something that sounds suspiciously similar to unfair as you untangle yourself from your Daddy, Enji’s large hands aiding in the task, setting you down onto the hardwood floor gently.

A precious moment, smashed to bits by hard jealousy.

An apologetic ruffle of your hair, his palm so massive it practically encases the entire top of your head—sorry, kiddo—and then he’s off, stalking down the hallway for a much-anticipated shower to wash the grime of the day from his skin, his wife following close to his side, hissing out reproaches, fragments of their conversation—discourage and indulge and shouldn’t—slicing your ears.

“You always ruin everything,” you spit at your brother, the moment both of your parents are out of view.

“That so?” he gazes down at you with polished impassivity, sapphire lidded but scorching—you know him better than that, you know him the best.

“Yeah, that is so,” you seethe. “It’s so unfair that you get to fuck anything that moves but I’m not even allowed to give our father a simple hug.”

Disgust screws up his face, but it’s tinged with desolation, the implication sewn into your words loud and clear—if you could, if Daddy would let you, you’d fuck him, too.

Whether or not that’s true, whether or not it’s just a tactic to hurt him, doesn’t matter. The fact that you’re even making the implication itself is enough.

And Touya knows better than most that these little quips, razored little insults spit between siblings, always have a glimmer of truth to them.

“There’s nothing simple about that ‘hug’—if that’s what you want to call it.” The words are acrid, stinging his tongue, but his voice cracks, eroded by emotion.

“What would you call it?”

“You should be ashamed,” he continues, ignoring your question.

“Why? It’s just an innocent—”

“Innocent?” he scoffs, eyebrows raising with sardonic surprise. “It’s indecent. Winding around our father like that, climbing him like he’s a fucking tree—” His face puckers, the thought venom in his mouth, head shaking in disapproval.

“Maybe you’re just jealous,” you say, lifting your nose with a haughty air of superiority, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the kill. “Huh? Jealous that I touch Daddy like that so freely, jealous that I like Daddy better than I like you.”

Poor Daddy, used as a toy, a tool to wield against your big brother—the only foolproof weapon in your arsenal, the only surefire way to hurt Touya, to guarantee you get what you’re so desperately vying for.

Daddy’s Little Girl always gets what she wants—consciously or not, Daddy makes sure of that.

Touya smirks in response; nothing more than a lopsided twitching of his lips, the hellfire in his eyes flaring, a spark of terror zipping through your veins. Huffing out the ghost of a laugh through his nostrils—humourless, bleak—his tongue runs along his front teeth, sucking hard, eyes narrowed.

You know what that means, too.

You’ll pay for that remark later tonight, face shoved into your eldest brother’s pillows, cotton wedged between your teeth as his hips smack your ass and his cock pounds your cervix and his fingers tighten around your wrists, yanking back with every plunging thrust forward, using them as leverage, your muscles pulled taut and aching.

And that’ll just be the start. He won’t stop until his pillow is thoroughly soaked with you—your tears, your spit, your sweat, drying in hard crusts of salt—until you’re sobbing out his honorific, twined so beautifully with messy apologies, the only words your stupid little brain can comprehend, until your cute little cunt has been fucked raw, split open by his thick cock over and over and over again, stuffed so full of your big brother’s cum that it’s oozing past his shaft in dribbles of cream.

He won’t stop until your body is mangled and marred with him, dark splotches of broken blood vessels and scabby molds of his teeth reminding you of who you truly belong to.

And then, he’ll fuck you some more.

Your Welcome Home ritual won’t be the only thing your big brother is ruining tonight.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki enji x reader #(implied but sTILL)#todoroki enji x you #endeavor x reader #inky.dabi #inky.touya #tw:pseudocest #tw:enji #LMAO

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satyricplotter · 1 day

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pairing: dick grayson x reader

word count: 3.2k (i think?)

warnings: rape mention (as per dick's canon)

notes: i keep thinking of applying one of my favourite manga/manhwa tropes with dick specifically, because it works so well, but i don't particularly care to put in the work of setting up that it'd take for it to land as well as it could. maybe later. as it is, i'll give you the quick rundown because i spent two days writing it lol

something ugly about you has made you undeserving of romance. you have spent your entire life puzzling out what it is and how to fix it. nothing much is special about you: the matter’s far from isolation, or becoming any particular sort of pariah. perhaps that'd be easier to explain. no. people leave you alone, your friends cherish you, your family loves you. it is not that you have not known affection, but that you have and so when you crash against the wall that horrible first time, it hurts all the more.

nothing changes after that. there is always a limit to where your interest can reach, unnamed but palpable. a line you cannot cross. it seems to you as if the entire world has reached a silent consensus during a meeting to which your attendance was not required and your input unnecessary. why would it be? this is not about you. after all, your ability to love has not become impaired. you like people. you’ve fallen in love. but who has ever loved you back?

this one facet of life has been closed off to you entirely, and you’ve been chased away from all attempts to form a romantic bond with unspoken threats of shame and implications of disgust. (a bit much of a display just for the offense of being little old you. you come to regard the matter so as you grow older and start curating some self-respect. it still stings as badly as scrubbing your skin raw under hot water, but not all the loathing is directed inward nowadays.)

regardless, you’ve learnt that you are undesirable, and nothing you can say or do will change that. you must be content with the other shapes that love can take. nothing that you want matters whatsoever.

you meet dick grayson one summer evening under exceedingly normal circumstances. you do not know about heroes or rogues, no batmans or nightwings. the person that crosses the threshold is none other than dick grayson, the handsome young man. suspicion does not cross anybody’s mind, and if it does, it comes only a good couple of thoughts after his darling smile and shapely thighs.

obviously you like him immediately. what’s not to like? he’s gorgeous.

you react to him with the tense wariness of someone hardened by years of useless crushes. trying to avoid him. trying to be normal when you invariably cannot. it’s fine. it’ll be fine.

you still crush on him.

it’s inevitable, at this point. he’s too pretty, too smart, too kind not to draw you in. every interaction comes a rush of exhilarating fear. at times, you manage to subdue yourself into normalcy, hang out with him with as much naturalness as you can muster. but then he does something particularly attractive and you’re back in square one, shoulders drawn together and so short with him he probably gets emotional whiplash. it’s as exhausting for you as it must be for him, and he still reacts to it with grace. it doesn’t help.

through your concerted efforts to be normal, or at least appear as much, you and dick become friends. not great friends, mind you, but good enough that you start hanging out on your own without any of your mutual friends present. and you only spend about three hours total pondering the meaning behind the phrasing of his texts. that’s gotta be some form of progress, right?

he sits at a little table away from the window, and beams when you arrive. coffee’s on him and conversation’s on you. you’ve got more in common than you first thought, but you go back and forth between imagining it must be fate and squashing down delusion, telling yourself you’re blowing it out of proportion.

at one point in time, a beautiful, sultry-looking woman approaches the table.

this sucks, you think, glancing away from dick’s bland mask of politeness. all of it is hopeless and it still sucks.

you and dick tense immediately, like you both know what’s coming. sure as ever, the woman smiles and asks for his number. you look away politely, sip at your drink. the proximity makes it useless to pretend you’re not eavesdropping (though it can hardly be called that when she came to your table), but you take care not to make any faces that’d give away the little storm brewing in your stomach.

you think about running off to the bathroom, get as far as shifting on your seat when dick shoots you a troubled look. the woman’s been at it for a little more than is appropriate. a minute or so more of insistence and she’ll be stretching the boundaries of her own dignity too far. you look away with pressed lips and move your hands under the table.

your alarm beeps.

“oh, shit, dude,” you gasp, hoping to land somewhere in the ballpark of realism. “It’s almost seven. we’ve got to go, or else we’re gonna miss the movie.”

dick gives the woman his apologies and swiftly runs out of the café with you hot on his heels. on the way to the movie theatre, you wanna ask the million questions running through your head—why’d he reject her? didn’t he like her? did he not think she was pretty? who is pretty for him? what’s his taste in partners? is he seeing someone?—but you know it’s a futile endeavor. what will you even get out of that? it’s clear dick didn’t enjoy the interaction either. you make small talk about something else, trying to draw his attention away from whatever conflicted feelings he’s moored in right now. just because you like him doesn’t mean you can’t be a good friend to him.

it’s a short walk. soon enough, he’s all smiles again. in the line for the popcorn stand, another two girls come up to him, this time much younger than you two. he’s nicer with them than he was before, but he rejects them all unequivocally.

“doesn’t it annoy you?” you can’t help but ask. when dick raises an elegant eyebrow, you panic and backpedal so hard you might as well have driven a truck through a storefront.

“a bit,” dick says, ignoring your rambling. you shut your mouth firmly closed when he gives you a sidelong glance, and continues, so very casually, “it’s worse when it comes from a friend rather than a stranger. so many people just try to befriend me because they’re looking for a relationship, or they want access to my body. it’s… tiring. i’m sure you can relate.”

“ah,” you say. your tongue feels numb, but you’re burning up under the weight of his gaze. “no. I don’t really get harassed like that or, um, asked out.”

“huh.” dick blinks. “really?”

“yeah,” you force out. blessedly, the attendant calls your attention. you jostle dick forward. “look, it’s our turn.”

dick orders popcorn. you get a large slushy that you’re not gonna finish. you make him pay. he complies with no question. inside the theatre, you spend all two hours and sixteen minutes of the showing in absolute silence. it is not so strange to be fixated on the movie, but you’re usually a little more chatty. under normal circumstances, you’d eagerly take the opportunity to lean closer to him, whisper something about the main character’s penchant for gummies and its relation to the degradation of the American working class. he’d glance at you and thoughtfully smile, and you’d catch a whiff of his cologne when you straightened. for the rest of the movie, the twinkle of his eye as he forwent the film for your conversation would be all you’d think about.

such is not the case now.

you can tell when you’ve been summarily dismissed. in fact, you appreciate when people are subtle about their rejections. it’s always all the more humiliating when they feel the need to bring it out into the open, like your affections have been so blatant they must be commented on, debated.

the rest of the evening is spent convincing yourself that this is good, that this means it’ll be better for yourself going forward. you’ll be less distracted, if anything. dick’s attempts to discuss the movie with you afterwards fall flat, as the only thing you really want is to get home and stare at your ceiling.

when you’ve reached your apartment door, and are turning to enter after a hurried goodbye, dick calls your name.

“look,” he says, running a hand through his hair unsurely. “I don’t usually do this.”

oh, no. dread fills you up. he’s breaking up with you and you’re not even dating.

you swallow. “dick—”

“I like you a lot,” he interrupts. your teeth clang the way you shut up so fast. in fact, you feel a little dizzy. he continues before you can even process that first sentence. “I think you and I could be really good friends, and I’d love if we could continue seeing each other to, you know, hang out and talk. I do truly appreciate your insight. is that okay?”

you blink fast some three or four times. it must be comical, the face you’re making, because the corner of dick’s lips pulls upward despite him trying to keep a serious air.

“I thought we were already friends…?” you say, at a loss for anything else to say.

“yes!” he beams. “we are.”

“okay,” you respond, perplexed. this is so far out of left field. “um. text me when you’re home?”

“yeah.” he grins. gorgeous grin, to be sure, but why? “for sure.”

“cool.” you give him an awkward thumbs up and scurry inside.

it is… baffling. you spend all of that night wide awake and pondering. dick must’ve misconstrued something, or either you missed a crucial step in your relationship. otherwise the end to that evening makes absolutely no sense. the only thing you can conjure up is that dick must reject a lot of people who, like he said, try to befriend him only to get with him or worse, only to fuck, and it’s not very likely most of those people stay in his life once it is clear he won’t budge on the matter. the fact that you didn’t immediately turn your back on him must’ve come to him as a pleasant surprise.

it’s sad. like, really fucking sad, actually.

that very sadness—and the memory of his handsome, bright grin—turns your outlook inside out. why do you like dick? clearly he’s got the looks and the personality, but do you really know him? what do you know of him? you make a list of things you’ve learned about him in the short time of knowing him. it’s not long.

you come to the conclusion, mortifyingly so, that you don’t, in fact, like dick grayson. that, if anything, the only thing you like is the idea of the boyfriend he could be, which is not the boyfriend that he is (you know nothing about that). it’s the social acumen inherent in bagging such a hottie, and the sparkling sexual attraction bound around it, that really prompt your crushing. it’s not dick as a person. frankly, you think, a little hysterically, could be anyone, really. didn’t even have to be dick. he was just there, the handsomest person in the room. an apt target for the voracious hunger of your heart. you’d mooned and mooned over him for ages and it turns out it wasn’t even about him.

god, you’re such an asshole.

in penance, you endeavor to actually get to know dick without the embarrassment of a crush between you. and it does, in fact, help. dick’s eager to get to know you too, now that you’ve both formally acknowledged you’re friends (such a weird practice, fresh out of kindergarten behavior, but, as you soon find out, dick is weird about plenty and not entirely well-adjusted as an adult). you go on outings together, attend one another’s events, text sporadically throughout the day. you learn which video games dick likes, you tell him which movies are your favorites. it’s fun and light and uncomplicated now that you’ve freed yourself from the constraints of romantic expectation.

not everything’s good. dick’s got bad habits, which grate on you. is it so difficult to put the stupid toilet seat down? can he not learn to chop vegetables in chunks smaller than an elephant’s baby teeth? can he, for the love of god, stop yelling at the tv during horror films? he’s got some serious character flaws, too. you find about those a lot more slowly, but they don’t cause too much trouble.

you fight one or two times due to dick suddenly abandoning you in the middle of an outing with no regard for your safety, and his tendency to get pissy instead of saying whatever’s upsetting him upfront when he knows, you’ve warned him that you’re stupidly thoughtless about your actions at times. all those are things you wouldn’t have come to experience if you hadn’t given the man a chance to actually be a friend. it’s kind of heartening, actually, to have come so far.

sometimes your crush rears up its head in the middle of nowhere. it’s kind of hopeless by now, but you can’t help the fact that dick’s attractive. neither can he, anyway. you just watch him sometimes, the way the sun hits his eyes, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. it makes you go tongue-tied and silly, but the moment always passes. it has to pass. you struggle against it, recall every time dick has upset you or insulted you in one way or the other. some days it’s easy as buttering toast, others you can barely think around the searing heat of your desire. those are bad days for all involved.

one evening, when you’ve grown close enough you’ve begun to think about dick grayson as maybe, possibly, only-if-he-says-so-too your closest friend, he tells you about catalina.

he does it over the phone line, during your almost-nightly calls. over the months, you’ve taken up the practice of teasing him about handsome people he clearly finds attractive in a desperate bid to divert attention and train yourself for when you have to do it for real. this is not one of such cases, and as soon as you realize this, you sober up immediately.

he says it so simply. talks about it like it’s just a hazard of life. there’s a tight hardness at the edge of his voice, but other than that, he speaks like it’s normal Tuesday for him.

not so much for you.

“is it okay if I come over?” you request over the line.

for a moment, the only thing you hear is dick breathe. “yeah,” he croaks, and you’re bolting out the room immediately.

you don’t know how to react to this other than with a shaky sort of desperation. it’s been years since it happened. there’s nothing you can do about it now. there’s something big he’s leaving out, which you notice but don’t point out. a big lump forms on your throat as he speaks. dick tells you when you arrive that the woman is behind bars for an unrelated crime and the only way you stop yourself from wishing ill on her out loud is the fact he looks so politely disjointed, you know your fury will only startle him.

and you feel it so frightfully, the fury.

you love dick, you realize. beyond the fancies and the underlying attraction, you love dick as a person, as a friend. he’s one of yours now.

the evening morphs into a casual sleepover. you don’t interrogate him, and he seems torn between wanting to say more and grateful you’re not prying. you keep yourself open to the possibility, but also try to comfort him as best you can. you make dinner. you put on a movie. you talk and joke and quietly watch. he invites you on the bed with him because his couch is a nightmare to sleep in and his guest room is “unavailable”, whatever that means. you don’t even think about it, just follow.

lying together under the sheets with the lights off, the rest of your feelings bubble up to the surface.

you ask before you clasp his hands between yours and look into his shiny eyes in the darkness. you try to tell him, how this single evening and all those that came before turned over your loyalty to him. how he can come to you for anything he ever wants or needs—your ear, your care, your protection. how much you appreciate his trust and how much you wish you could make anything, everything better for him. how much he deserves it.

“I’ll never leave you now,” you vow with fierce conviction, searching his eyes for any signs of doubt. any other time you would’ve questioned this statement with the sheer weight of infinite possibilities, but not now. tonight, truth is absolute and in your hand. “they will never take me from you. I will always be on your side, by your side. i’m serious, grayson. you’re not getting rid of me.”

a glimpse of a watery smile is the only thing you see before dick throws his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “couldn’t dream of it,” he whispers into your hair.

you hug him back as tightly as he is, murmuring platitudes and running your fingers through his hair. he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of your arms. he feels secure enough to do so, and you feel both proud and nauseous about it considering the secret you keep.

that he’s told you this at all, that he’s trusted you with such a thing—you know how big it is. you know you can never betray him.

you consider your inherent monstrosity, that little unspeakable thing that bars your from that special kind of love. you understand, firmly, that any desire you feel will never be received eagerly and joyfully. not by him or anyone else. in silent fury, you vow to die before you be like her, to bestow upon this man your grotesque wanting with no regard for his own desire, for the integrity of his being.

that night, you press a kiss to dick grayson’s hair and let him go forever.

the next morning, dick watches as you leave. you turn back one last time to wave at him from the parking lot, a bright smile and tussled hair you didn’t bother to brush. you wear out the clothes he lent you to sleep, so harried last night in your haste to come over that you’d simply forgotten to pack pajamas. he suspects you hadn’t planned to stay the night at all, but he’d been damned if he’d let you go yesterday.

you’re pretty. he’s always thought so, but this morning, you’re prettier than ever. it’s the radiance of your heart shining through.

I will always be by your side, you’d said last night. you’d meant it completely, then. dick had been dazed, overcome. he couldn’t take the brightness of your eyes, the surety of your affection. he’d buried his head in your neck and fallen asleep breathing in the smell of your shampoo. in the morning, he’d woken up with your fingers carding through his hair and the gentle warmth of your body against his.

that was nice. he wonders what he has to do to make it happen again.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dc imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #not that the night life features as anything other than a mention #anyway for those in the know.... this is the chundan 'i like you because you don't have expectations of me'/'im never gonna like ycy' scene #except set up a little differently given there's no isekai happening here #satplotdb

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intimidating-fettuccine · 12 hours

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Sore. || EJ x Reader. You took a pretty big fall on a mission, and it's got Jack worried about you.

“How are you feeling?” Jack’s voice is level, but you can sense the concern and worry in it regardless as he bends over you.

“I’m fine, honey. I promise.” You try to assure him, but he doesn��t believe your words. He settles down next to you in bed, holding you close and staying by your side so he can monitor you.

You’d taken quite the fall during your mission yesterday, and Jack has been on edge since it happened, worried that something more serious could’ve happened to you, especially with all the bruises becoming visible on your skin.

“I’ve got nothing to worry about with a doctor like you by my side, Jack.” You whisper into him as you curl up into his chest.

Laying on your back has grown too painful from the bruising and soreness settling into it, so you’ve been spending the majority of your time curled up with Jack to comfort you. His arms circle around you, extremely gentle and careful as he pulls you closer to him, trying not to cause you any more pain than you’re already feeling. You can feel the anxiety seeping out of him, his body tense in concern. You make a weak attempt at massaging his back as you hug him, and it settles him out of his thoughts enough to curl around you.

“I promise I’ll be okay. I already feel way better than yesterday.” You soothe him with a few kisses to his temple and he can’t help but sigh into you.

“I just wish I’d been there to save you. To prevent it from happening.” His voice is unusually quiet, and it makes you hold him tighter.

“But if you hadn’t caught me you would’ve just blamed yourself. You’ve already done so much for me honey, you got me all patched up and checked out, and you’ve been taking such good care of me.” He wants to argue with your words, but he finds himself unable to.

He knows you’re right. If he had been on that mission and failed to prevent your fall he would’ve just blamed it all on himself and gone into another spiral of self-loathing which wouldn’t be helpful for either of you. Jack just can’t stand the thought of you being so hurt, especially when it’s a work injury. He knows you’ll be fine, all of your vitals are great and your pain is decreasing as the days pass, but his anxiety just won’t leave him.

Jack curls further into your arms, and you grasp onto him tighter, stroking his hair affectionately as time passes you both gently. You’ll be okay, you both know it, but you also know that Jack’s greatest fear is losing you, and a fall like that is going to have him scared for a little while. He’ll do his best to care for you, though, just as he always does, and you’ll eagerly accept his care and repay him with all the love and affection you can give him, just as you always do. Jack moves to press some affectionate kisses to your lips, trying to force his love and emotions for you into them. You return them in kind, sighing as you melt into his body, his hands gently roaming your skin, avoiding all your majorly sore spots. He doesn't know what he'd do without you here, loving him the way you always do, and he doesn't want to find out.

You’ll just have to get used to Jack’s developing penchant for trying to increasingly make your work gear more and more safe, to the extent he asks you if it would be unreasonable to add a punch of padding and bubble wrap to your work uniform. He says it out of love and concern, he promises.

#I fell down the stairs yesterday and I am writing this for some comfort #got a sick ass giant bruise that looks like a tank on my back now #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenario #creepypasta scenarios #eyeless jack scenario #eyeless jack #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanons

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blarshwritezz · 7 hours

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Hi can I request a yandere boyfriend x sub reader where yan thought he saw the reader with another man and he decides to show the reader that he wouldn't need anyone except him can yan have a breeding kink and the reader have a degradation kink

Heck yeah!

Jealous Yandere x Reader

M yan x gn reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, jealousy, dubcon(?), degradation, breeding

Jealous!Yan didn't believe his eyes. Was that you? Why were you with another man? He was all you needed! Has he not been loving enough? He gave you everything! Or was it the opposite? Has he been too gentle? Well he didn't want to hurt you! But you were his.

Jealous!Yan came home after a few hours. He needed time to cool off, but you could tell he was furious about something.

"Honey, what's wrong?" But he didn't answer. Well, not exactly. His only response was slamming his lips against yours in a harsh kiss. Even when you tried to pull away, his grip only tightened and brought you closer to him.

Jealous!Yan picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom before making quick work of removing your clothes. Finally, his lips detached from yours only to move to your jaw.

Jealous!Yan kissed, sucked, and bit all the way down to your chest. He growled "Mine" before continuing, his fingers now diligently working to pleasure your lower areas.

When he needed more, he roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed your knees up to your shoulders, revealing your pretty hole. He gave it a few good licks, making sure you were nice and wet before penetrating you with his cock.

"Fucking mine. All fucking mine. You don't need anyone else." He watched your face contort with pleasure as he pounded into you. The moans escaping your lips were music to his ears. "Fuck, you're such a slut for me. My goddamn whore."

He smirked at how you clenched tighter around him. "Like that? You like being my bitch?" His pace sped up, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the walls.

"Gonna fill you up, make sure nobody else wants to touch you. Make sure you're my filthy slut. All mine." He could only imagine how good you'd look with a baby in you, regardless of if you were able to get pregnant. He was going to pump you full of his cum as if he really could impregnate you.

You'd just look so good all swollen and round. Then the whole world would see you were his and his alone. Just the thought had his cock twitching inside you.

"Say I'm the only man you need. Say it!" He gripped your hair, his thrusts getting sloppy. He just needed to hear you say it. Just a few words from that pretty little mouth and he'd be filling you up in no time.

"Y-you...n-need you!" You barely managed to speak through your incoherent moans, but that was all he needed. With one last thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and filled you with his seed, the action making you cum as well.

After a minute or two of just panting, both of you catching your breath, he started up again. "That's a good slut." You were going to be here for a while.

And there it is! I ki da switched writing styles like halfway through for some reason

#blarsh writes #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #male x reader #yandere x you #anon ask #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #male yandere x you #yandere boyfriend

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002yb · 1 day

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Damian draws Jason and Dick in some kind of romantic setting (holding hands, maybe) and *that* is how Bruce finds out about DickJay... At first he's a bit confused, but then he starts to pay attention to the signs, and they are all there.

No thoughts, just Damian sketching life around him more often than not. A habit that starts when all the galas become grating and the 'eccentric artist' persona grants him some peace by virtue of Damian minding his business and looking both unapproachable and busy.

Because it's actually enjoyable, it carries over into casual outings, too. Bruce doesn't mind it, either. Is supportive of it, in fact. It keeps Damian out of trouble.

Bruce never having been too curious about what Damian draws until one day while they're visiting Clark on his farm, Bruce looks over Damian's shoulder and sees Damian is drawing Clark (who is working the farm and looking like a dream while doing it - sleeves rolled up, buttons undone, hair mused and muscles--)

"Is that appropriate?"

"It depends where your thoughts are, father."

To say that Bruce is amused at Damian's cheek is an overstatement.

That besides, seeing Damian draw something so scandalous sets off the overbearing, overprotective parent in Bruce because what else is his son drawing in the pursuit of 'art'? Damian's hardly a child anymore; more a sullen, broody teenager than anything. Bruce remembers what it's like. Hormones. Urges. Damian's interests in all things social would have died alongside the abrupt shift of his relationship with Jon years ago (the abrupt aging, the equally abrupt dating…his poor boy…), so it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Damian would turn to smut for--

And Damian clicks his tongue at him although Bruce has said nothing. They've been partners for years though, so it's no stretch to imagine that Damian was privy to Bruce's racing thoughts.

"It's no wonder Grayson is the way he is."

Usually this would be a compliment, but in this instance Bruce feels distinctly insulted. He just wouldn't know how.

He's calling you a pervert degenerate, sir. Dick's compatriot in foul-mindedness.

The drawing of Clark being utterly mundane. But because Bruce is a thirsty bitty, he projects the superbats UST onto Damian who is really not about this life, SOS

Also, Jon and Damian being fine contrary to Bruce's beliefs. Unless they're not. That's not the point of this ask, disregard.

So Damian tries to diffuse the situation and spare himself by blandly stating: "I've drawn you before, too."

Which is absolutely the wrong thing to say because Bruce's mind makes impossible leaps once again to: oh, my boy needs therapy.

To which Damian clicks his tongue again because omfg, Bruce is actually worse than Grayson. Disgusting.

So Damian flips a few pages back (the pages in between being normal, mundane life happenings -- socialites milling about the gala the night before, the wait staff prepping in the kitchen, Alfred mending a button on a shirt, etc) and then, ah.

It's Bruce. Tucked away in his study, finishing up work he had to bring home from the office. Tie thrown over his shoulder, furrow in his brow and face squished by his own hand. Focused, intent, and woefully oblivious because while he remembers Damian being there sat on the couch, he can't recall that he'd been doing this. Huh.

Bruce being so amazed and pleased because look at that, his boy is an artist.

But then, with lines merged into those that make up Bruce's likeness is another moment captured. Alongside a couple others that could fit onto the page

Not inappropriate, per se, but disarmingly intimate nonetheless

Dick, he would recognize. And Jason?

The way Bruce would be utterly bemused because oh. There's nothing so defined; that's not the point of these exercises Damian does, but it's there regardless. A closeness and familiarity. Softness.

Bruce would have to wonder if this is how Damian saw them or how he sees them; knows it's both

And it's curious, because Bruce has never...

He'd linger on those drawings. Of Dick and Jason sat next to each other, Dick's arm thrown over the back of Jason's chair and leaned over into Jason's space -- Jason being drawn in just the same to look over something on Dick's phone.

And more: with Jason laid back, propped up on his elbows and keeping Dick away with his foot. Dick's hand wrapped so casually around the arch, bending Jason's leg. The follow up after Jason must have reversed their positions, with Jason sat on Dick's hips and leaning back against Dick's propped up legs, his own legs hiding Dick's face, but all his intention showing in the steady hold of his hand at Jason's knee

Bruce leafs through the rest of the sketchbook. Seeking out more. Captivated by it because somehow he missed something important. It's right here, too. Alongside so many other mundane things from their everyday lives.

Hidden among other sketches in varying degrees of completion, lost between strangers and landscapes and animals and individual portraits are his boys, at ease and content and oh, what a beautiful thing that is

And Damian misses the memo of where Bruce's thoughts wander, still grumbling under his breath about Bruce projecting his unresolved whatever with Clark on him, gross. Accusing Damian of drawing smut. Even if Bruce was interested in commissioning, Damian won't do it even if it's Bruce asking. Damian has his line and this is it.

From then on, Bruce being mindful of Dick and Jason's interactions. Subtly observing. And it would be right there, though it's discreet. Bruce would catch the affection in bumped shoulders and playful shoves; games of chase around the cave or across rooftops. It would be there in their briefs/debriefs, with Dick's chair turned closer to Jason. Or with Jason brushing his pinky against Dick's before pulling away, shy and with his hand hiding his blush.

It's the lingering looks and the bitten back smiles; the bright eyes and the quiet, joyful warmth.

And Bruce should say something, do something. It's a liability, a risk, a distraction, but the relief would leave Bruce loathe to intrude. Because he can't remember the last time he saw and was able to appreciate either Dick or Jason being so happy. He'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

So for once, Bruce minds himself. And he stays quiet. And he contents himself with observing, same as Damian.

Who very cheekily frames that picture of Clark and leaves it on Bruce's nightstand with a note to keep his depravities to himself, thanks

#dickjay #jaydick #superbat heavily implied #but before that is a lot of Bruce and Damian father-son bonding lol #the dickjay starts like halfway down #or 3/4 of the way down #there was a lot of lead up hahaha

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withleeknow · 4 hours

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hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only second prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung

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heartateasee · 1 day

Text

"Chapter Two"

Word Count: 5.6k

(Chapter two to “Cherry Bomb” - please make sure to read the TW on the “Cherry Bomb” masterlist before proceeding.)

●・○・●・○・●

Today marks a month since my hometown show, which also means I’ve been back in LA officially for the same amount of time. I hadn’t really been out much since being here considering there was still a lot of rearranging to do with my house. For starters, it took a few weeks to get my home recording studio completely set up the way I needed it. I had also painted a lot of the walls, and worked on getting my patio to look like an oasis.

My home was finally feeling like just that…home.

It’s been a while since I’ve had that feeling considering I was bouncing from place to place while touring - sleeping each night either in the van as we drove to another location, or a hotel if we had the time.

Having a place to call my own now is so refreshing. It finally feels like I’m settling down somewhere for the first time since I left home to pursue music. I’ve managed to make it completely me, and I’m proud of myself for that.

Another reason why I think I threw myself into renovating my house so much was due to the fact that I had seen Harry again. After five years, I saw someone who I had tried my hardest to forget.

But the sad thing was, it still wasn’t him.

I’ve made peace with the fact that my Harry is truly gone, and to be honest, I think it’s helped me push forward a bit when it comes to that healing. People really are telling the truth when they say sometimes you never properly heal - the pain just dulls. I think that’s how it will always be when it comes to the loss of Harry.

There’s nothing like speaking about someone as if they were dead when they’re still very much alive.

Regardless of me not really taking the time to see how things had changed in LA, I made myself a promise that today I’d be remedying that. I want to try to go and look for a few additional art pieces for both my living room and bathroom, and I also want to see if the old record store I used to shop at was still open.

That record store holds a lot of memories for me, and I hope to see that it’s still the same.

Looking at myself in the full length mirror in my room, I tug on a pair of black flared corduroys - pairing them with my trusty black platform Dr. Martens. I pull on a black tank top and tuck it into the waistband of my trousers before pulling on a black mesh top over that. I give myself a small nod as I fluff up my hair that I had already done, and I give my makeup one more glance as I head out of my bedroom.

With my small black purse over my shoulder, and my keys in my hand, I make my way outside and into my car. I start towards town, and I make the decision to go looking for some vinyls first since that’s what I’m most excited about.

As I drive, I take in the scenery around me, and I can see that there’s obviously been a lot of build up in the area since I was last living here. More apartment buildings, houses and shopping centers. It was the same, but it wasn’t - much like myself now that I’ve returned.

I feel a smile tug onto my lips as I see the sign for the record store, and I can’t help but let out a small laugh when I realize that’s thankfully one of the things that hasn’t changed at all. Pulling into the parking lot, I park and get out while feeling the giddiness in my stomach that at least something has remained the same.

The same old bell chimes as I step in the front door, and I look over to see there’s no one behind the counter currently. I can’t help but stop in my tracks as I look at it - covered with various bands stickers and doodles, it brings me right back to when I would come in here almost every day the summer after highschool.

“There she is!” Harry's voice bellows as I walk into the record store with a bag of Taco Bell in my hand - a drink carrier in the other. “And she brings me food?”

He dramatically looks up at the sky with his hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I don’t know what I did for whoever is up there to give me Marlowe Finch as my best friend, but I could kiss your ass right now for doing so.”

I can’t help but giggle at his words as I shake my head, and I make my way over to the counter. After making sure the bag and drinks are secure on the surface, I also push myself up onto it before dishing out the food.

“I got you the Mexican pizza combo with a Baja Blast,” I tell him as I pull out the box as well as setting his drink down by him. I make sure I also give him the taco that comes with it. “Oh, and I got you chips and cheese!”

I can feel Harry watching my every move as I set our food up for the two of us, and I look over to him once I finish - feeling my cheeks flush a bit. “What?”

Harry shakes his head as his bunny teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. “Nothing, just so lucky to have you - that’s all.”

“And I’m lucky to have you,” I don’t hesitate to say it back as I lift a hand up to fix the backwards hat he currently has on. He was growing his hair out, but was insistent on wearing hats. He looks like a true frat boy, which is a thing I always give him shit over. “Going to a party or something after your shift? You’re a little more dressed up than usual.”

“Yeah, one of the guys who’s in a local band invited me. He comes in here a lot to put up flyers for their gigs, and he said they’re having a pretty big house party,” Harry shrugs as he pulls the wrapper off his taco, slathering it with sauce before taking a massive bite.

I make a face as I watch him eat, and he reaches out to pinch my hip - eliciting a squeal from me.

“You don’t have to eat it like a starved animal, you know? It’s not going anywhere,” I tease with a wink as I bite into a piece of my chicken quesadilla. “But a house party sounds fun. Do you need me to pick you up later once you’re ready to leave it?”

“You know I’m not going to be drinking,” Harry says, pausing to take a sip of his Baja Blast. “I can just call an Uber or I can walk.”

“Harry,” I tilt my head to the side. “You know I don’t mind giving you rides, right? It lets me spend more time with you.”

I notice that Harry pauses on eating for a moment as he looks down at his feet before he speaks. “I don’t know. I just feel like a burden sometimes since I don’t have my own car.”

“Hey,” I place my food to the side for a moment, and I take his food from him to do the same before I place his hands in mine - giving them a squeeze. “You will never be a burden to me. Never. Do you understand?”

Harry purses his lips to the side, and I raise my eyebrows as if to enunciate my statement again. His shoulders deflate before he gives me a soft nod which causes me to smile.

“Good, glad we cleared that up,” I tell him as I start in on my food again. “Are they going to come and pick you up from here?”

He doesn’t answer me right away as he leans against the counter, pondering as he chews the bite he just took from his taco. “Why don’t you just come with me?”

“I don’t know, H,” I squirm slightly at the thought of being around people I’m not familiar. “It’s not like these people even have any idea who I am. They’ll probably think it’s weird if I just turn up with you.”

“Well, if they said something about it, then we’d leave,” Harry’s eyebrows narrow as he holds my eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be around those types of people anyway.”

I glance over at the clock to see he has about two hours left of his shift. “How about I think about it? I’ll just hang out until you’re done - that way I can take you anyway, yeah?”

Harry sends me that boyish grin of his that here recently has sent my heart fluttering, and he reaches over to dip one of his chips into the cheese before he’s extending it out to me. I roll my eyes playfully at him as I lean forward - capturing the chip between my teeth before letting it fall back onto my tongue.

“I think that sounds like a plan,” he tells me.

The sound of someone entering behind me causes me to come back to reality, and I immediately leave the main area of the store to head into one of the side rooms. I wasn’t even sure if the organization in here was the same as it used to be, but I just had to get away from that counter for a moment.

I spent so many days just sitting on top of that while I would watch Harry work, and half the time I’d be helping him get his stuff done so we could get out faster. All we cared about back then was playing music in my garage, so we always tried to get him out of the store as quickly as possible once his shift was through.

As I approach the section of shelves that was strictly for 80’s records, I decide that’s as good of a place to start as any. I begin to flip through the records while nibbling on the inside of my cheek as I do so.

I pull a few out that I know I’d be more than happy to have before continuing my way through the room. My attention gets caught for a moment by a blonde girl exiting out of the employee only room, and I can tell she’s heading back up towards the front while adjusting her clothes.

It’s only a few seconds later that I catch another body exiting the same room, but I keep my back slightly turned to them as I continue to sort through the vinyls.

Just as I’m about to grab a Talking Heads album, my attention is stolen once more by the sound of a high-pitched giggle, followed by a single name.

“Harry!”

I can’t help but flash my eyes over to the counter since I’ve made my way back towards that area, and I see Harry’s body wrapped around the girl I had seen just a few seconds ago.

“Stop it - you’ve already had me away from the customers for the last fifteen minutes,” the girl continues to laugh, acting as if she were trying to push him off of her, but it’s obvious she’s loving the contact from him.

Knowing I need to get out of here, I go to set the records down that I had in my hand, but I’m caught off guard by a gasp, and I can see the girl looking past Harry’s shoulder at me.

“Holy shit!” Harry is quick to look over his shoulder to see what she’s on about, and I watch his expression harden once he sets his sights on me. “You’re Marlowe Finch!”

The girl unravels herself from Harry, and she walks over to me with a large smile. I clear my throat when I realize I’m going to have to interact with her. Clearly she’s a fan, and I don’t want to come across as rude. My issue is with Harry - not her.

“Uh, hi, that’s me,” I nod, forcing a smile of my own.

“I was so bummed that I missed your show a few weeks ago, but this one was sick,” she gestures her thumb over her shoulder to Harry before crossing her arms over her chest. “So I stayed home too so I could be on standby, in case he needed me.”

I soon realize that he obviously lied to this girl about where he was that night considering he was very much at my gig, and not at home sick. He sends me a look, one that I quickly interpret as a warning, but all that does is cause me to get a bit angry.

“Funny seeing you here, Harry,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. “Do you still work here too?”

The girl looks between the two of us for a moment - confusion etched on her face. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

Harry walks to stand behind the blonde after hearing that question, and I stifle a laugh at the fact that he hasn’t even talked about me once to her.

“Harry and I used to be best friends up until a few years ago.”

“What the hell?” She lifts her hand to hit the back of it lightly against Harry’s chest. “How come you’ve never told me this?”

I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t hurt to know that he really does just forget that I ever existed in his life. I’m actually a bit envious of him at the same time though. I wish I had the capability just to block out years of memories that I no longer wanted.

Harry remains silent, but the girl doesn’t wait for him to respond before she speaks again. “Well, I’m Rylan,” she says, extending her hand to me which I shake. “Are you staying in town for long?”

“Just moved back actually,” I nod. “I plan on being here for some time since I just finished up my tour, and I’m starting to work on my new album.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting! We should totally hang out sometime since you’re going to be sticking around.”

I can see the annoyance written all over Harry’s face as Rylan continues to ramble, and I send him a slight smirk. The one thing he wants to avoid, he simply can’t - all due to the fact his girlfriend is currently making over me.

“Well, if Harry still has my number, it’s the same, so…” I trail off with a shrug, and Rylan claps her hand.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be hanging out with you. I feel like I'm in a dream right now,” she shakes her head before seeing the records I didn’t get a chance to put down. “If you’re all set, I can ring those up for you.”

“Sure.”

Rylan takes the vinyls from me, and she turns her back towards both Harry and I to walk towards the counter. As I walk past Harry, we allow our eyes to run over each other before I’m looking back ahead to properly check-out. I can still feel his sight on me as I hand my card over to Rylan who’s bagging up my records. She extends the bag to me over the surface - a large smile on her face.

“It was nice to meet you, Marlowe. Hopefully we can all hang out soon. I’m sure you and Harry have a lot to catch up on.”

For some reason, that simple phrase causes a knot to grow in my throat, and I force a smile. “Yeah, I bet. See you around.”

Turning towards the door, I keep my head down as I walk past Harry, and once I’m outside, I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I had been holding in. I quickly get in my car, and I’m thankful that I had parked facing away from the windows of the building as I place my records in the passenger seat. I stare blankly at my steering wheel as I take a minute to gather myself.

This was a mistake. I should’ve never moved back here.

I should’ve just planted roots somewhere else given my parents had moved, but I just felt so drawn to come back here. This was the place that gave me inspiration to start music in the first place, and I figured it would be good to write my first album here. It seems that now I was terribly mistaken. The thought of having to worry about seeing Harry everywhere I go will eventually take its toll on me. All of my years of therapy will be washed down the drain.

After taking a few more moments to collect myself, I start my car, and I head off in the direction of the art gallery I had looked up earlier today to try to get my mind off this whole encounter.

●・○・●・○・●

It had been a few days since running into Harry at the record store, and mentally, I was doing better with it than I thought I was going to. I expected my mind to race once I laid down in bed that night, but that didn’t happen. Thankfully, I distracted myself with hanging up the new art I got while playing a couple new records, and I think that helped get my mind off of it.

Kailey had texted me earlier today and asked if I wanted to go out for a few drinks later, and I agreed. I had seen her a couple times since I got back, mostly because she came over and helped me with a lot of the painting I did in my house, but this was going to be the first time that we were actually going out.

It’s exciting to me, to be honest. Yes, I’ve been traveling and going out here and there for the past few years, but I haven’t really gone out with a friend in so long - not since I left.

I went for a rather simple look tonight - just a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, a cropped white tee and my leather jacket. Of course, my platform boots were on my feet.

Since it was a little up in the air how much we would end up drinking tonight, I decided to order myself an uber, and I made sure I had my cards, keys and phone before heading out the door. I only had to wait a couple minutes for my Uber to arrive, and as I got into the back seat, Kailey sent me a text to tell me she was on the way as well.

I’m hoping that by going out tonight that it gives me a better outlook on deciding to move back to LA. After the encounter with Harry, it did have me questioning everything, even though I didn’t spiral as bad as I thought that I would. I’ve managed to keep up a pretty good relationship with Kailey, despite being gone, so I’m more than hopeful that we’ll fall back into our old ways.

I know that I have my band, and Lys, but it’ll be nice to feel like I have close friends again.

I pull up to the agreed location just a few minutes after getting in the car since it’s not too far from my house, and I step inside. I’m looking around for Kailey, but I don’t see her yet, so I decide to make my way to the bar to go ahead and order a drink.

As I’m waiting behind a few people, I see the door open again out of the corner of my eye, and I see Kailey.

“Kailey!” I call over to the noise of the music, and I watch her eyes wander around for a moment before they settle on me.

She smiles wide, and waves her hand high in the air before she starts to make her way over to me. Once she reaches me, we wrap our arms around each other in a big hug, and I let out a small sigh at how nice it feels to have contact with someone like this. It wasn’t too common for me these days.

“How are you?” I ask as we move up a bit towards the bar, both of us with our arms now crossed over our chests.

“I’m good, just got off of work, and I came straight here. How about you? Did you finally get everything settled at the house?”

I nod, feeling a sense of pride that I have gotten myself all situated. “I did, actually. I picked up a few more art pieces earlier this week to fill some empty space on the walls that I had, but I think everything is officially in place. You’ll have to come over for dinner and a movie night sometime.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Kailey exclaims with a toothy grin. “It’ll be just like old times.”

Eventually it’s our turn, and I order myself just a Coors Light to start. Kailey orders herself a beer as well, and then we head towards a high-top table tucked into the corner - having it be a little more secluded in the busy little bar.

“I know you’ve been super busy with the house, but have you had a chance to get out a little bit? There’s a lot that’s the same, but a lot that’s different,” Kailey says as she takes a sip of her drink.

“The day I picked up the art pieces was actually the first day I was able to do that,” I wrap both of my hands around my cool glass - tapping my fingertips against it lightly. “Went to the art gallery, but I went to the old record store before that.”

Kailey pauses her attempt at another sip at my words, and she lowers her glass back down onto the table. “You did, did you?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Saw Harry.”

Kailey’s eyes widen at my words. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, and well…that wasn’t the first time I saw him. I forgot to tell you, but I also saw him at my show.”

She stares at me for a moment with a slack jaw before she shakes her head. “Okay, wow,” she clears her throat, actually taking a large sip of her beer afterwards. “And how were both of those run-ins?”

I purse my lips to the side as I try to decide how to answer her. “Pretty unfortunate, to say the least,” I laugh sadly. “He caught me after my gig, and he pretty much just said he wanted to confirm it was me, but that he still wants to act like I don’t exist. The other day when I saw him at the record store, he was all over some girl. Rylan was her name, I think?”

“Yeah, Rylan,” Kailey rolls her eyes. “She’s something.”

“You know her?” I ask, eyebrows narrowing as I take another sip of beer.

“She hangs around with Mikey’s group of friends, and I’ve run into her a couple of times at his parties. Her and Harry have been together for a little bit from what I’ve heard,” she shrugs. “She’s younger though - 22, I think? Fucking loves to party it seems.”

“I thought you hadn’t really seen Harry.”

“Over the past few months he’s been turning up more with her, but before that I only saw him those couple times I told you about. Did he talk to you the other day at the store?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t utter a fucking word. Rylan was fangirling over me, and he just stood there…glaring. I’m sure it had to eat him up that his girlfriend was losing her mind. She wants to hang out with me too.”

Kailey throws her head back with a laugh. “I’m sorry, Marlowe, but oh my god. The poor girl is actually clueless, isn’t she?”

“It seems so. He lied to her about being at my gig. Apparently she wanted to go, and he told her that he was sick, so she stayed home in case he needed her.”

“Wow,” Kailey lifts her glass and extends it towards me. “I think we can cheers to a big ol’ ‘fuck Harry’, am I right?”

I can’t help but chuckle as I lift my glass - clinking it against hers. “You’re right.”

She hums as flails her hand in the air, as if she’s brushing the subject matter of our current conversation away. “But enough about that asshole. How’s the album coming along?”

“To be honest with you? It isn’t,” I run a hand through my hair. “I haven’t really had any inspiration hit me lately, and I know I have a meeting coming up with my label soon. I’m a bit stressed. They’re going to expect an anticipated release date, and I’m not going to be able to give that to them.”

“Well your manager, Lys, right?” I nod as she continues. “I’m sure she’s going to rally for you. She’ll make sure you get all the time you need in order to create what you want, and to put something out that you’re proud of. Don’t let them pressure you into a deadline.”

“Yeah, it’s just…it’s not a good look that this is my first album, and I can’t even get my head on straight to properly get to work on it. I’ve just been so busy with the move, but now that I have my studio set up, I’m hoping it’ll be easier to get some material together.”

“You’ve got this,” Kailey nods. “Your song writing has always been stellar, and you can come up with melodies at the drop of a hat. It’s going to all work out.”

She reaches across the table to wrap her hand around my wrist - giving it a squeeze of reassurance as we share a smile between the two of us.

Our conversation continues on, and eventually we order ourselves another round of beers. At one point, my phone lights up on the table, and I look down to see Harry’s name. My eyebrows narrow, and I swallow harshly as I stare at it. I was in need of a cigarette anyway, so I figure that answering it won’t be too much of an issue.

I can’t tell you why I’ve kept his number saved all these years. It was something I always wanted to bring up in therapy, but I never did. I guess there was a part of me that still wanted to know I could contact him in some way, if I needed to. I had also convinced myself that he probably had a new number, and the contact in my phone was just a placeholder of what used to be.

“I’m going to step out and take this call and have a smoke. I’ll be right back,” I tell Kailey as I stand up, and she gives me a thumbs up while taking a large sip from her glass.

Heading outside, I answer the phone, and I hold it between my ear and my shoulder as I pull a cigarette from my pack - placing it between my lips as I struggle to get my lighter out as well. “Hello?”

I can hear music coming through the speaker, but I don’t hear anyone speaking as I light up my cigarette. Giving it a few minutes, I roll my eyes as I lean against the building, taking a long drag before pulling the stick from my mouth.

“Harry, if you’re talking I can’t hear you.”

It’s silent again for a few seconds, and as I’m going to place my cigarette back between my lips, he speaks. “You just had to come back, didn’t you?”

I pause, the filter almost to my mouth as my face contorts. “What?”

“You heard me, Marlowe,” his words are slurring, and I close my eyes when I realize he’s extremely drunk. “You just had to fucking come back here.”

I’ve never been around Harry drunk, therefore I’ve never known what he could sound like, but right now he sounds even less like my Harry than ever before.

“Well, it is my hometown,” I scoff before taking another drag.

“Did you come back here just to torture me for leaving your stupid little band?”

I blow out smoke towards the sky before I answer him. “It wasn’t just my band, Harry, it was ours. But no, I wanted to spend some time at home. I haven’t really been able to within the past three years.”

“Why?” Harry chuckles darkly into the phone. “You don’t have anyone here anyway. Your parents have moved - no siblings.”

I bite down on my bottom lip as Harry brings up my relationship with my parents. He knows they love me, but he also knows we’re not very close. They’ve been to a few of my shows here and there, and they’ve made it clear they’re proud of me. That’s all I can really ask for.

“Thanks for that,” I try to keep my cool - playing up my sarcasm to cope with his comment. “I had completely forgotten my family dynamic.”

“I’m just saying, there’s not a single person who truly wants you here.”

“That’s funny,” I mumble around the filter of my cigarette. “Because I’m actually out for drinks with Kailey as we speak.”

It’s silent again, but I continue to hear the muffled music in the background, so I know he’s still there.

“Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harry. This call is absolutely pointless.”

“Just one more thing before you go,” Harry’s voice holds a tone that I’ve never heard before.

I wait.

“I left the band because I couldn’t stand being around your stuck up attitude. You’re so fucking full of yourself, Marlowe. So fucking selfish,” he spits, and my lips part at the harsh words he casts my way. “You going solo like you did just proves you were going to use us, and then leave us out to dry once you made it. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with you anymore because of how you were acting - how you’re probably still acting.”

I can’t even find the words to respond to what he’s just said to me. Never in my life has he spoken to me in such a way, or said such hurtful things - things that he has to know aren’t true. As much as I want to prove that to him, I know in the end it’s pointless.

This Harry doesn’t want explanations or reasoning. This Harry is already set in his ways and his thinking. Arguing with him would be like arguing with a brick wall.

“You’re talking out of your ass right now, and you’re clearly drunk,” I toss my cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of my boot. “I’m actually going to hang up now. Don’t call me again. Goodbye, Harry.”

My hands shake as I hang up my phone - slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. I suck in a deep breath as I drop my head back to rest against the brick behind me.

As much as that call should upset me even more, I think it’s not because I’ve actually come to the realization now, more than ever, that Harry is not the same person. He will never be again. I’ve already mourned who he used to be. I’ve already worked through that trauma to a point where I feel comfortable dealing with the little bit that still remains.

That man on the phone was not someone who used to be my best friend. He’s a complete stranger.

I let out a deep breath before making my way back into the bar, and Kailey sends me a smile. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, that was Harry.”

“Come again?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just get some shots?” I laugh, and she nods as she pushes herself up from the table.

“Oh, I’m about to get you two back to back,” she says, guiding me to sit back down. “I’ll be just a minute.”

My eyes follow Kailey as she pushes through people to make her way back to the bar, and I fiddle with my fingers on top of the surface in front of me.

I have to come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably be seeing a lot of Harry now, especially if what Kailey said is true about Rylan hanging out with people who Mikey knows. Maybe it’ll end up being a good thing - it’ll be the true closure I need to just lay it all to rest. It was already seeming to be going in that direction anyway.

It’s only a few minutes later that Kailey is back with a small serving tray with two more beers and a total of four shots.

“We’re getting drunk,” she tells me as she sets everything down. “And we’re not going to talk about that dickhead anymore.”

We each grab a shot glass and raise it in the air. “Fuck Harry Styles,” I say, repeating her cheers from earlier, but adding his last name to it - to really feel it.

Kailey smirks as she nods.

“Fuck Harry Styles.”

●・○・●・○・●

A/N: If you'd like to see what I picture Kailey and Rylan to look like as well, I've included their pictures below! Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you all very soon for the next one.

Kailey

Rylan

●・○・●・○・●

Taglist: @daydreamingofmatilda @prettygurl-2009 @ghoststyles @lillefroe @gem1712 (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me a DM!)

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sseniita · 3 days

Text

"what if you regret it when you're older?"

“Ok go.” Although the rough hand on her right shoulder kept her grounded, the tattoo gun vibrating dangerously close to the left side of her collarbone sent a shock through her system. The slightest prick was more than enough to sober her up immediately. “Wait. Wait! No!” The hero squirmed away, losing her balance and promptly falling off the kitchen barstool and onto the cold tiled floor.

“Coward.” The villain started down at her. The gloved hands that had hurt her so many times, gripping onto a tattoo gun. “Get your ass back up and on the chair.”

The hero could taste the bile rising in her mouth. Her excessive drinking paired with being inside the villain’s house was not a good combo. Add to that her tiny tank top she unveiled to give the villain access to her desired area of her very first tattoo. The villain drank as much as the hero did, but his steady hands suggested he was stable. Definitely not sober considering he invited her into his apartment and situated her in his kitchen, regardless he remained stoic if a little determined as he helped her back onto the stool.

“You said you liked the mock up. What now?” The villain’s voice was harsh as it always was, but perhaps the buzz of a few too many softened it into something the hero shivered at. Perhaps the hero really did drink too much. She took another look at the sketch book on the kitchen island, crowded between masterful doodles and absentminded pen strokes, was a clean lined and minimalist illustration of a sun. The hero had totally lost her mind.

“You said it’ll hurt.” the hero confessed.

“Getting a tattoo close to your collarbone probably doesn’t compare to being stabbed.” He traced a finger down a thin scar on her bare bicep. His hand lingered there like it did when he plunged the knife in oh so long ago. The stab back then was slow and deliberate, just like his touch was now. “I promise you can handle it, Sunshine.”

The hero burned red at the familiar nickname, a reminder and confession about the meaning behind her tattoo. They had coincidently been at the same bar, alone at that, and the villain hadn't mentioned it, but the way the edge of his lips quirked up at the bar when the hero brought the idea up meant he knew. He immediately seduced the hero by saying he dabbled in tattoos and had a kit at home. Extremely sketchy, but the hero had drank enough courage and recognized this would be her only chance.

“Why am I doing this?” she asked herself but the villain responded.

“Because you’ve never done a stupid thing in your life.”

“I got drunk and followed my greatest enemy home, that sounds worse than this.”

“In that case this should be nothing.” The tattoo gun started buzzing again. “Stand still.”

And the hero did. She definitely wasn’t drunk, if anyone ever asked she’ll say she blacked out and woke up in a tattoo shop. The villain’s gloved hands were cold on her collarbones, a shiver made its way through her body when the villain leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

“This'll hurt. Just hang on, Sunshine.”

The hero closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. The pain came sharp, and the villain found the hem of his shirt being gripped in the hero’s hands. He chuckled at her display and made sure to finish as soon as possible. When he finally stepped away the hero’s face was red and her eyes wide with excitement. It was a simple tattoo, a variation of which he'd done a million times but the villain had never been as proud and blown away by his work on someone before. They both looked at her tattoo through the bathroom mirror for a very long while, the hero relished in the sting, the villain taking in the view.

Years later, when the hero finally got back at the villain for the scar he left on her with a knife, she noticed a small crescent moon tattooed on his own left collarbone, right above where her knife plunged into him.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #original fiction #writing #enemies to lovers #to enemies againhahah #angst #missed yall #not proofread!!! sorry #i actually have no tattoos LMAO #like i want one but also i dont want one ykno

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tuttiwrites · 2 days

Text

A wild fic appears!

Eavesdropper (pt1 of 2)

*Rating: T (maybe very mild T+)

*Kieran and Juliana are 22ish here, and Carmine is 25. Some adult references and wants expressed here, but nothing out of pocket.

CW: Brief mentions of living together & sleeping together; fluffy fluff, pre-proposal jitters, grumpy Kiki misses his Julie

Kieran rolled over on his futon for the eleventh time. He huffed in frustration, feeling the toll his restlessness was taking on him. Sleep was elusive tonight. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, hoping that it was nearly morning.

It was 12:39 AM, about 15 minutes since the last time he’d checked.

He groaned. Of all the nights to spend tossing and turning, it had to be tonight. He flopped over on his back and stared up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Why now? He ran his fingers through his hair and shut his eyes.

It wasn’t the summer heat; his window was open and he’d gone to bed in a light t-shirt and pajama shorts. He preferred the heat to the cold, anyways. He didn’t even mind that his feet stuck out a little from the end of the too-small futon.

It wasn’t jet lag, either. He and Julie had arrived in Kitakami five days ago, and they’d adjusted to the time change quickly, just as they had for the past six years during festival season. It wasn’t from pent-up energy either, that was for sure. They’d kept themselves busy helping with the Festival of Masks since day one, and had gone to bed dead tired every night. He’d spent the better part of the evening hiking up and down Oni Mountain with a tour group, and his body was aching for rest. Yet here he was, still awake and mad about it.

I’d sleep better if Julie were here, he thought grumpily, rolling over with another huff. Kieran pouted, remembering their agreement to sleep in separate rooms during the trip. It was a dumb one, in his opinion, but a necessary one.

Carmine had given them a friendly but firm reminder that things were different back home in Kitakami than they were in Paldea. Julie and Kieran agreed to the arrangement, but not without some grumbling. But regardless of how they felt about it, they were his grandparent’s guests for the week, and they were to abide by their rules. To Grandma and Grandpa, it wasn’t proper for them to room together, not as a young unmarried couple.

Sure, they had an apartment together in Paldea, and they had been living together for six months now – quite happily, he’d add – but no. He knew the neighbors were nosy, and word would spread quickly in a small town about something so scandalous. Heaven forbid they gossip about - gasp! - two consenting adults in love sharing a room.

But he wasn’t bitter about that at all. Not in the slightest.

He buried his face in the pillow. He missed Julie so badly it hurt. She was just downstairs in the guest room, but still, it was the principle of the thing. He was here and she was there, and it felt wrong on so many levels. He sighed heavily into his pillow.

If things worked out like he hoped they would tomorrow, they wouldn’t have to worry about this problem ever again.

Deep down, Kieran knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was important, to say the least. Tomorrow, at the same spot he’d asked her to be his girl all those years ago, he’d be proposing to Julie. He’d been waiting for this day for months now, and it was mere hours away from arriving. His mind was a mess of excitement and nervousness, wondering how his plan would play out. He knew in his heart that it’d be just fine, but his mind quietly questioned that confidence.

He sat up, flinging the covers to the side. He needed a reminder of why he was here.

Kieran reached over and pulled his suitcase closer to him. He rummaged around amongst his clean clothes until he finally found what he was looking for. The Butterfree in his stomach stirred up again as his hand closed around the small box. He’d had the same reaction the first time he’d held it a month ago.

He opened the velvet-clad box to inspect the ring inside.

It was simple but elegant engagement ring. Julie wasn’t the type to wear impractical jewelry, anyway. A brilliant garnet sparkled at the center of the ring, flanked by two smaller diamonds. That color held a lot of significance in their relationship. The stone was red like the first candy apple they’d shared as kids, red like the Applins they’d traded to first confess their feelings, and red like her favorite lipstick that always wound up all over his face. Not that he minded in the slightest. The silver band looked delicate, but Olivia had reassured him it was strong enough to last a lifetime. It was perfect for her, and he could barely wait to give it to her tomorrow night.

It had taken everything in him to not blurt out exactly why he had been so cheerful for the past month. Keeping the ring secret had been the hardest part of his plan. Commissioning Kahuna Olivia to make the ring had gone smoothly, and sneaking the ring from the mailbox to his pocket once it arrived from Alola had been a cinch.

No, the hard part was resisting the temptation to give her the ring right away.

The thought of finally calling Julie his wife filled Kieran with a joy he couldn’t put into words. If he hadn’t planned out how he wanted to propose already, he’d have dropped down on one knee the day he got the ring and proposed in their kitchen. As wonderful as that sounded at the time, he wanted to give her a moment she’d never forget, even if it meant waiting a little longer. A month had come and gone since then, and he’d successfully kept his plans to propose a surprise.

But all the same, it felt wrong to keep a secret from her for so long, even a good one. Considering how much damage had been caused in the early years of their relationship by keeping secrets, it was no wonder this situation was causing him so much stress. The two of them had agreed to be open with one another about anything and everything, and up until now, he’d stuck to that agreement.

He smiled, admiring the ring once more before putting it back in its hiding place. He figured she could forgive him, just this once.

Kieran had shoved his suitcase back against his desk when he swore he heard something. It was faint, but he was sure it was a voice. He paused, wondering who else would be up so late tonight. He got up and walked towards the door, listening carefully. Nothing he could make out clearly, but now he was sure there were two voices.

Carefully, he twisted the knob of his door and pulled it open ever so slightly. The conversation was much clearer now, and he recognized the voices right away.

“So, you can’t sleep either, huh?”

“No, not really. Too much on my mind right now.”

“Like what? Is my brother getting on your nerves? If he is-“

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well…I’ve been thinking about the future and…”

“And what?”

Julie’s reply was barely audible. Kieran opened the door a little more. He was invested in this conversation now.

“Have you talked to him about that?” His sister’s tone was gentle. She sounded more sisterly with Julie than she ever did with him.

“Kinda. We’ve talked about it before, but we’ve not made any plans yet.”

“Are you worried he won’t?”

Won’t what? He wondered. A knot formed in his stomach knowing he was making Julie worry. But what was she worried about?

“No, but… well, I don’t know if he thinks I’d say yes if he did.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. He overthinks everything.”

“But you know I would, Carmine. Right here, right now, if he asked.”

Kieran froze. His eyes darted to his suitcase. That could be arranged.

“I know you would. He better ask you soon. I’m gettin’ tired of him draggin’ his feet.”

Kieran rolled his eyes. Carmine could be a decent actress when she wanted to be. She was the first person he’d shown the ring to, and she knew good and well he’d been planning to propose for a long time now. He had to give her credit though; she hadn’t blown his cover. Yet.

“Do you promise not to tease me if I tell you something?”

A pause. “Depends.”

A sigh. “Alright. So, you know how I’ve been hoping Kieran would propose to me?”

Kieran stood up straighter, a smile forming.

“Yeah?”

“Well… If he doesn’t ask me soon, I’ve…well, I’ve figured out how I want to propose to him.”

Kieran’s jaw dropped. Now this he had to hear. He opened the door further and peered out, just enough for him to see into the upstairs hallway and down the stairs.

It was completely dark, perfect for him to sneak out undetected. He stepped lightly out of his room and towards the staircase. He could hear them clearly now; if he had to guess, they were sitting together outside of Carmine’s room. He figured he could get to the bottom of the stairs without them seeing him.

Slowly, he descended the steps one by one, skipping the fourth squeaky step with care. He listened intently to the conversation down below. He wanted - no, needed - to hear what Julie had to say.

“I swear on my life, I won’t laugh at you. You’ve gotta tell me.”

“Alright.” Julie took in a deep breath, and let out a sigh. “…Carmine, I dunno if I can do this.”

“If it helps, pretend I’m Kieran.” Carmine dropped her voice low and exaggerated her drawl. “You can tell me anythin’, Julie.”

Kieran held back a laugh. He had enough self-worth to take his sister’s jabs in stride now. On occasion, like right now, she was even kind of funny.

Julie giggled. “You’re mean, Carmine.”

“I know, I’m working on that. But for real, how are you gonna do it?”

He heard Julie yawn, then saw her hand pass by as she stretched. She was sitting by the foot of the stairs, dangerously close to him. Kieran sat down in the middle of the staircase. This was close enough for now, he reasoned.

“Ok,” Julie began, “so I want to go back to where he first asked me out. That nice little place with the bench and the lanterns where you can see the whole village below you, y’know?”

“Mhmmm.”

“So, I want to wait until right before the big fireworks finale, and ask him then. It was really romantic how he asked me out like that, and I thought it’d be right to do the same. I don’t have a ring yet or anything, but… I don’t think he’d mind that. I know he’d have one if he asked me, but I’ve never heard of a girl giving a guy a ring. I mean, I want to but… I dunno, is that weird for a girl to want to do that?”

Carmine laughed softly. “No, not at all.”

Kieran agreed. He’d happily take any ring she offered him.

“Good. I love him so much, Carmine. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You won’t, he thought. You could never do that.

“You won’t,” Carmine assured her. “You’re doin’ great so far. Alright, so you’ve got him where you want him, now what?”

“Now I ask him to marry me. I’ve got what I want to say memorized, if you want to hear that.”

It took every ounce of restraint he had for Kieran not to blurt out a yes.

“Sure, go ahead.”

A beat of silence.

“Kieran.”

His heart skipped a beat, half from joy and half from fear. On one hand, hearing her say his name was the most beautiful sound in the world. On the other…crap, had Julie seen him?

If she had, she didn’t say so. Instead, she moved on with her proposal.

“Kieran, I want to let you know that my life is so much better with you in it. I’m glad we met, and I’m glad you’ve stayed by my side all these years. The good times are better with you, and the bad times are easier when we’re together. These have been the best years of my life. And…I want every day to be like that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is…Kieran, will you marry me?”

Kieran knew his answer. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops. Well, he wanted to do more than that, truthfully. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and give her the most passionate kiss he could give. He wanted to run upstairs, grab her ring, and rush down the stairs into her arms. If they had been alone, he wouldn’t have minded starting the honeymoon early.

But now wasn’t the time to think about himself.

As impatient as he was, he had to wait. She didn’t know he was here listening in to their conversation, which wasn’t exactly romantic. He’d cause more harm than good surprising her now. She’d be shocked and probably embarrassed to know he’d overheard something she hadn’t been ready to share with him yet. He couldn’t do that to her. Not to the love of his life.

This eavesdropping habit of his nearly ruined his life once, he thought, feeling the guilt creep up on him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“So…what do you think? Think he’ll say yes?”

Kieran smiled. I know I will.

A wet sniffle broke the silence.

“Carmine, are you ok?”

“Yeah, just…” Another sniffle. “Hooh, ok. That was really good.”

“It was?” Julie sounded hopeful.

“Yeah. I mean damn, I’d marry you after all that.”

A sudden flash of jealousy overtook Kieran’s rational thoughts. No, MY Julie. It was a childish reaction, sure, but it was true. The sleep deprivation was getting to him.

“Well, that’s a big compliment. Thank you, and thank you again for listening.”

“No problem. He better marry you, or I’m gonna have something to say about that.”

No worries, Sis, he thought. If he had his way, they’d be running to the altar right now. He stifled a yawn, feeling the day catching up with him all at once. Or maybe that could wait until morning.

“I’m headin’ on to bed. We’ve got another tour group at the tea house in the mornin’, and I’ve gotta be up bright an’ early.”

“Me too. They’ve got me scheduled for a showcase battle with Ponpon at 11.”

“G’night Julie.”

“Goodnight, Carmine.”

Kieran considered his own schedule. The last hiking tour up Oni Mountain would start at 7 AM, thoughtfully scheduled to avoid the blistering summer heat. He grimaced at the thought of getting up before sunrise. It’d be tough to put on his cheery tour guide persona while running on six hours of sleep, but he’d try his best. Thank goodness it was the end of the festival tomorrow.

And, he thought with a smile, it’d be the end of a very long wait.

He made his way silently up the stairs and back to his room, feeling the exhaustion quickly overtake him. But now, at least, he could sleep with his mind at ease.

Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

Author’s note: Part 2 inbound hopefully soon! Thank y’all for your patience. Also, there’s a reason I chose a garnet for the ring. I’m curious if you all can guess why. :)

Thank you again!

-Kay

#dipplinshipping #kay writes #kieran pokemon #juliana pokemon #kieran x juliana #juliana x kieran pokemon

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starwikia · 2 months

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suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am.

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions.

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT.

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

#warning: do not read this post if you want me to be nice to james somerton. i am extremely mean in this post.#before anyone accuses me of shit i legit never contacted him myself or anyone involved. i am someone who witnessed this behavior repeatedly #again. i hope hes alive and well. the fact is him lying about this WOULD BE THE IDEAL SITUATION. BC NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THAT. but.#he HAS to forever be the victim in his eyes. attempting doesnt automatically mean youre free of sin.#its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it #its very clear his attempts to run away from his consequences are working on some people #we need to acknowledge that if your shitty ex friend can weaponize a threat to kill themselves #so can this internet person after being called out for horrendous shit #like what was the alterative? what were people supposed to fucking do? be nice about it?#yeah as if poc and trans women arent historically given shit for being 'too mean' about wanting justice.#this isnt just the plagiarism this is the fact a white dude has been parading himself as THE speaker for the gays(tm) but has been using hi #gayness to shield himself from his misogyny racism transphobia and antisemitism #its very clear regardless this means that ppl r going to side with him and then give him benefit of doubt #if you cant handle the heat stay out of the fucking kitchen dude. this is the consequences of your fucking actions.#hes a disgusting person who cant handle being told no so hes going to drag everyone down with him #like. idk this entire situation is frustrating to me.#its also frustrating ppl trying to be moral abt it like 'see! i knew this was bad all along!' no you didnt. shut it.#for the record im like mainly talking abt twit watching those spineless uwu cutesy ppl basically saying hes done noting wrong #oh and also alt righters who are clearly weaponinizing this where u know they wouldnt give a shit if a right ytber did this.#james somerton #idk might delete this later its just. ugh...

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antianakin · 4 months

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There is exactly one criticism that I agree with my, very anti-Jedi, cousin on and that's the Jedi were TERRIBLE Generals. Generals may TRY to make sure their men mostly come back. But useless sacrifices are not only acceptable, but expected, the men are mostly expandable in war. The Jedi did not consider sacrifices like that acceptable or expected. Sure it did happen. It was WAR. But they tried their best to make sure it DIDN'T. The Jedi were terrible Generals. But they were the teachers and Leaders the CLONES NEEDED.

I'm not sure I'd ENTIRELY agree with that. I think I'd be willing to agree that the Jedi were perhaps less CONVENTIONAL Generals, and they definitely do seem to at least TRY to place the lives of their men above just tossing them away for an easy victory, but you can just as easily claim that keeping the men alive to keep fighting is a good strategy in and of itself.

The biggest piece of evidence I'd point to that the Jedi were actually perfectly good Generals is the Citadel arc and Tarkin's criticisms. The one real criticism he makes of the Jedi as military leaders is that they're occasionally too soft and will abandon a mission if it looks impossible to win without near total casualties (on either side). But he's generally fairly positive about the Jedi and if they were truly awful at their jobs, I don't think TARKIN of all people would hold back on saying so, even to the Jedi's faces.

And we DO see the Jedi willing to make sacrifices and accepting that this is a necessary part of war. The Citadel arc is, again, a perfectly good example of this. Obi-Wan and Anakin go in with like 3-4 men each I think and they come back with a grand total of 3 (Rex, Cody, and Fives). A LOT of clones die on this mission that they all KNEW was basically a suicide mission because the Jedi themselves decided that getting the information about the hyperspace lanes was vital enough to the war that it was worth losing multiple lives over (including their own).

So it's not that the Jedi don't understand that sacrifices are necessary in war or even that they avoid it entirely, they just avoid what they see as UNNECESSARY sacrifice for what might amount to a fairly minor victory. Keeping more of their men alive might, in the long run, be a better strategic choice than losing all of them on one campaign, especially if it's over like one uninhabited moon or something like that. There's nothing to say that the losses the Jedi deem acceptable are things that would've changed the entire tide of the war had they chosen to push forward instead.

The other good evidence that the Jedi acting this way would've been the WORSE choice is the Umbara arc. We are told and then see that Krell IS the kind of General who is willing to lose a lot of clones in order to gain victories in battle, and the clones do recognize that he has a lot of victories under his belt. But never once do they discuss whether those victories really MEANT anything or had a large impact on the war effort. It certainly never seems that the Republic is majorly pushing back the Separatists because of Krell's victories, nobody ever mentions that Krell gained them a major advantage with those victories or took out anyone of any consequence on the Separatist side with his strategies. And by the time he gets to Umbara, he's explicitly using this strategy to WEAKEN the Republic side and cause a loss. Several of his strategies WOULD'VE meant the Republic lost on Umbara and it's only the clones utilizing different strategies that put fewer of them at risk that they actually end up continuing to HAVE victories at all.

I'll also point out that the Jedi continuously getting their men killed en masse would've bankrupted the Republic a LOT earlier because they'd have to be paying for more clones a LOT more often than they did in canon and I can't imagine anyone would've considered that a particularly sound strategy and at some point I'm sure the Senate would've felt obligated to put a stop to it anyway and insisted on strategies that kept more clones alive for longer. So I'm not sure it's fair to claim the Jedi were utilizing BAD strategy by not just exclusively using tactics that meant most of their men were killed for every single victory.

So the ONLY criticism we EVER see of the Jedi's ability as military leaders is Tarkin claiming they're "too soft" and Tarkin is the kind of person who would likely say that until the Jedi started carpet bombing entire Separatist planets. Would it give them a victory? Yeah, sure, maybe, but that's the exact same strategy the Separatists are using and look how well that works out for THEM. Everything else we ever see seems to showcase that the Jedi are in fact perfectly good Generals, not just in that they're kind to the clones and are unwilling to carpet bomb Separatist planets, but also because they're just... good at this. They CAN be strategic, they CAN run wars if they want to. And I think that's the whole point of the Jedi in some ways is that yes, they CAN make war when they need to, they just actively choose NOT TO every time they can. THIS is why Qui-Gon tells Padme that he and Obi-Wan are there to protect her but that they can't win this war for her and they end up going off to fight off a Sith while Padme has to actually win the war with her own people and the Gungans instead. The Jedi don't WANT to be in the position of doing nothing but fighting, but they're absolutely capable of this kind of work.

That's the tragedy of the war in some ways, the Jedi ARE good at this no matter how much they wish they weren't sometimes. But being good at it means they can actually protect the Republic, their own men, and even the Separatist civilians better, so they're not going to just sit there and do things that will screw over a bunch of people. Yes, they're going to fight the war in such a way that they reduce casualties as much as possible, but reducing casualties also requires doing enough to not LOSE the damn war, too. It's a delicate balance they're trying to hold on to and I'd argue they manage it better than anybody else would've ever done in their position.

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #clones #clone troopers #the clone wars #listen i am not a strategist #i CERTAINLY am not a military strategist #but just looking at what we're shown and told by tcw and the films i think it's fairly the clear the jedi were GOOD at being generals #regardless of whether they LIKED that or not #yes they wanted to protect the clones but they weren't idiots and they clearly weren't causing the republic to lose all the time either #there's a difference between strategically retreating from battles that can only be won by massive casualties with little to no reward #and prioritizing saving the clones OVER necessary victories in the war #the jedi are doing the former to my perspective #if they weren't i think the republic would've been a lot worse off just in general #unless we're about to start claiming that the clones and/or civilian officers were doing all of the real work instead of the jedi #which i personally would not #esp since we see the jedi sitting there going over battle plans and coming up with their own strategies quite often #tarkin's opinion on the matter is suspect - don't take his word for it when he says the jedi are too soft

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