#all of a sudden I feel the need to commit a crime though

[jazzy-tzw]

All week I’ve been seeing people posting this man in different shows and commercials and whatnot. At this point he’s Stan Lee, but the cameos aren’t limited to one category😭

[misstycloud]

Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend, he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother, he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents, he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him, unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Wel, I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d ever connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid, not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d showed you the devotion and love you thought you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered pathetically, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

-

[theonottsbxtch]

Your Charles series was so good. And your writing is amazing.

Could you maybe do something where reader is friends with Arthur’s GF- Jade or someone in his friend group and she meets Charles and he literally has a fall in love at first sight moment with her and maybe he becomes a bit obsessed 🫶🏻🫶🏻

LOVE ME, BABY | CL16

an: i did a mix of a smau and written for this one and since i'm moving to france again soon i'm making her french ehehe

jade_distinguinn

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 28,428 others

look who's finally come to visit @/yourusername

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userone: facecard never declines for both of them

usertwo: i need them both

userthree: omg finally getting to see yn in monaco

yourusername: take me to the port, i need to find a sugar daddy

jade_distinguinn: enough.

userfour: they're so pretty

yourbestfriend: it's fine leave me behind, i'll cope

yourusername: you had work??

jade_distinguinn: i tried to pay you to come??

yourbestfriend: shh don't expose me.

userfive: i would commit war crimes to be apart of their friendship

monaco casino, arthur's birthday

The night buzzed with a certain energy Charles knew all too well. The Casino de Monte-Carlo was alive with high society types, gamblers, and tourists, all bathing in the golden glow of the chandeliers. A typical night in Monaco, he supposed, but something about tonight felt different.

Charles had come here to celebrate Arthur’s birthday, content with blending into the backdrop. The Austin Grand Prix was just a week away, and while most people recognised his face, tonight wasn’t about the spotlight. That was Arthur’s role tonight, surrounded by his circle of friends. For once, Charles was glad to slip into the shadows.

He’d just stepped away from the table, heading towards the bar when it happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you, gliding through the crowd like you didn’t belong in all this glitz, as though you were in your own world. Your dark hair fell effortlessly over your shoulders, and the understated elegance of your dress caught his eye. Not flashy, not trying too hard.

Then, in one brief, perfect moment, you brushed against him.

The light contact jolted him from his thoughts, and before he could even react, you turned, eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Your voice, soft and clear, carried the unmistakable lilt of a French accent.

Charles’s world tilted as your eyes met his. He wasn’t used to this—the sudden quiet that seemed to fill the room, as though all the noise had fallen away in your presence. And yet, here you were, pulling him into that stillness.

You didn’t look at him the way people usually did. There was no spark of recognition, no polite nod that said, I know who you are. Just calm, curious eyes, waiting for a response.

Charles cleared his throat, his usual confidence faltering. “Yes… sorry, I—”

“Are you alright?” you asked, a faint smile playing at your lips, almost teasing.

He couldn’t help but laugh softly, surprised by how easily you handled the situation. Handled him. That never happened to Charles Leclerc. People usually fumbled over their words, especially in places like this where Formula One drivers were practically worshipped. But you? You were treating him like he was just another guy in a suit, standing in your way.

“I’m… Charles,” he managed, extending his hand automatically.

You glanced at his hand, but instead of shaking it, you smiled politely and looked past him, scanning the corridor. “Nice to meet you, Charles. But I really need to find the bathroom before I get even more lost in here.”

And just like that, you were leaving. The most baffling part? You still had no idea who he was.

“Uh, it’s just down that corridor to the right,” he said, voice a bit steadier now but still trailing after you as you moved away.

“Thanks.” You shot him one last glance, smiled briefly, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him standing there with an unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest.

Charles was used to attention. But this? This was different. A fleeting encounter, barely lasting seconds, yet it had left something behind he couldn’t quite shake. You’d treated him like anyone else. Not a celebrity, not a driver—just another person. And that intrigued him more than anything.

With a sigh, Charles turned back towards the bar, trying to push the thought of you out of his mind.

But minutes later, back at the table with Arthur and the others, his thoughts kept drifting. He couldn’t shake the memory of you, couldn’t help but glance at the entrance now and then, half hoping, half expecting to see you again.

And then, there you were.

You moved through the crowd with a quiet confidence, your head held high, walking straight towards the table. Charles’s pulse quickened as you drew closer, your gaze sweeping across the group until it landed on him.

Jade noticed you first, her face lighting up. “Darling! There you are!” She jumped up, pulling you in for a quick hug.

Charles watched in amusement, barely concealing a smirk. You hadn’t recognised him yet, still oblivious to the fact that you’d just met him.

You sat beside Jade, and Arthur leaned over, gesturing towards Charles. “I don’t think you’ve met Charles here, have you?” His grin was wide, completely unaware of the encounter that had already unfolded.

You glanced his way, and for a split second, something flickered in your eyes. But you kept your expression composed, only hesitating for a moment before replying smoothly.

“No, I don’t think I have.”

Charles leaned forward, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You were good. Playing it off like the two of you hadn’t just crossed paths minutes ago. The fact that you weren’t acknowledging it only made him more curious.

He extended his hand again, this time with a knowing look in his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, your gaze meeting his directly, a glint of challenge flickering there.

Arthur, still oblivious to the undercurrent between you two, continued on casually. “Charles’s been in Monaco as long as you. Just got back from testing in Italy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Testing?”

“He’s a Formula One driver,” Jade added, glancing between you and Charles.

Charles didn’t take his eyes off you. He saw the moment of realisation in your eyes, just the slightest widening before you regained your composure. But he caught it. You’d finally connected the dots.

You recovered gracefully, your voice smooth and unaffected. “I guess I’ve been too busy to follow sports.”

Charles let out a low chuckle. You were definitely good at this game. And the best part? You weren’t going to make it easy for him.

“That’s what makes it interesting,” he replied, his gaze steady on you.

Jade quickly pulled your attention to something else, and Charles watched as you turned away, part of him disappointed, but another part relieved. It gave him a moment to take you in fully, to process what had just happened. You hadn’t recognised him—not as a Formula One driver, not as anyone of importance. You’d smiled, thanked him, and carried on.

As the conversation at the table continued, Charles found his thoughts drifting back to you, glancing your way more often than he should. There was something about the way you carried yourself—an effortless kind of allure, unpretentious and completely disarming.

He realised he’d been too quiet when Arthur nudged him, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Charlie, you alright?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, his tone curious.

Charles blinked, forcing a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

Arthur chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “About your next race or something?”

Charles’s eyes flicked back to you, now laughing at something Jade had said, completely unaware of the fact that you were occupying his mind.

“Actually,” Charles said, lowering his voice so only Arthur could hear, “I was wondering if you could give me her number.”

Arthur looked puzzled. “Her? Really?”

Charles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, she’s... different. I’d like to get to know her.”

"Alright, I get it," Arthur said, his voice low enough so the others couldn’t hear. He glanced over at you, then back at Charles, his smile fading into something more serious. "But no can do, mate. She’s Jade’s best friend."

Charles blinked. "What’s that got to do with anything?"

Arthur shrugged, his grin returning. "It means I’m not getting involved. If you want her number, you’re going to have to ask her yourself."

Charles felt a jolt of panic surge through him. "Ask her myself?" The words came out louder than intended, and he quickly lowered his voice when you glanced in their direction. He cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "I mean, you can’t just—"

"Nope," Arthur cut him off, his expression completely unyielding. "I’m not risking it. Do you know how long it took me to win over Jade? If I mess this up by playing matchmaker and it doesn’t work out, I’m screwed."

Charles groaned inwardly. Arthur’s girlfriend, Jade, was lovely, but he had to admit—Arthur had a point. The last thing he wanted was to stir up any drama, especially with you being Jade’s best friend. But still, the thought of approaching you directly made his pulse quicken.

"You’re really not going to help me out here?" Charles asked, trying one last time.

Arthur grinned like he was thoroughly enjoying the sight of a Formula One driver getting flustered over a girl. "Not a chance. But look at it this way—you’re Charles Leclerc, mate. You can handle it."

Charles stared at him, deadpan. "You realise I drive at 300 kilometres an hour for a living, right? This is way more terrifying."

Arthur burst out laughing, slapping him on the back. "Good luck, mate."

Charles watched as Arthur leaned back in his chair, clearly done with the conversation. He couldn’t believe it. Ask her myself. He glanced at you again, and his heart did that strange, unfamiliar thing where it skipped a beat. This was insane.

But there was no way around it.

He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink, trying to steel his nerves. The next race was nothing compared to this. Alright, he thought, just go over there and act normal. But even as he thought it, he knew ‘normal’ was the last thing he’d be able to pull off around you.

How had this become the hardest thing he’d ever done?

charles_leclerc

liked by arthurleclerc, jade_distinguinn, carlossainz55 and 986,583 others

celebrating 24!

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userone: my fav grid siblings

usertwo: oh my who are the girls at the end?

arthurleclerc: merci frero

userthree: i want to know what a leclerc party is like

jade_distinguinn: @/yourusername we got put on blast in that final picture

arthurleclerc: @/charles_leclerc eyes

jadedistinguinn: what?

arthurleclerc: nothing mon amour

userfour: i wish i was there

userfive: happy birthday arthur!

yourusername: oh god i look awful

charles_leclerc: i think you look quite the opposite actually

texts between jade and arthur

jade's apartment

You were lounging on the sofa, the late afternoon light filtering through the blinds, casting soft, golden streaks across Jade’s apartment. She was curled up in the armchair across from you, scrolling through her phone and sipping tea. It was one of those rare, lazy afternoons where nothing was pressing, and the air was filled with the comforting hum of nothingness. A perfect break.

“So, what are you and Arthur up to tonight?” you asked absently, flicking through the channels without much interest.

Jade glanced up, shrugging. “Not sure yet. He mentioned something about Charles going to England tomorrow for testing, so we might just go out for dinner and come back unless he wants to go and see Charles.”

Before you could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.

“That’ll be him,” Jade said, setting her cup down and stretching.

You got up to answer the door, opening it to find Arthur standing there, a familiar cheeky grin on his face.

"Alright, ladies?" he said, stepping into the apartment with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times before. He gave Jade a quick kiss on the cheek before plopping himself down beside her on the armchair, completely at home.

"Hey, Arthur," you said, sitting back down on the sofa. "Heard Charles’s off to England tomorrow? Are you going to see him tonight?"

“Yeah,” Arthur says, leaning back and draping his arm across the back of Jade’s chair. “Got some testing to do, nothing major, just a quick day trip, so we’ll be home tonight.”

“Must be exhausting,” you commented, more out of politeness than anything. Formula One life sounded glamorous, but you couldn’t imagine the constant travel.

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, he’s got a crazy schedule, that one. Actually…” He hesitated for a moment, shooting a glance at Jade that you didn’t catch, then continued, “Charles is looking for someone to dogsit while he’s away. Just for the day, really. His usual sitter fell through.”

You blinked, surprised. “Charles has a dog?”

“Yeah, a small dachshund. Leo. Sweetest thing you’ve ever seen,” Arthur said, his voice casual but you missed the slight edge of anticipation that lingered beneath his tone.

You glanced at Jade, who was suddenly very interested in her tea, and shrugged. “I could do it. I’ve not got any plans tomorrow anyway, and I’ve been wanting an excuse to get out for a walk. Might be nice to have some company.”

For a brief moment, neither Jade nor Arthur said anything. It was like they’d frozen, and you were about to ask if you’d said something weird when Arthur cleared his throat.

“Yeah? That’d be brilliant,” he said, flashing a quick smile at Jade before looking back at you. “Charles will appreciate that. Leo’s great, really. You’ll get along.”

You nodded, thinking it was no big deal. “Happy to help. I love dogs.”

Jade set her cup down a little too carefully, and you missed the look she shared with Arthur—a quick, knowing glance, a barely-there smile. It was the kind of look that was exchanged between people who were clearly up to something, but you were oblivious, already thinking about what you’d need to bring for Leo’s day out.

Arthur leaned forward, grinning now, clearly pleased with how smoothly things were going. “I’ll let Charles know. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and drop you off at his place?”

“Perfect,” you said, pulling your knees up to your chest and settling back into the cushions. “I’ll make sure Leo’s well looked after.”

Arthur and Jade shared another glance, but you were too busy scrolling through your phone now, thinking about where you’ll take Leo for a walk. Maybe the park nearby?

Jade stretched, standing up and nudging Arthur’s arm. “We should probably get going, yeah? Need to go pick something up from your mother’s salon.” she said, clearly making something up on the spot.

Arthur jumped to his feet, playing along smoothly. “Right, yeah, can’t forget about that.”

You waved them off, entirely unaware of the little conspiracy brewing right under your nose. “See you tomorrow, then.”

As they left, Jade turned back, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’ll love Leo, trust me.”

“Looking forward to it,” you called back, smiling.

yourusername

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dog sitting duties

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userone: omg is that leo??

usertwo: chat if they date, my glock is finna be locked and loaded

userthree: is that charles' place??

arthurleclerc: my nephew is so adorable

userfour: i want to be her so god damn bad

userfive: i must have been the worst sort of person in my past life WHY IS THIS NOT ME

jade_distinguinn: cutest ball of fluff ever

usersix: parents?

charles_leclerc: thank you for this

charles' apartment, late at night

Charles dragged his suitcase behind him, feeling the familiar ache of travel settle into his muscles. The testing had gone well, but the flight back from England had drained him more than usual. All he could think about was getting home, maybe grabbing a quick bite to eat, and collapsing into bed.

As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, something felt off. Normally, Leo would be at the door within seconds, his tail wagging like crazy, eager to greet him after any amount of time apart. But today, there was no thundering of paws, no excited whining. The house was still, unusually quiet.

“Leo?” he called out softly, frowning as he dropped his bag by the entrance.

No response.

His concern grew as he walked further into the living room, the sight before him making him stop in his tracks. There, curled up on the sofa, was Leo—and beside him, fast asleep, was you. Your head was resting on a cushion, and Leo’s small dachshund head was draped lazily over your legs. Both of you looked completely peaceful, completely unaware of the world.

Charles blinked, feeling something in him soften at the sight. He’d forgotten for a moment that Arthur had mentioned you’d offered to look after Leo while he was away. Seeing you there, though, sprawled out on his sofa, completely at ease with Leo beside you, was… unexpected. But in the best possible way.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he quietly stepped closer. Leo’s ears flicked up as he noticed Charles, but the dog didn’t move, simply blinked sleepily before resting his head back on you, clearly not ready to leave his comfortable spot. Charles chuckled under his breath. Traitor.

His eyes moved back to you. You were still in your casual clothes, one arm draped across your chest, your breathing soft and steady. He felt his chest tighten, this strange warmth creeping up on him as he stood there watching. He could see why Leo hadn’t come rushing to the door—you were good company, after all.

Charles sighed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. As much as he wanted to crash right there on the sofa himself, beside you, he knew you’d be more comfortable in a bed. He hesitated for a second before moving closer, carefully reaching down and gently sliding one arm under your legs and the other under your shoulders. You stirred slightly as he lifted you, but didn’t wake, your head leaning into his chest as he carried you through the apartment to his bedroom.

You felt light in his arms, your face peaceful as he laid you down on the bed, tucking the covers around you carefully. His heart gave an unfamiliar lurch as he stepped back, watching for just a moment as you settled into the blankets, still fast asleep.

Charles smiled softly to himself, shaking his head as he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He glanced back at the sofa where Leo had curled up, already resuming his nap. “Looks like I’ll be taking your spot tonight, mate.”

text between yn and jade

charles' apartment, following morning

The first thing you felt was warmth. Your body was cocooned in softness, the kind of comfort that made you want to sink deeper into sleep. But something didn’t feel right. You blinked your eyes open slowly, expecting to see your familiar surroundings—the sofa, Leo, maybe even your shoes kicked off somewhere on the floor—but instead, you were in a bed.

You sat up quickly, blinking against the morning light streaming through a nearby window. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the room around you. This definitely wasn’t your apartment. The walls were unfamiliar, the duvet softer than yours, and the faint scent of something cooking wafted through the air. Panic settled in your chest.

The events of yesterday start rushing back. Leo. Charles. You’d agreed to dogsit while Charles was in England for testing. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa—but how did I end up in bed?

Oh no. Did Charles put me here?

You felt a rush of mortification as the realisation hit. He must have carried you. Carried you. Heat rose in your cheeks as you glanced around the room, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were lying in his bed. His bed!

Throwing off the covers, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t even know what time it was, but it felt later than it should be. God, how long have I been asleep?

You headed towards the door, trying to shake off your embarrassment as you stepped out of the bedroom and made your way into the main part of the apartment. The smell of food grew stronger, and as you rounded the corner, you froze.

Charles was standing in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, and flipping something in a frying pan. His back was to you, but there was no missing the fact that he was shirtless—completely shirtless. The morning light caught on his tanned skin, highlighting the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your brain momentarily short-circuited, and you stood there like an idiot, staring.

Oh God, this is so much worse than I thought.

He turned around, catching sight of you standing there, and smiled, completely unfazed. “Morning.”

You blinked, feeling the heat rush to your face again as you tried to form coherent words. “Uh… morning.”

He set the pan down and wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel, seemingly unaware of your internal struggle. “I hope you slept alright. Sorry if I startled you by moving you to the bed, but I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

Your heart was still racing, and you were pretty sure you were about three shades of red at this point. You fumbled for a response, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to his very toned, very bare torso. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to just… fall asleep on your sofa like that.”

Charles chuckled, clearly amused by your flustered state. “No problem at all. You looked comfortable, and Leo clearly wasn’t moving anytime soon.” He nods towards the dog, who was lying by the kitchen, tail thumping lazily against the floor.

You let out a breath, still feeling a bit mortified but tried to compose yourself. “I just… I didn’t realise I was that tired.”

“No harm done,” he said, waving off your apology. “I’m actually glad you stayed. Saved me from dealing with an overly energetic dog first thing in the morning. He pawed at your door to join you last night and only came out 20 minutes ago, all calm.”

You managed a small laugh, feeling slightly less awkward now, though your eyes kept darting to his chest before you forced them back up to his face. Focus.

Charles seemed to notice your discomfort, his smile softening. “I was just making some breakfast. Do you want to join me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah, the thing people eat at the start of the day?” he said sarcastically and casual, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal. “I’m making eggs and toast, nothing fancy. But you’re welcome to stay.”

Your stomach betrayed you by rumbling softly, and you realise you hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Despite the lingering embarrassment, the idea of sitting down with him, maybe getting to know him better, didn’t sound half bad.

You nodded, feeling yourself relax a little. “Yeah, okay. I could eat.”

Charles grinned and gestured to the kitchen island. “Great. Grab a seat, I’ll get you a plate.”

yourusername

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"nothing fancy" and "just eggs and toast"

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userone: LEOOOOOOO

usertwo: that last pic gIRL??

jade_distinguinn: oh no the charles fans found you

yourusername: fuck

jade_distinguinn: good luck

userthree: who is she omg?

userfour: i think she's arthur's girlfriend's bestfriend from paris?

yourusername: yo that is insane, how did you find out i'm from paris

arthurleclerc: i'm sorry for what's about to happen

yourusername: THERE IS WORSE??!?

userfive: she is gorgeous

usersix: idk who i want more

charles_leclerc: if you were impressed by this, wait until you see what dinner consits of

yourusername: are you inviting me to dinner?

charles_leclerc: only if you say yes

yourusername: yes

userseven: WE ARE WITNISSING HISTORY

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charles' apartment, one night

The evening sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the apartment. Charles had insisted on cooking dinner for the both of you, despite your half-hearted protests. Now, the smell of something delicious—a mix of garlic, herbs, and roasted vegetables—filled the space, making your stomach rumble.

You were seated at the small dining table, watching as Charles moved around the kitchen with surprising ease. He wasn’t wearing a shirt again, but this time you’d had a little more time to get used to it. It wasn’t helping your concentration, though. Every time he turned to grab something or stir a pot, your eyes seemed to betray you, drifting toward the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his arms as he worked.

He caught you staring once or twice, shooting you a quick, knowing smile, which only made you look away, cheeks burning.

“Alright,” he said finally, bringing over two plates and setting them down on the table. “Hope you like pasta.”

You glanced at the dish in front of you—perfectly cooked spaghetti, tossed with olive oil, garlic, and roasted tomatoes. “It looks amazing,” you said, genuinely impressed.

He sat across from you, pouring some wine into your glass with a teasing smile. “Thought I’d try to impress you.”

You laugh, taking a sip of the wine. “Consider me impressed. You didn’t strike me as the cooking type.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, smiling lazily. “What, just because I drive fast cars for a living, I can’t handle a kitchen?”

“Well, yeah,” you tease, twirling some pasta around your fork. “It doesn’t really scream ‘domestic life,’ you know?”

He chuckled at that, but there was a soft, almost thoughtful look in his eyes as he watched you. “Fair enough. But there’s more to life than cars, you know.”

You take a bite of the pasta—perfectly seasoned, of course—and nod. “I’ll admit, you’re a man of surprises.”

As the conversation flows, you start to relax, the initial awkwardness of the morning fading away. You tell him about your time in Paris, about how you’ve been studying film and journalism at university. Charles seems genuinely interested, leaning forward slightly as you talk.

“So, you’re a filmmaker then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Hopefully one day,” you say with a laugh. “I still have a year left at uni. Right now, it’s more learning than making.”

Charles takes a sip of his wine, considering. “What kind of films do you want to make?”

You pause, twirling the wine glass in your hands. “I think... films that make people feel something. You know? I want to tell stories that resonate, that make people look at the world a little differently. Journalism’s the same for me. It’s all about storytelling.”

He watches you as you speak, his gaze intense but soft, like he’s taking in every word. “That’s... really cool,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I think the world could use more of that.”

You smile, feeling a strange warmth spread through you—not just from the wine, but from the way he looks at you, like he’s genuinely interested in who you are, not just the surface-level stuff. “Thanks. I leave tomorrow, though, back to Paris to finish my term.”

There’s a brief silence, and for a moment, the lightness of the conversation shifts. Charles sets his glass down and leans forward, his eyes not leaving yours. “You don’t have to go tomorrow, you know.”

You blink, surprised. “What?”

He shrugs, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, what’s a few more days? Stay a little longer. We can get to know each other better.” His tone is light, but there’s something deeper in his eyes—a hint of something more serious, more intent.

You hesitate, your mind racing. Stay longer? You’d planned to leave tomorrow, get back to your routine, your studies… But the way he’s looking at you now, the thought of leaving suddenly feels less appealing.

“I—” you start, but Charles interrupts, his voice dropping a little lower, his gaze never wavering.

“Look, I know we just met, but… there’s something here, right? Between us?”

The words catch you off guard, and your heart skips a beat. You weren’t imagining it, then—this pull between you two, the way your pulse quickened whenever he was close, the way your eyes kept finding him without meaning to.

“I don’t know,” you say softly, feeling your heart race. “Maybe…”

He stands up then, walking around the table slowly, his eyes locked on yours. Every step closer makes your breath catch in your throat, the room seeming to shrink as the distance between you disappears.

When he’s standing in front of you, he reaches out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up so that you’re looking right into his eyes. “Stay,” he says again, his voice almost a whisper now. “Just a little longer.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you meet his gaze, your heart caught between indecision and desire. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but before you can, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but then it deepens, heat flooding your body as you feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands move instinctively, finding their way to his chest, the warmth of his skin under your palms sending a thrill through you.

The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the feeling of his lips moving against yours, the taste of wine still lingering, his breath warm and steady. When you finally pull back, your forehead resting against his, you’re both breathing a little heavier, your heart pounding in your chest.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and full of something that makes your knees feel weak. “Stay,” he whispers again, his voice rougher now, more urgent.

And suddenly, leaving feels like the last thing you want to do.

You stare up into Charles’s eyes, still catching your breath from the intensity of the kiss. His forehead is still pressed gently against yours, and the weight of the moment is thick in the air, like the world’s holding its breath along with you.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual, mirroring your own heartbeat. He leans in again, his lips just a whisper away from yours, and his voice is low, thick with desire.

“Say yes,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “Stay, just a little longer.”

You swallow, your pulse pounding in your ears, your body still buzzing from the kiss. It feels impossible to think straight with him this close, with the way his touch sets your skin on fire. But then, as his fingers slide down the side of your neck, his lips just barely grazing yours, you make your decision.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His lips crash into yours again, more intense this time, like the word had unleashed something in him. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You gasp into the kiss, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as the world blurs around you. The only thing you can focus on is him—his warmth, his touch, the way his mouth moves against yours like he can’t get enough.

Charles backs you gently against the edge of the dining table, his lips never leaving yours, and you feel the solid wood press against the small of your back. His hands find your waist again, lifting you effortlessly onto the table. You gasp as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours, and you feel every inch of him—strong, solid, and warm.

Your hands slide over his bare chest, feeling the taut muscles under your fingertips all over again. He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through your entire body. The kiss deepens, more urgent now, and you feel his hands wander—one slipping up your back, the other gripping your thigh, pulling you even closer.

It’s overwhelming, this rush of heat, of wanting. Your heart pounds harder with every movement, every brush of his lips. His mouth moves from yours, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself get lost in the sensation.

Then, just when you think you might drown in the feeling, he pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours again. His hands are still on you, holding you close, like he’s afraid to let go.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathes, his voice husky and low.

You smile, breathless and still dizzy from the kiss. “I think I might.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and intense, searching yours. There’s a softness in his expression now, something deeper that makes your heart flutter all over again. “So, you’re staying?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes. I’m staying.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow, but it lights up his entire expression, making something inside you melt. He leans in again, pressing one last soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he whispers, his voice low and full of promise. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

yourusername

liked by jade_distinguinn, arthurleclerc, charles_leclerc and 54,429 others

one more week won't hurt, right?

*tap to load more comments*

userone: GUYS??!??!?!?!

usertwo: is leo about to have a mother?

userthree: THAT LAST PHOTO CHARLES LECLERC HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

jade_distinguinn: @/arthurleclerc mission acomplished?

arthurleclerc: yes boss 🫡

yourusername: huh??

userfour: can not believe i'm alive during this time rn

charles_leclerc: rumour is you can transfer to UoMonaco

yourusername: charlie you know i can't 🤭

userfive: CHARLIE STOP I CANNOT TAKE THIS I DONT EVEN KNOW THESE PEOPLE AH

usersix: i am sick🤧

userseven: time to start wondering around aimlessly in monaco and pray for the best

the end.

[writingangst]

Friendly Fire

Summary: The aftermath of Simon Riley's paranoia has left the reader with an inner battle of holding onto her anger or making room for forgiveness.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and torture, angst, cursing, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 1.3K

Part One

I wasn't planning on posting on this account except for that one off, but since a lot of people liked it, I'm down to give you guys more angst. So, enjoy. (Also, if you want to request anything be sure to message me.)

Whispers and lingering stares were a part of your day to day since you and Ghost got back from the extraction mission. The barracks were filled with theories, the team making assumptions to make sense of the bruising you wore like a collar around your neck. As if you were some damn dog, beaten into submission. You hated every second of being on display and serving as a symbol of what they thought had to have been insubordination.

She must’ve mouthed off to the Lieutenant.

Poor girl was probably put in her place. 

Because Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t do any wrong. Surely the woman must’ve misbehaved to deserve being put in a life-or-death situation by someone she trusted. You couldn’t calm the anger that stubbornly sat in your chest. You wanted to scream. You wanted him in the same position you were in. You wanted the fucking bruising to go away so everyone could stop talking about it, reducing you into a fucking victim.

You were a Goddamn soldier.

Ghost on the other hand had been quiet. Even more so than usual. You would catch his eyes roaming the patches of dark purple and blue he painted on your skin from time to time, turning away when he noticed you looking back at him, your expression stoic. You could sense the tension. The regret. The nasty gut feeling assumed to be guilt swallowing him whole. 

He’d never felt that way before.

It wasn’t a part of your lives. You got jobs done that would make any normal person weep for years. Trauma so consuming, veteran suicide rates were in increase and violent crimes committed by them going up as well. You had no room for guilt or regret. You were machines. It was in the job description, under the fine print. There wasn’t an option to dwell on things, it was either keep pushing or people could die in your line of work. 

Yet Ghost was stuck on that feeling.

And it was becoming harder to ignore. You saw the way his fingers twitched when you flinched from any sudden movement. The quietness that overtook the space when you stepped into any room he was in, like everything suddenly became too heavy to bear. You wanted to laugh from the bitterness of it all. This was the same man that had threatened your life. And for once, it seemed like the monster that made him who he was couldn’t hide behind the skull mask.

You couldn't decide which one was worse though. The silence or the moments you caught him struggling with himself and what he did. But the worst part. The thing that kept you up at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt more like a grave… Was that you had started feeling sorry for him. For the way his dark eyes would catch yours when you least expected it, as if they were silently begging for forgiveness you didn’t know if you could offer him.

Maybe that was the worst part. There being a chance to be able to forgive, but never forget. Missing his touch and dreading it all the same. The way he tainted something both of you needed. Severing a conection both physical and emotional. Needing him and hating him. It was the same fight within yourself and it made you angry, until you began yearning again. Your own personal hell, a cage he viciously hand crafted to fit you.

I hate you, Ghost. 

It was a mantra. Maybe soon you would start to believe it.

But as night fell on the fourth night, the repetition wouldn’t preserve your sanity. The common area was eerily quiet, devoid of any operative in your wing. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound as you sat on the worn couch, eyes scanning the documents in your hands. They were sending you out again. A covert operation. Then, the bitter taste of reality hit you again as you saw his name typed out on the call sheet under personnel.

I hate you.

“I’m sorry.”

You jumped instictivley at the sound of his voice, your head jerking in his direction, slightly to your left, standing within the door frame. His words were clumsy, raw, but there was hesitation in his tone. Like he was scared. Scared of what he did, scared of what you thought of him now. The silence between you both stretched like a taut wire, brittle and poised to snap.

For a fleeting moment, something in your chest softened—a crack in the icy wall you’d built between the both of you. But it was brief. So brief. The softness evaporated almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the old familiar coil of tension in your gut. You straightened, pulling your walls back up.

“So, he speaks.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” he said, his gruff accent thick with something unspoken—uncertainty, regret? You weren’t sure anymore.

You laughed bitterly. “But choking me out is fine.”

Your words were sharp and unforgiving. A hard accusation that was meant to hit him in the chest. The tension was unbearable now, like the moment might snap any second. He didn’t move though, didn’t back down. But you saw it—his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides, the way his eyes flickered to the ground. The frustration was there, the guilt too, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was struggling, you could see it.

He hesitated. “I fucked up.”

Raw. Unpolished.

But you weren’t so forgiving.

“You think?” You spat back, your voice filled with sarcasm, every word laced with the bitterness you couldn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to excuse any of it. I was a paranoid motherfucker and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His words landed heavier than you expected. You almost wanted to let you anger slip. To take the edge off, to relax into the moment, maybe even believe him. But you couldn’t. You’d betrayed yourself by awarding him with your forgiveness. Your nostrils flared at the turmoil you felt in your chest, your fingers digging into the documents in your hands with a fierce grip as you attempted to counterfocus the tightness.

“I don’t know what to do to make this right,” he confessed, knowing his words weren’t right. And they never could be. They didn’t carry the weight of what he had done. “I rarely ever apologize. If ever.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So that should make me feel special?”

“Hardly,” he stated, wincing at your sarcasm, the impact of your words sinking into him like a punch. “I’ve made an even bigger mess of this. I can’t fix it. I know I can’t. I just—” 

—miss you.

You could almost hear it in the rawness of his voice, in the way he faltered. The silence was heavier with the words he didn’t dare utter hanging there. And that just made the anger swell in your chest. The more he held back, the more it stung, the more it fed your fury. The air felt thick around you. Heavy. Your breath shallow, your chest tight, and every beat of your pulse was a reminder of everything he had done. Everything he hadn’t done.

“Yeah?” You locked your gaze with him, the intensity in your eyes unflinching, your voice colder than you thought you could manage. It was steady, but laced with an undeniable edge. “Well, I fucking hate you, Ghost.”

The words slipped out, more venomous than you intended, but they felt good to say. They felt earned. You could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders slumped a fraction, as though your words physically struck him. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, but it was better than what had come before. At least now there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to break.

[devilander]

a mirror in half-light

18+ 1.5k. homelander x supe f!reader. blood, dirty talking, cunnilingus, use of telepathic powers, acts of violence mentioned (not between reader and HL)

From someone so concerned with shielding his mind, Homelander quickly comes to appreciate your telephatic powers and how useful they can be. Especially during a boring Seven meeting.

prompt sent by @infinetlyforgotten, thank you so much 🤍

When you were first introduced to the Seven, many, including your new colleagues, compared you to Mindstorm. Sure, there were some similarities—the ability to see a person’s thoughts or to project specific images. But that’s where it ended. 

The ace up to your sleeve, which distinguishes you and earned your supe name as Quickstep, is both your telepathic precognition, giving you leverage in hand to hand combat, and your crown and glory—possession. Supe or non-supes, all could have their minds hijacked by you; an ability Vought decided not to publicize. 

Your fellow partners in fighting crime knew, though; and from day one you could feel Homelander watching you with suspicion, a stare so filled with distaste your knees almost buckled. 

Seeing you in a corridor, Homelander signaled for you to approach.

“Quickstep,” he sneered, invading your personal space until he towered over you and your neck ached from looking so high up. “If I catch you using your little powers on me, be sure I’ll crack your spine. It’ll be easier than stomping on an ant. Got it?” His sudden artificial smile did nothing to lessen the weight of his words. 

Homelander was your hero, always, since childhood. Not only that, ever since you saw him for the first time, the shining blue eyes, the softness of his blonde hair, that commanding voice... You were a goner. And he most certainly knew. The disappointment almost, almost broke your heart. 

Little by little, however, with the unspoken promise you wouldn’t pry on his mind, you’d grown close. Partners in fighting crime, yeah, of course, but you had his back, no matter what. 

In one of your missions together, Homelander smeared in an innocent’s blood from head to toe, your first instinct was to help him—clean the mess. And you couldn’t lie, him in his violence and brutality did something to you. 

“Hey, you,” you murmured. “Let me help you, okay? Let me take care of it. Let me protect you.”

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. It took no more than minutes to possess the mind of some poor bystanders, having them fight and commit atrocious acts; they wouldn’t know what came over them and Vought would be too happy not to disclose. In quick action, the narrative changed; from rabid supe, to terrorist crowd. 

Later, you found yourself in his penthouse, in his bathtub, naked and cleaning the gore as he squeezed your waist. When you sealed your relationship with a bloodied kiss, you knew there was no turning back—and you loved it. Loved his quirks, his humor, his beautiful nose and soft hair, loved his flaws and all that came with it. Loved the tie that bound you forever. 

“I love you. I love you so much,” you whispered in his ear as you lay in his bed, a few hours before your meeting with the rest of the Seven. “I ache for you all the time. It overflows, sometimes.” You giggled, remembering when your desire burned you so passionately, so intensely, your mind had one focal point: Homelander and what he could do to your body. Without realizing, all your wants and needs were suddenly projected on his mind.

In the first time, you were fearful he’d throw a fit, but he simply grinned devilish at you. 

“Wow,” he laughed. “If I’d known more about your dirty little mind I would have put it to use a long time ago, babe.” 

After that, it became a fixture, in bed, in daily moments where voicing your thoughts wasn’t an option, or in missions when silent communication was useful. And bit by bit, he delighted in it, veritable proof of your devotion and love.

As it were, in this stolen moment, cuddled in his bed, he answered. “And I love you, my darling, My own mirror.” He nuzzled your neck. “No need to scream in my mind, I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop.” 

“I’d never,” you said breathily. 

Slowly kissing from your collarbone, to your stomach and thighs, mischievously looking you in the eye as he bit and kissed and licked everywhere around your cunt. His strength was enough to keep you in the exact place he wanted. Such a delicious torture. 

Finally he turned his attention to your clit, dragging his tongue over it in elaborate patterns—he was relentless, and you both moaned at the contact. You were loud, thrashing and screaming at the slightest touch, but only for him. He played your body perfectly. 

Your hands found his hair, soft to the touch, and yanked, wanting him closer and he groaned—the vibrations going straight to your core. Soon he started tongue-fucking, just as you liked it, going deep and slow, alternating to trace your slit from your asshole to your clit; not one part of you ignored. 

“Fuck, you taste so good. You’re fucking made for me, your pussy is mine, mine, understand that?”

“It’s yours! It’s all yours. Please, Homelander, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, let me come in your mouth, I want to feel you.” It was all too much, the mess his tongue made, the wetness running down your pussy and dripping in the mattress.

Moaning, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, as he squeezed your ass, bringing you even closer. You cried from the pleasure he woke in you, and even in this madness you caressed his hair, closing your legs until he was in the position you liked most: with a perfect view of his face, his soft locks, his bright eyes. 

He smirked, squeezing you tighter, until you no longer touched the bed, and he slapped your ass so hard your whole body trembled. 

“Like that, princess? Like when I do whatever the fuck I want with your sweet body? Now show me. Show me what you want.” 

You complied instantly. 

You imagined him feasting on your pussy, licking it all until his spit and your slick became one and the same. His fingers marking your ass, your thighs; biting so deeply even your invulnerable skin would cleave to his superior strength. You wanted his tongue deep inside you, for yours on end, fucking your pussy so good your legs would spasm and you would scream for all the Tower to hear, pussy clenching just the way he liked. You wanted it all—Homelander slurping on your clit and swirling his tongue, making you squirt and swallowing it all, leaving his chin a beautiful fucking mess. 

In the aftermath, body boneless and exhausted, you wanted his fingers, for him to drag it all over your juices and make you swallow and gag on it. Then, in a little tenderness, he'd give you a breathtaking kiss, further proof of your intimate lovemaking. 

As you projected all of this on his mind, his smile grew bigger, more wicked. And you knew he'd deliver it, or even more. 

“You really are such a slut.” You giggled; it was all in the game.

Later on, as all the Seven were debating their latest terrorist attack, and what plan they'd need to put in action, all you could think was Homelander. His hands on you, his tongue lapping at your clit and his disheveled hair—which, you noticed, he didn't fix for the meeting. It wasn't fair, he was too mean at taunting you.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him and he knew. Flashes of your morning together ran through your mind. No matter how satisfied you'd been, you wanted more, again, all the time. You wanted his kisses and devastation, his head between your legs and his mouth both teasing and giving you the most world-shattering pleasure. 

You wanted to caress his hair, your newfound obsession, while he fucked you, hiting that sweet spot and filling you up with his come.

In your daydreams, you tuned out from the conversation, and like being burned you found Homelander staring straight at you, an expression oh so familiar. Unintentionally he'd become the spectator of your fantasies. 

Rising from his chair so quickly you barely caught it, Homelander said, “That's enough for today. I have other things to take care of. Quickstep, you stay.”

Whispers of complaint were quickly shut down, as Homelander glared at them until each and everyone left the room.

“Well, well, seems like someone is still wantin' for more.”

He laid his hands on your chair, then turned it so you were face to face. 

“I couldn't help it,” you smirked. “I can't get enough.”

“But that's not fair, don't you think?" He clucked his tongue. "It's your turn to please me.” He pulled you from the chair, and manhandled you until you fell to your knees with a thud. “Now, princess, get to work.”

[traumadumpwriter]

Relapse and a Half - Six

JJ Maybank X Pogue!Reader

Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into drugs, but they re unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.

Trigger warning for: drugs (obviously), guns, explicit sexual assault, violence, trauma

Reblogging is allowed!

Masterlist - Part Seven

I’ve had so many people requesting this part so here it finally is! Thank you so much for any comment or like or any appreciation you’ve shown at all, it really does mean the world to me. I spent ages writing this part because I just couldn’t get it right but I think (I hope) I’ve finally done it. Reminder here that my inbox is open for requests and also just if you need someone to talk to. Hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 5.8k

Part 6

A month passed since that night at Barry's, and no one could've guessed that anything bad might've happened to you.

You'd gone back to your old job - tending at a run down bar - and had no seemingly no interest in any hard drugs. You'd spent most of your free time at the Chateau or alone with JJ; your obsession with each other an undying fire. And you'd even started doing yoga with Kie - making you feel better about your mind and body.

The bruises and scratches on your skin had faded and been replaced by JJ's kisses and light marks - the smallest patch of purple appearing on your ass after one passionately hard fuck. Noticing the bruise the morning after, JJ had frowned and gently stroked it.

"I'm sorry baby, I shouldn't have been so rough. I'll go gentler next time." He’d whispered.

"What are you talking about? Don't go gentler. Last night was.. incredible." You'd scoffed in response.

"But I left a bruise. Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"

"JJ, I like being marked by you. Don't feel bad about that... in fact maybe we should go again."

JJ smirked at that, pulling his lip under his teeth.

"Right now?"

"When else?"

All in all, life had actually been pretty good for you despite the occasional crying night spent alone. That was the only time you'd ever reflect on what happened - when you were alone - and even then you were still in a state of denial about the severity of it. Logically, you knew what had happened was horrific and whatever JJ had seen had given him every right to be as angry as he was. But you still weren't ready to admit that to yourself - so you didn't.

When you cried, it wasn't because you felt like a used, damaged victim of an awful crime, it was because you felt like a dirty, slutty junkie for ever letting it happen. It certainly didn't help that your friends had gotten involved too, and though they'd mimicked you in acting mostly as if nothing had happened, you could sense the slight change. For instance, Kie hadn't ranted to you about the micro-aggressions committed by men for a hot minute. Pope had brought around sandwiches and cookies to your house - much to the delight of your mother who absolutely adored the lad. John B was seemingly counting your drinks anytime you all decided to party, cutting you off anytime you got close to being sloppy which never used to bother him. And JJ... you couldn't tell if he was acting different now because he was "openly in love with you" as he said, or if it was because he thought you needed protecting.

Nonetheless, you were able to sweep all of this under the rug and forget about it most of the time. You lived your life as usual and focused on staying clean.

That was until you saw Rafe at the Boneyard.

The night had started pretty averagely, pre-drinking at the Chateau and then dancing with Kie by the fire whilst the boys congregated with other delinquents. The only dancing being done by the male trio was from John B trying to make moves on some touron - which the rest of the Pogues were amusedly watching from afar. JJ was - as usual - placing bets on stupid things with any other thrill seeker he could find - such as who could finish a keg first or hold their hand in fire the longest, whilst Pope tried to convince him to stop being an idiot - unsuccessfully of course.

You enjoyed nights like these, being in close proximity to your closest friends but with some space between you. It was a nice change to the cramped, sometimes overbearing nights at the Chateau. You knew that Kie felt the same way.

"Do you think John B's gonna get lucky? That girl does not look impressed." She mused, her fingers intertwined with yours as you rocked together.

"I'm fifty-fifty. She doesn't look impressed but she hasn't left his side. Maybe the dancing is just confusing her."

"It is pretty confusing. Like a bird trying to pull off a mating ritual or something but can't quite remember how to do it."

"Now you've said it - I totally see that. He's like a giant bird." You giggled in agreement. "With those long legs he's got to be a flamingo, right?”

"I'd say so. And Pope is a turtle."

"I see that too. I think that JJ might be a big cat of some sort, you know? Like maybe a tiger."

"Yeah right. The boy is an excitable menace, not an agile predator." Kie scoffed.

"So what is he? A dog?"

"You said it, not me."

You both laughed at that and eventually came to the conclusion that he was in fact a husky, drunkenly twirling and swaying as you spoke. A girl - much drunker than you - accidentally bumped into you causing you to look up from Kie as you held out a hand to catch her. She bashfully smiled and apologised before rushing away - clearly a few years younger - and you thought about following her to make sure she was okay before you were distracted by the sensation of someone's eyes on you.

At first, you thought it might be JJ trying to get your attention from across the party, but he was some feet away and no longer illuminated by the fire - arguing with some guy in the ocean about who could swim faster. The eyes on you were a similiar shade to his, but they were rounder and darker, and the person they belonged to was taller and a lot scarier. If anyone were to be a predatory cat, it would be him.

Rafe Cameron had a smug grin on his lips as he ran his eyes along you, intentionally staring with the aim to let you know that he was there. Your breath caught in your throat as soon as you registered the unfriendly gaze and, like a deer in headlights, you froze.

You'd managed to forget what JJ had said about Rafe being at Barry's almost entirely, in fact you'd practically forced yourself to forget about the Cameron's existence. In the time that you'd spent crying by yourself, you'd been so distracted by all the other things you were stressed about that you hadn't even thought about what Rafe had to do with the whole thing. What he might've done.

The second your eyes locked with his though, a barrage of anxiety hit you and you suddenly found yourself with a month's worth of worries about the man. He seemed to sense your discomfort, his eyebrow raising questioningly and his grin widening. Luckily, Kie also sensed it and it only took her a second to figure out the reason why.

"That fucking asshole." She muttered under her breath before squeezing your hand lightly. "We should leave. I'll go get the boys."

"No!" You quickly objected, feeling a sudden rush of panic at the thought of confessing to the Pogues that you did in fact feel uncomfortable around Rafe Cameron.

Before that night, he never would have scared you from anywhere. You wouldn't have even afforded him a second glance unless it was to insult him. You couldn't change that now - not when the reasoning would be so clear. Kie shot you a confused look.

"It's fine. He's just a stupid Kook. Let's not let our night be ruined because of him."

She looked uncertain but didn't argue, nodding slowly with knitted brows. Perhaps if she'd been more sober she would've thought to question you, but she'd gone the last month without pushing you for answers and you seemed to be doing fine, so she decided that she wouldn't start now - especially when you had been having such a fun night.

Instead, the pair of you shifted away from the centre of the space and moved your dancing to the edge of the crowd, losing John B from your eye-lines but gaining the drinks table.

"I'm gonna go refresh. You want any?" You asked Kie and she nodded with a grateful smile, though still uncertainly.

When you got to the makeshift bar, you instantly poured yourself a shot and quickly drank it down before grabbing two beers from the cool box - who they actually belonged to being a mystery that you didn't care to solve. The Pogues had been weird about you drinking any spirits, so you decided to use the opportunity of being alone to quickly do another shot before anyone could stop you.

As you continued dancing with Kie, you both drank the beer and soon you'd forgotten about Rafe's unsettling gaze as rapidly as you'd felt it. That bliss was short lived though, a wide eyed Pope and a raging JJ suddenly at your side.

"We should go." Pope had managed to pant out before JJ started his rant.

"That motherfucker is here. And he won't stop staring at you. I'm gonna fucking kill him. Look- he's doing it now. I swear he's doing it on purpose. Where the fuck is John B?" He seethed.

"Woah, woah. Calm down babe." You said softly, lacing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to you.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your lips, fast and agitated, and though it slowed slightly from your touch, it was still laced with palpable venom.

"He's a piece of shit, Y/N. I should've killed him when I had the chance."

You knew that you should've been taking JJ's anger more seriously, but through the fog of mixed alcohol he just looked too handsome for you to focus on anything else. All you wanted to do was kiss him. You would just quickly sweep this Rafe drama under the rug and spend the night attached to JJ. That was the best way to deal with things.

"Well you in jail wouldn't do anyone any good, would it? Come on. Don't let some stupid Kook ruin the night. Why don't we go smoke a blunt and see if he's still here when we're finished? If he is then we can leave." You smiled, sounding far more condescending through your slurring than you realised.

JJ's face morphed into the same one of perplexity that Kie's had displayed twenty minutes prior, almost offended by your blasé attitude. He exhaled heavily out of his nose as he bit his tongue. Also like Kie, he was uncertain as to how to handle the ignorance you were feigning but knew that he didn't want to make you unhappy. If you wanted to stay he supposed that he would have to, after all you were right in saying that Rafe was just a stupid Kook. Maybe giving him a reaction would be letting him win.

"Okay, okay. Let's go smoke." JJ huffed, much to the surprise of Kie and Pope.

You grinned and planted a kiss on his lips which he gladly returned, his rage evaporating against the sweetness of your skin. He interlaced his fingers with yours and strolled towards the Twinkie, smiling as he listened to you joke about John B's dance moves, not relaxed enough to say anything himself but glad that you were happy.

Kie and Pope joined you, still not used to JJ being so calm and doting and finding it amusing.

"Who could've known that all JJ needed was a girlfriend to finally chill out a bit." Pope chuckled, and Kie added "It's been a long time coming."

They were only a foot behind but you and JJ didn't hear their observations, too enamoured with each other to pay attention to anything else. You piled into the Twinkie and grabbed the weed from under one of the seats, chucking it to Kie to roll as you all casually conversed.

"Do you think we should go get John B? He might want some." You asked.

"Nah. He's having a good time macking on with that touron. Wouldn't wanna stop my man from doing what he does best." JJ smirked in response, earning an eye roll from everyone else.

"If that's what he does best then there is a serious skill issue going on." Pope scoffed, which you all laughed at.

By time the blunt was finished, everyone had practically forgotten the reason they'd decided to smoke in the first place, heading back to the party with red eyes and big smiles. You were extremely relieved by this, asserting to yourself that pretending nothing had happened was the best way to deal with things.

Before you could get close to the fire though, a familiar voice came from behind you all - laced with its characteristic mocking chime.

"You really fucked up Barry's face, you know?" Rafe chuckled.

You gasped and turned around.

Topper was stood beside him, arms crossed and grinning at you whilst Rafe was looking at JJ with a gleam of trouble in his eyes. You knew that things could be about to get seriously bad. Nervously, you gripped your boyfriends hand and prayed that it would be enough to stop him from attacking one of the lads.

"I mean it's still messed up now. Good on you, man." Rafe continued.

"What the hell do you want?" JJ hissed venomously.

"Just saying congrats. He's at his now if you wanna go for round two. I was just there." He smirked and then looked at you. "I know he'd be up for another round."

JJ's hand effortlessly slipped from yours and pushed out in front of him, shoving Rafe in the chest hard and closing the space between them. You stepped forward and reached for JJ, not wanting this fight to happen, but he ignored your touch.

"You don't fucking talk to her." He barked into Rafe's face. "I should've messed up your shit too."

Rafe shoved him back, though not as hard, his face still bright with amusement and pupils wide with intoxication.

"Hey, hey chill out. It's a compliment, bro. Your girl's got a great rack, can you blame him?" He chuckled, sending you a wink.

All within a few seconds - you instinctively moved your arms to cover yourself, Kie protectively moved to your side with a vicious glare and JJ launched his fist at Rafe. The taller boy had been expecting the blow and caught it. He gave a smug grin before sending a hard punch of his own.

"JJ!" You cried out, watching him stumble backwards and then deflect a sudden hit from Topper.

Pope jumped in, flying at Topper and sending him to the ground where the two started a serious brawl - much to yours and Kie's horror. JJ continued to go for Rafe - who still looked very pleased with himself - whilst you stood frozen to the spot, fear and dread running through you. Kie rushed over to Pope, trying to pull Topper off him, then Rafe threw JJ to the ground and looked at you, his lips curled up into a smug snarl.

"And the cutest, little pussy too. No wonder you've got this punk so whipped, huh?"

So he had seen.. everything. One of the worst people you'd ever met had seen your entire body and you remembered none of it. And now he was clearly relishing in the memory of it; holding it over you and mocking your boyfriend with it.

You felt sick at the realisation, a deep crack forming in your wall of denial. More than anything though, you felt humiliated, the feeling only getting worse as a crowd started to form around the chaos. JJ was getting his ass kicked by Rafe but showed no signs of slowing, his rage entirely visible to anyone. He was landing a few good punches, but Rafe was bigger than him and able to harness the effortless violence of being a sociopath. JJ was just blinded by rage.

You called out his name again but your voice was hardly noticeable over the jeering of the crowd, and then there was a shout and things suddenly got even louder. John B had launched himself through the commotion and was on top of Rafe, his arms putting him into a tight chokehold and finally giving JJ the upper hand. He struggled against John B's grip as JJ delivered a barrage of hits to his torso, winding him and causing him to splutter out a tight breath. Then you turned and saw Topper throwing Kie to the ground, quickly being punished by Pope and a displeased group of Pogues for his action. Naturally though, as more Pogues joined the fight so did more Kooks, and soon it was complete chaos.

You rushed to Kie's side, your body moving out of pure instinct as your mind still felt frozen in shock and fright. You didn't even hear yourself ask if she was okay, but you must've as she responded with a sharp 'yes' before sitting herself up. She took a second to collect herself, looking around in confusion until it all became clear and then gasping.

"We need to get out of here." She said, looking at you with wide eyes. "Cops have probably already been called."

You nodded, helping to pull her up before trying to make your way into the chaos again, squeezing past people until you saw JJ's furious face; he and John B still focusing on Rafe despite the other Kooks that had gotten involved. Kie had disappeared between shouting bodies, presumably to get Pope, and you knew that you would have get the two other boys away from the fight by yourself.

You shouted their names but it made no difference, only when you threw yourself into the centre did they finally notice you, halting John B but not JJ.

"We need to go!" You shouted, the sound of a siren echoing in the distance just on cue.

The crowd quickly thinned out at that, but JJ and Rafe continued, ignoring the warnings from their friends around them. It took Topper and John B pulling them off each other to stop, and by that point there were red and blue lights flashing in the not too far off distance. The familiar colours seemed to snap JJ out of his trance. He looked at you, his face bloody and bruised, grabbed your hand, his knuckles also bloody and bruised, and ran.

It felt like you were all in the back of the Twinkie and speeding to the Chateau within seconds, throwing yourselves into the backseats as John B stepped on the gas before the door was even shut. You all took a moment to catch your breaths before speaking, surprising yourself by being the first one to break the quiet as the words erupted out of you.

"What the fuck was that? You could've gotten yourself arrested or seriously hurt!" You hissed at JJ.

He scoffed, his face unamused.

"Would've been worth it."

"Worth it for what? To feel like you have something over a Kook?"

"Did you not hear what he fucking said about you!" His voice raised but you were quick to match it.

"You overreacted! You ruined tonight with your ego - like you always do!”

"Oh I ruined it? Not the fucking creep who wanted to rape you."

"Shut the fuck up, JJ!" You loudly snapped but then Kie spoke, her tone incredulous, and caught you off guard.

"Yeah sorry to interrupt but I don't know how you expected him to not react like that. Rafe was bragging about seeing you naked to multiple people. I mean are you really okay with that?"

You blinked a couple of times before answering, attempting to collect your thoughts into a legible argument and then disprove her point.

"It doesn't matter. He was lying. He just wants a reaction out of us. And you gave him one!"

JJ scoffed at your answer, mentally thanking Kie for being the one to initiate the real conversation that needed to be had.

"Fuck a reaction, Y/N, he wasn't lying! He was there that night at Barry's and I know he would've hurt you too if I hadn't been there. I told you that!" He hissed. "I should've killed him!"

"But he didn't-"

"Look I'm sorry Y/N, but while we're on the subject, are we going to speak about that at all?" Kie cut you off, her voice fraught with stress. "I know we've all been acting like nothing happened for the past month but I think we need to address it."

You looked at her in shock, not quite believing the words coming out of her mouth. Your plan of pretending that nothing had happened hadn't worked? And your friend wanted to address it? You defensively opened your mouth but nothing came out, and then Pope jumped in unexpectedly.

"Yeah like, one minute we were at gunpoint thinking you might've drowned in the marsh, the next you were half dressed and not even able to walk, hardly able to talk. It was scary."

"It was messed up." John B agreed from the front seat.

All four of your best friends having something to say had stunned you entirely, a lump building in your throat and a weight in your chest. So your plan was definitely not going to work any longer - nor had it ever really worked in the first place. In fact, it might've made things worse. You looked around at their solemn faces nervously, feeling embarrassed and guilty.

"I- I- It was stupid. I shouldn't have been there. I'm sorry, okay?" You stammered, earning an exasperated groan from JJ.

"No you're not getting it! You shouldn't be apologising, you should be angry at them for daring to take advantage of you like that!" He exclaimed. "Imagine if they'd done that to Kie. Imagine if Kie drank too much and passed out and some guy took that as an opportunity to have sex with her! How would you feel then?"

You thought of what Rafe had said on the beach about your body - how violated it had made you feel. Then you thought of the confusion that you'd felt in the bath the morning after the incident had happened and how much your body had hurt. You thought of the snippets of memory you had from the actual assault; the invasive feeling of Barry inside of you and the pain that he'd gleefully put your body through, and you visualised Rafe being present to witness that - his sharp teeth bared in a smug grin as he took in your soiled body. It was all so dehumanising.

The thought of Kie experiencing any of that made you angrier than you cared to admit, and you hung your head in shame, suddenly understanding your friend's desire to get justice but still feeling too small to want your own.

"Okay. You're right. What happened was.. bad. It was wrong what they did to me, it shouldn't have happened." You conceded. "But can we just drop it? I want to forget anything ever happened."

"No, we can't just drop it! That's what we've been doing for the past month and that time is up!" JJ exclaimed. "Especially not after tonight. Did you not hear what Rafe said about you?"

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, rage visibly filling him up again as it had before the fight. But this time you didn't dare to calm him down.

"And he said it with a grin, right to my face! You expect me to just let him get away with that? Jesus! Just drop it. Like the asshole didn't just say all that shit to me - to you! Do you have no fucking respect for yourself or something?"

He was shouting at this point, his hands moving in exaggerated movements, and you were looking up at him feeling nothing but a strange sense of betrayal.

"Respect?" You repeated dryly. "You think I don't respect myself? Because I don't want you getting arrested?"

"See and now you're doing this on purpose, you're trying to change the conversation! You said he raped you twice! I mean, why the fuck did you even have to go there in the first place? Why the fuck couldn't you just stay clean? And the way you're acting now- I can't fucking deal with this shit. It's like you wanted something bad to happen to you-"

"Woah! That's way fucking out of line." Kie cut him off with a sharp hiss and soon they were arguing, all whilst you felt yourself getting slowly smaller and smaller inside of your body.

The shame had enveloped you wholly and you found yourself disassociating, viewing it all from a third person perspective instead of your own. The third person memories from that night at Barry's started to make sense now - you realised it was what your brain did when it couldn't bare to be physically present in the situation. You could see the wide mouths and bared teeth of Kiara and JJ, and feel the vibration of their shouting. You could even see Pope anxiously leaning over in fear of Kiara drunkenly hitting JJ, whilst John B listened intensely, eyes focused on the fast flying roads.

Only when the van parked and the doors flung open, JJ catapulting himself out, did you snap out of your trance. The noises became words again and the faces became people.

"I'm just saying you're not helping anything by saying shit like that!" Kie was close behind JJ, still clearly very heated whilst you and Pope slowly moved out of the back.

"Nothing I say seems to help. So stay the fuck out of my business!"

"Your business?"

"Are you okay?" John B appeared next to you with a concerned expression, bruises too forming on his face. He gently placed his hand on your shoulder but then retracted it upon seeing your uncomfortable expression.

"I'm fine." You answered, struggling to keep your voice flat. "I think I'm just gonna go home-"

"No! Don't leave, Y/N." Pope interrupted you and as you looked at him you realised that he had really taken a beating. It only made your chest ache more. "We- We didn't want to upset you. We just care about you. And JJ is.. drunk. You know how he gets. You can calm him down and then it'll all be alright-"

"I'm going home." You repeated sterner, eyes hovering over to the confrontation for a moment before turning away.

Their voices followed you but you ignored them, jumping on your bike and leaving. The wall of denial you'd managed to build was crashing down and you were now having to wade through the truth - poisonous flashbacks engulfing your field of view. Barry's hands, his cock, his mouth. Rafe's words, his gaze, his smile.

And not only did you have to deal with that truth, but there was also now the revolting revelation that the trauma hadn't just affected you, but your friends too. It took every part of you to stop yourself from imagining what they'd seen - how it had affected their view of you.

And then there was also what JJ had said in the Twinkie. How harsh it had been. How it seemed like maybe after all, he did blame you. And you weren't even sure if he was wrong for that.

With a panicked breath, you shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut for a second, desperately bringing yourself back to reality in a forced snap. You were lucky that you knew these roads so well, even in the dark.

The shouting of your friends had faded out into the distance now and there was an eery quiet, the squeaking of your wheels being the only sound other than the light wind.

You dipped your head and pedalled harder, trying to outrun the way your throat was tightening, the way your stomach turned every time JJ's voice replayed in your head; "Why the fuck couldn't you just stay clean?"

It only seemed to get louder, and then there was the noise of a motorbike behind you. Someone was following you - probably JJ - and so you started to pedal even harder, unable to bare his face. You were still drunk though, and your foot slipped, and then before you knew it you were on the ground, the bike on top of you and your side hurting.

You lay there for a moment, confused, distracted from everything, and it actually felt nice. An unexpected break in which all you felt was mild shock and confusion. But then you heard the motorbike again and became re-aware of your surroundings.

And it filled your body with despair.

A long, loud sob left your lungs - unlike any you'd ever released in front of anyone before - and then shorter copies continued to roll out, shaking your whole being as each one fell.

"Y/N! Shit. Are you hurt?" John B's voice came with the silence of the motor and he was quickly by your side, throwing the bike off you and bending down beside you.

You couldn't speak, shaking and choking on pain filled sobs. John B paused for a moment, trying to think of what he could say, before giving up and pulling you into a tight hug, relieved when you accepted it. He gently cooed as you cried into his chest, rocking side to side slightly in a desperate bid to soothe you.

"I'm sorry this happened, Y/N." He whispered, swallowing a hard lump in his throat.

There were no other words spoken for a short while, just your aching sobs. It hurt him to listen to and did nothing to quell the burning desire he had to hurt Rafe and Barry. He was at least able to keep that under control. After some time, your sobs eventually did die down and you were able to speak, lifting your head from John B's chest and wiping your eyes with your hands.

"I'm sorry." You choked out.

He looked at you with sorrow, his brows lifted and his eyes wide "Please stop apologising."

"I-I shouldn't have relapsed. I don't even want to be clean r-right now." You confessed, your voice shaking. Now that you had started you couldn’t stop though. It spilled out of you. "If JJ hadn't beat Barry up, I would be there getting high right now... A-And I know that's like- so fucked up, okay? I know that what he did- what-whatever the fuck happened- I know it was bad. But.. I deserved it."

"You didn't deserve it. How do we get this through your head?" John B sighed softly. "That's why JJ's so upset- he didn't mean all of that shit he said."

"Even if I somehow didn't ask for it- I've dragged you all into it and traumatised everyone with my bullshit. I just fucking hate it. I feel so humiliated. I wish you guys would just let things go."

John B put his hands on your shoulders and looked at you with sudden seriousness, his tone still soft but with an assertive edge.

"Why do you feel humiliated though? Because of them. Because of what they did." He held your gaze intensely. “You're not the one who should feel like that- they should. Imagine if it was Kie. You'd want to fucking kill them too."

"I know, I just- I don't know... It's all so much. I feel like I was kind of living in a world where it hadn't actually happened- until tonight. Now it's real and I... I feel... I don't know what I feel. It's like this horrible dread but.. it's already happened so what am I dreading?"

John B sighed again, feeling crushed by the weight of your question. He wished that he could do anything to take your pain away, but he couldn’t even think of the right words to quell you in one moment. He pulled you back into a hug.

"I don't know, but it's all gonna be alright. You've got us no matter what, the only reason any of us ever get mad at each other is because we care. And JJ cares the most and that's why he's always the maddest.”

"You think that's why he's such a hot head?" You scoffed with a weak sniffle, finally catching your breath.

"Yeah. I know it is. Trust me, I’ve known him forever.” John B answered. “And he is so in love with you, like- crazy in love with you… It just sucks that.. this is how you two finally fessed up. And he’s all like- fucked up over it and being a dick, but he doesn’t mean it.”

You nodded and agreed quietly “I know, it does suck.”

And then you both stood in comfortable silence for a short moment, your head finally calming down and your body no longer shaking. John B eventually broke the silence with a gentle question.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come back?”

You thought about it, considering what you would be coming back to. Kie and JJ were both unlikely to drop the subject, drunk and as stubborn as two mules. Even after they stopped arguing - if they did - you knew that the two of them would be talking about it for hours, making sly comments and jabs. Now that it had finally been brought up, maybe you did all need to talk about it for hours - calmly and maturely.

But you couldn’t do that. Not yet.

“Yeah I’m sure.” You answered, pulling away from his chest and then realising how wet you’d gotten his top. “Sorry about all the snot man.”

You both chuckled lightly at that.

“It’s cool, I’ll just wash it. Not like JJ hasn’t snot-rocketed on me more than a million times.”

“You’re both so gross for that.” You mused, having seen John B do it back to him just as many times.

He cracked a small smile, his heart rate finally slowing down.

“Yeah we are... Here look, I’ll drive you back now and pick up your bike on the way back, but you’ve got to promise me you’re not gonna do anything stupid to yourself.”

“Of course I’m not going to.” You almost sounded offended, then looked to your bike. “And what you’re just gonna leave my bike here while we’re gone?”

“Okay well I just had to check, these things aren’t always so obvious with you. And no one is going to steal that piece of shit bike. I’ll be ten minutes tops.”

With a light huff you gave in and soon you were on the back of JJ’s motorbike, racing to your house. When you arrived, you and John B both hugged tightly. He reminded you that he loved you and you said the same, then he sped back off into the night, certain to spend the next few hours deescalating conflict.

You watched him ride away, immensely grateful to have such a good friend. But when you stepped into your house, empty and dark, you remembered why you were there alone. The things that had happened as a direct result of you deciding to relapse and how much it had hurt the people around you.

And yet you still found yourself scrolling through your phone contacts, trying to work out if there was anyone you knew who could get you some pills.

Ahhh I really hope u all enjoyed! Let me know! <3

[indigo-greer-collins]

giving you interactions between my listeners and the redacted characters because you deserve them

angel: david i think your boyfriend has a crush on me or something

david: …excuse me?

angel: yeah like asher keeps—

david: —no. shut up.

damien: have I ever told you i can’t stand you?

fl: i mean yeah but you lied

darlin: is it seriously that obvious that i’m autistic?

sweetheart: wait you didn’t know til now?

darlin: no ?? i just thought my soul was rotten and society was exiling me for the crimes they all secretly knew i committed

sweetheart: alright emo, jesus

darlin:..you’ve been spending too much time with milo, i don’t like you anymore

sweetheart: love you too puppy

gavin: i think i’m experiencing cuteness aggression

dear: they’ve been rambling at each other for hours… i might eat them

huxley: …haha yeah they’re sooo cute together!

gavin: huxley, my precious emerald, i think you’ve forgotten i’m an incubus

dear: i don’t even need to be a d(a)emon to know you’re a different kind of riled up right now

huxley: sorry :(

gavin: oh no huxley, we are too don’t worry

darlin: are you sure this is legal?

angel: and since when were you a law abiding citizen?

darlin: …okay well i don’t want you to get put in a cell—

angel: i know i’m way too pretty for jail… i’d have such a hot mugshot though wouldnt i? probably get a modelling contract on the way out

darlin: i respect the confidence

angel: you sound like davey!

darlin: that is the worst thing you could’ve ever said to me

treasure. telling stories about their old friend group

solaire clan: listening in sheer horror

treasure: but anyway i guess it was character building for me haha!

lovely: say the word and i will massacre every single one of them right now

darlin: do you have their locations? an address?

vincent: how did you put up with that for so long ???

treasure: …oh fuck is it that bad-?

sam: are you kiddin’? that’s horrible, no wonder you feel a little ‘out of place' with them?

starlight: sudden gasp oh my god I was being bullied!

avior: huh what—

starlight: they were making fun of me, they weren’t my friends…

avior: starlight are you okay??

starlight: i was TOO AUTISTIC to ACTUALLY GET MY FEELINGS HURT???

david: how do you put up with him?

baabe: i mean you deal with your fallen angel pretty well don’t you? i thought you’d get it

david: asher’s social battery is way stronger, at least angel has recharge time

baabe: so does ash, i promise you mr shaw, we’re basically in the exact same situation.

david: i guess it doesn’t help that we… got married at the same time does it?

baabe: not one bit.

[ak319]

oof, i loved arthur’s reaction to her escape attempt! imagine if it’d been longer, like you said reader was around 15-19, if she were 15ish and he found her again when she was in her early 20s or something 👀 maybe even with a family of her own

(AN: Oh. My. GOD! *screams*, straight outta a soap opera but make it darker, lol. I had so much fun writing it!!!.) Alter version of this Warnings/MDNI: Not incest, strictly platonic, abuse, death// I don't condone such behaviour

You'd found a quiet, unassuming happiness on the ranch, a kind of peace you'd never known before. The people Annabelle left you with were very good at covering your tracks and gave you the best opportunity to start your new life. Sure, there was the occasional pang of guilt, a fleeting thought of your brother and how he might have worried after your sudden disappearance. For leaving without a word. But you consoled yourself, convinced it was for the best. He was your guardian, not your puppeteer. The dread of him coming and taking you back didn't fade though. Both of you had conflicting views, you needed freedom, and space to grow into yourself instead of witnessing the dangers and the crime they committed there and pretending it was fine, and the Alder ranch had given you exactly that.

The work was hard, but you loved it, and the Alders treated you like family. And then Farris arrived. When you were 18.

When he arrived, you were wary at first, assuming he’d be just another complication, perhaps a jerk. You already feared meeting new people but he quickly proved you wrong. Farris was thoughtful, with an understated kindness that made him easy to be around. His silence wasn't standoffish; it felt respectful like he knew you had your own reasons for being there, just as he did. He had a way of giving you space without making you feel lonely, and when he did speak, it was usually to ask questions that felt... refreshing. He genuinely wanted to learn from you, which was a new experience, and something that made you feel a bit prouder of the knowledge you'd gathered on the ranch.

And there was something undeniably magnetic about him. He was handsome in a way that didn’t demand attention, with an earthy charm that suited the simplicity of ranch life. You caught yourself smiling at his quiet humour, the way he’d sneak a comment here or there to lighten the load. Working alongside him, you felt more like an equal than you had in a long time, and that feeling, that respect, was something you hadn't realized you’d been missing all along.

When Farris confessed his feelings, it caught you so off guard that, for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Someone wanted to be with you? You, with your past and all the silent shadows that came with it? But Farris was gentle, giving you time to think, to consider your own heart without pressure. And you did think, a lot, trying to let this possibility unfold in your mind. Eventually, with a shy, tentative "yes," you opened up, your whole being feeling like a flower cautiously reaching toward sunlight, still uncertain yet irresistibly drawn.

The two of you became the talk of the ranch, your quiet glances and shy smiles making even the Alders chuckle with delight. It was sweet, people said, watching you both, a pair of lovestruck teens caught up in something innocent and tender.

Farris eventually opened up about his past, speaking softly, as if sharing a guarded wound. His parents had been trapped in a constant cycle of bitterness, each too absorbed in their own struggles to think about him. They didn’t care for each other, for the vows they’d made, or even for the boy caught in between. By the time they split, he’d been left to fend for himself, a ghost drifting between them, unwanted. Yet here he was, looking at you with such hope, with a gentleness that was born from hardship but longing for something better, beautiful and loving than what his parents had.

He wanted a love that was real, something far from the fractured, selfish version he’d grown up with. And he wanted it with you. That simple, earnest wish kindled something inside you, something bright and tender, something you hadn’t dared hope for until now.

Now, at twenty, you’re happily married. Farris has never once wavered from his vow, not for a single moment. He’s never let you feel the sting of loneliness or regret. He’s only ever been there, his love a steady presence, his every word and gesture a reminder that he’s here for you, that he will always be here.

He knows pieces of your past, the fragments you were willing to share. You chose to tell him only as much as felt necessary, as much as you felt safe giving away. He’s never pressed for more, never pried into the shadows you’ve tried so hard to leave behind. Instead, he accepted every part of you, the parts you showed him, and the parts you held back. And in his acceptance, you’ve found a peace you didn’t think possible, a quiet sense of safety that feels like home.

You both thrived together in the quarters on the ranch, living in a cozy one-bedroom home that felt like a world of your own. It was small, yet everything you needed was right there, wrapped in love and laughter. But Farris, with his dreams and ambitions, wanted something more, a life away from the ranch and its unpredictable weather.

So, you both made the leap and moved near Valentine, a small community with friendly faces and warm hearts. Farris found a job at a nearby publishing office, where he poured his creativity into his work, while you channeled your talents into selling beautiful embroidered fabrics. Farris supplied your creations to the local markets, and together you earned enough to not just survive but to thrive.

In the evenings, your home transformed into a small haven of learning. You taught the local children, sharing knowledge and igniting a spark of curiosity in their eyes. For you, spreading knowledge felt like soaring through the sky; every lesson was a chance to lift someone else up. You found joy in teaching, especially the girls, encouraging them to embrace their potential and dream big.

⋆⋆⋆

You were now eight months pregnant, combing your hair in the mirror after freshening up in the morning. When you were satisfied with your appearance and turned around, you saw Farris walking towards you, shaking his head in what seemed like mild disappointment.

“What?” you chuckled, touching your hair and turning back to the mirror to check for anything on your face.

He didn’t say anything at first, instead reaching for two bracelets from the jewelry box he had gifted you. He gently put them on your wrists, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“You know how much I hate seeing you empty-handed, not looking like a newlywed bride,” he said, his voice teasing yet affectionate.

You let out a laugh, a genuine one that echoed through the room. “That’s because I’m not! It’s going to be a year soon, I’m not so new anymore.”

He frowned playfully and pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist. “It doesn’t matter. For me, it’s important to see my beloved ready. It makes me feel happy to see you every time, all dolled up.”

Farris gave a little smirk, his eyes glinting with that familiar playfulness. “And what’s wrong with getting ready for me?” he teased, adjusting the bracelets on your wrist as if they were the final touch to a masterpiece. “It’s a good thing. It should be the first thing you do after waking up, come out looking all lovely, and before I get home too. And it’s not up for debate, alright?” He tapped your nose, his tone both firm and light-hearted, making you grin and blush at the same time.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, shaking your head at his silly demands, which you knew were simply his way of showing how much he adored you. You couldn’t imagine a day without his little ways of making you feel cherished. You are officially spoiled rotten.

"You and your demand of seeing me ready all the time.. I literally just woke up..." You tried to stifle a yawn, still sleepy-eyed as you leaned into him, but Farris only chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with that familiar fondness.

“Well, that’s on you,” he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “If I had my way, you’d wake up ready for a wedding every day.”

You let out another laugh, warm and easy. “You mean you want me walking around in a heavy gown and jewels while I’m like this?” You gestured to your rounded belly, the weight of the baby beneath your hand both grounding and joyful.

He grinned, resting a hand over yours. “Every bit of it. The bracelets, the smile, all of it. Even just like this, especially like this.”

A soft warmth bloomed in your chest, and you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling content in a way you’d never quite known before. “You’re lucky I indulge you as much as I do,” you murmured, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile in your voice betrayed you.

“Well, c'mon, that's my right as your husband now, and I’m grateful every day,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His hands stayed on your shoulders, steady, as though grounding you there with him. "After all I earn for you, to buy you all this so you wear it. Not keep them in a damn box."

He leaned down, his voice a quiet murmur. “You’re glowing, you know. It’s like… even the smallest things make me grateful that you’re here. That you’re mine.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. “I know,” you murmured back, brushing your fingers lightly over his hand. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And this little one,” you added, giving your belly a gentle pat, “well… I think they’d agree.”

He chuckled, a sound that felt like sunshine on a quiet morning. “Then I guess I’d better keep making you happy, huh? Not that I’d want to do anything else.”

He drew you into his arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another, softer one, on your lips. His hand drifted down to rest gently over your belly, his thumb tracing gentle circles.

“Love you both,” he said quietly, the words wrapped in tenderness. You rested your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and let out a sigh of pure contentment.

“Love you too,” you whispered, letting yourself sink fully into the embrace, savoring the warmth and comfort of the moment.

⋆⋆⋆

Before you knew it, time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, and you were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Adia, a precious gift that illuminated your lives in ways you never imagined. Farris had poured his heart and soul into building another room in your small house, carefully crafting every plank and stone, each stroke of his hand a testament to his love and commitment since the moment he learned you were expecting.

Now, Adia was six months old, a bundle of joy who filled your days with light. You had just finished your evening classes and, with a sense of anticipation, hurried to cradle your daughter, who stirred from her peaceful nap.

"Aww, my cutie," you squealed, "Look who's finally back to earth." The innocence of her giggles somehow bittersweet in the quiet of the house.

You carried her into the kitchen, “Let’s get some (coffee/tea) ready before dad comes home,” you said softly,

“Let me heat those pastries too-” you began, but were abruptly cut off by a sharp knock on the door. Confusion twisted your stomach as you approached, pausing just before turning the handle. A sudden thought struck you like ice water.

Farris has keys. Why would he knock?

With a racing heart, you crept to the window, peering through the curtain. The dim light of the lamp outside cast eerie shadows across the porch, and your blood ran cold. There they were, three masked men.

Charles stood at the front, his fist raised to knock again, while Sean shifted nervously beside him, eyes darting around as if sensing the gravity of the moment. But it was the figure in the distance that sent a chill through your bones.

Arthur.

Leaning against his horse, Arthur's entire form was cloaked in black, the cigarette smoke curling from his lips, lingering like a sinister whisper in the dusky air. He stood there with an unsettling casualness as if the weight of his presence meant nothing to him. He looked more dangerous than the last time you had seen him, if that was even possible. But you knew better. He was not here to offer a friendly visit. No. His intentions were laced with malice.

He looked like death himself.

“I swear, Arthur, this is the house. I saw her here,” Sean insisted, his voice taut with urgency.

Panic gripped you. No, no, no. You backed away from the window, the world narrowing down to the pounding of your heart and the cold sweat that broke out across your skin. One hand flew to cover your mouth, the other instinctively clutching Adia’s small head to your chest, as if you could shield her from the impending storm.

This has to be a fucking nightmare.

The dread of your past clawed its way back into your mind, and you jumped at the sound of another heavy knock, followed by murmured voices. The familiar cadence of Arthur’s tone sent a wave of nausea through you. It felt like a sinister echo from your past, threatening to shatter the fragile peace you had fought so hard to build.

What if Farris comes and they do something to him? The thought twisted in your gut, a dark cloud overshadowing your desperate need for escape.

No, please, God.

You raced to turn off the stove, the pot of simmering pastries forgotten, then dashed for the back door, your only thought to reach Farris or find help. But as you flung the door open, dread flooded through you. There stood Charles, frozen in place, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else, guilt.

"N-no, please...Charles.... don't. Leave me alone, I beg you..." you stammered, your voice trembling.

He took a step back, but his eyes betrayed him, brimming with remorse. "I am just following orders."

Before he could close the distance, instinct kicked in, and you slammed the door shut, your breath coming in panicked gasps, adrenaline coursing through you. Even Adia seemed to sense the shift in the air, her small body tensing against you as you bounced her gently, cooing in a feeble attempt to soothe her. But the noise around you grew louder, the panic rising like bile in your throat. You needed a weapon, something to protect her.

Suddenly, the front door was thrown off its hinges, splintering wood echoing through your small sanctuary. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, reverberating in your chest as you sprinted to Adia’s room, locking the door behind you with shaking hands.

Then came the shattering of the back door, another sound that sent your heart racing as you backed away in horror, retreating to the closet. You clutched Adia tightly, covering her mouth with your palm as silent tears streamed down your face.

Everything is over.

Everything you had built, your little heaven, was about to be shattered. The weight of dread pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. His anger was palpable, suffocating, reverberating through the very walls of your home. After all these years, if he had still found you, it meant he had been hunting you, waiting, and his patience had finally run out.

An impatient Arthur was not a forgiving one.

'Farris, don’t come home. Please, just don’t.' The words twisted in your throat, heavy with despair, as you whispered them into the darkness. It was the first time you ever wished for him not to return, and the realization shattered your heart.

“Shh, baby, please,” you murmured frantically, rocking Adia gently.

This time they didn't bother kicking the door, it was simply blown to pieces. The door frame splintered, and you could hear the heavy footsteps.

It took no longer than 5 seconds for him to fling the closet open and stare down, with eyes that now were empty. So different, so fucking different from the ones you grew up with.

"A-arthur..." You whimpered out shaking your head as if telling him to just forget all this and go.

"Grab the fuckin' kid, Charles."

"No- NO! NO! ARTHUR! Don't you touch her!" But it was futile for you to fight against the latter as he snatched her like a doll and took her out with Sean. You leapt after her but Arthur grabbed you by the hair and slammed you to the ground, wasting no time to pin and immobilize you.

“Had fun?” he sneered, landing a blow to your face that sent stars dancing in your vision. He held back, just enough to keep you conscious, but the intent was clear, this was just the beginning. “Oh I bet you did, right? While I worried sick day and night!”

The next hit came like a thunderclap, the sting of his palm echoing through your skull. “Fuckin' left after everything I did! Like I didn’t even fuckin’ matter to you at all! And then what do I find? That you are here, enjoyin' your life, OPENING YOUR LEGS FOR SOME GUY!?”

You coughed blood and managed to stop him from hitting again another "A-arthur, s-sorry. Please, don't...I'll visit you in the camp whenever you want me to, you can come here when-" He landed another slap and then gripped your chin with a bruising force shutting you up, the pressure on your throat tightening to the point where you struggled to breathe. You were sure that you were going to die then and there. His fingers dug in, a cruel reminder of the power he wielded over you.

“You don’t get a say in this,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing, a dark promise wrapped in each word. “You’re comin' with me, whether you like it or not. And if you make a sound, I’ll make sure your precious little lover pays for it.”

“NO! I-I’ll go,” you gasped, each word a desperate attempt to stave off the storm brewing within him. “I’ll go with you.” Adia's wails outside the room made the situation only worse, every fibre of your being just telling you to rush out and hold her to your chest.

Every fibre of your being screamed against this nightmare, but the thought of what he could do to Farris, the man who had given you a life, a family, made your heart race with terror.

Arthur’s grip slackened just a fraction, enough for you to catch a gasp of air, but his expression remained cold, and calculating. “You better mean it, or I swear to God, I’ll burn everything you love to the ground just to watch you squirm, just like you made me, for all these fuckin' years."

He yanked you to your feet, his grip on your hair forcing you to stumble forward, a reminder of his unyielding control.

“Adia…” you whispered, desperately trying to reach him with your thoughts. Pleading him pathetically again, once fucking again. It's never going to end.

He didn’t respond, but the sight of Charles trailing behind, cradling your daughter, confirmed your worst fears, they were taking both of you. The cold night air bit at your skin, amplifying the fear clawing at your insides. Sean’s sympathetic glance pierced through your growing anger, igniting a furious spark within you. You lost it when he mouthed a 'sorry'.

“Fuck you,” you spat, the words slipping out before you could contain them.

Arthur halted, his body tense as he turned to face you, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “The fuck did you jus' say?”

“I-” You hesitated, the weight of your situation pressing down harder with every passing second.

But before you could form a coherent thought, a voice shattered the night.

“HEY! (Y/N)! Who the hell are you guys!?”

Your heart plummeted. “FARRIS, NO! RUN, PLEASE!”

Arthur’s gaze flickered with annoyance, and without a second thought, he threw you aside like a ragdoll, sending you crashing into Sean’s waiting arms.

“What, not happy to see your brother-in-law?” Arthur taunted, a cruel smile spreading across his face as Farris stepped into view, his expression shifting from shock to rage, but he knew better than to lose his cool in front of these criminals.

It was the brother you had warned him about, the outlaw who had haunted your past like a shadow.

“Look, I know how you must feel,” Farris began, his voice steady despite the terror swirling around. “But we’re married now. You can’t just take her away from her family, Sir. Not like this.” His calm facade masked the storm brewing beneath, his protective instincts surging in response to the sight of you, bruised and at the mercy of men he had no trust in. Not to mention his daughter being held by one of them.

“How I feel? I'll tell you how I felt. I barely slept not knowing if she's even alive out there, in this brutal world, searchin' for her at every chance. How I feel, my ass,” Arthur’s voice dripped with venom, his eyes narrowing.

“You son of a bitch, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Just let him go, Arthur, it's not his fault! Don't do anything to him! You can kill me if you want!" you pleaded, your voice breaking as you looked between the men who now stood as barriers in your life, one of them representing something you desperately wished to protect. “Please, don’t do this.”

Farris took a cautious step forward, his body tense, but he had to for his family.. “You don’t have to do this, Sir. She's your family, don't hurt her like this, don't take her away like this, from me, we love each other...please. Think of the child at least.." He pleaded, trying his best to win this losing battle.

"Is that so? Alright."

Arthur drags you forward, placing the pistol in your trembling hands. Farris stands there, helpless, his gaze moving from Arthur to you, filled with confusion and a sorrowful acceptance.

Arthur leans in close, his whisper twisted with venom. "You’re the one who ran, sister. You wanted this life, didn't you? Now, you end it. Show him you’re done."

You shake your head, choking back sobs. "Please, Arthur... don’t make me do this! Please!"

Arthur’s hand closes over yours, his grip unyielding, forcing your fingers around the gun. "No one to run to this time," he says, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "If you want to keep breathing, you’ll do as I say. Or maybe he’d prefer a slower death? I’ve got time.”

“Do it,” he hisses, tightening his hold until the gun aims squarely at Farris.

Charles steps forward, desperation flickering in his gaze. He turns to Arthur, his voice low but urgent. “Arthur... come on. Just let him go,” he pleads, his hand shielding Adia's eyes. “He’s done nothin’ worth all this.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, his eyes cold and unyielding as he keeps the gun levelled. “Stay the fuck out of this, Charles,” he warns, his voice a harsh whisper. “She made her choice the moment she left without a word. This is your punishment, ya' hear me?.”

You glance at Farris and the sadness in them nearly undoes you. His lips part, trying to reassure you even in his final moments. But the fear is there, and the heartbreaking acceptance, as he takes one last look at Adia in Charles's arms and then meets your eyes. He nods, just once, his lips moving in a silent farewell. “I love you both, never forget it and this isn't your fault. Remember that," he whispers, his voice barely reaching you.

Arthur digs his fingers into your wrist, forcing you forward. "Go on then," he sneers, "show him how much you love him."

"Fa-rris no, please, I love yo-" The words painfully get stuck in your throat, as you hiccup.

Your vision blurs, but with Arthur’s iron grip guiding you, your finger finds the trigger, pressed down by his strength, leaving you powerless. The shots echo through the stillness, ringing in your ears as you watch the light fade from Farris’s eyes.

4 shots.

He drops to his knees, his gaze still locked on yours, one last shuddered breath escaping him.

Arthur finally releases you, and you collapse, the gun falling from your hands as you sink to the ground, numb with shock and despair.

"See?" Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence, laced with dark amusement. "This was always your choice. Remember that."

“No!” you choke out, tears streaming down your face, screams sounding raw and primal, rip from your throat as your heart shatters into fragments. You lunged toward him, instinctually rushing to his side cradling him.

“Farris! No, no! Please, don't! I am so sorry!” Your voice was a repetitive haunting echo in the cold night air, but he didn’t respond. You couldn’t breathe, a flood of emotions clawing at your throat.

Arthur stepped forward, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he savoured your despair. "Guess, he just had to die today. Did a mistake comin' back. And you..."

With a swift movement, he grabbed your arm and pulled you away, dragging you toward the waiting horse tethered nearby while you thrashed and tried to reach back into Farris's embrace. “This is how you pay for your betrayal, to me and the gang,” he hissed, hoisting you onto the horse with a force that left you gasping.

“HE DID NOTHING WRONG! YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL! YOU ARE ALL FUCKED UP!" you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, blurring your vision as you turned back to where Farris lay. The cold grip of dread consumed you, and every fibre of your being screamed for answers.

Arthur merely chuckled, a dark and chilling sound that reverberated in your ears. “Wrong place, wrong time. It’s a shame, really, right boys?"

He mounted the horse behind you, the weight of his presence suffocating.

You felt the horse begin to move, hooves thudding against the ground as the distance between you and Farris grew. You strained against the reins, desperate to look back, to Farris or to see Adia safe in Charles's arms but Arthur’s grip on your waist was unyielding.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, your heart racing with each passing moment. “Farris! Farris!” The name escaped your lips like a prayer, but the silence that answered only deepened the void within you.

Every beat of your heart echoed the same questions, how could he do this? Why would Arthur tear apart the life you had fought so hard to build? You started thrashing trying to jump off the horse and when that didn't work you started smacking yourself on the head.

“Stop wailing like a fucking lunatic,” Arthur growled, his voice low and menacing as he grabbed your wrists. “You’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

And so you cried, tears mingling with the night for the life you had lost and the love you had been taken from.

⋆⋆⋆

You stumble back into camp, hollowed out by grief, barely feeling the hands that try to guide you or the murmurs of people around. It’s like your own heartbeat is drowning out everything else, each beat a cruel reminder that you’re alive while he’s… Farris is gone. Every step feels heavier, like dragging chains through mud, and the weight of it pulls you into a fog that you can’t see your way out of. It’s all too much, and you can’t bear the thought of another breath in this place, under Arthur’s shadow.

Arthur’s voice comes from behind, gruff and dismissive. “Get her settled, Miss Grimshaw. She’ll calm down soon enough.”

It’s a trigger, hearing his voice, so callous, so indifferent. The anger wells up, fierce and desperate, drowning the fear as you pivot, finding him with your gaze. Arthur turns, catching sight of you just as your hand reaches out, fast and resolute, seizing the gun holstered at his hip. You grip it tightly, the cold metal a final, grim comfort.

“Hey!” Arthur’s eyes flash, more surprised than afraid, but he freezes, hands raised as if to placate you, assessing the danger in your expression.

“What’re you doing?” His voice is low, a warning, but there’s a crack in it, something uncertain. He’d expected grief, but not this.

You steady your trembling hands, the barrel pointed between you and him and everyone around. Your voice, a rasp torn from the depths of your pain, barely makes it out. “Why should I stay? Hm? After what you’ve done… after you took everything from me?”

Arthur’s expression darkens, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t make a move. The camp falls deathly silent, all eyes watching. “You wouldn’t, stop it." He says, but there’s a flicker of doubt there. He didn’t think you had this in you.

“I have nothing left,” you hiss, the tears burning in your eyes as you hold his gaze. "Just...why Arthur..?"

Something flickers in Arthur’s face then, a flash of worry, but he schools it quickly. “Put it down. Now. You’re no good to anyone dead. Least of all that little girl of yours.” His voice cuts, striking right at the fragile remnants of your will.

At the mention of Adia, your grip weakens and you glance at her, your baby who will not even properly get to know her father. The thought of her, defenceless and alone, keeps you anchored just long enough for the fight to drain from your muscles. Your hands go limp and Arthur immediately takes the gun from your hands. You snatch your daughter from Charles, your knees hitting the dirt as the tears finally spill over, and Arthur is there, one hand resting on your shoulder as if he’s won some twisted victory.

But he can’t take your grief. That’s yours alone.

There were old faces and new ones at this camp, but you couldn’t bear to see anyone, each familiar visage only serving as a reminder of the life you once knew, a life that felt like a distant memory now. Even Annabelle has died, as Hosea informed you with a heavy heart. It just couldn't get any worse.

You spent days in a daze, confined within the solitude of your tent, surrounded by the oppressive security that hung in the air like a storm cloud and staring at your wedding ring sometimes, reminiscing about the fairytale of life that got snatched from you in a blink of an eye. Each moment dragged, your sense of time warped as you replayed the events that had brought you here, Farris, Arthur, and the unbearable weight of loss.

You hold Adia close, not letting anyone near her, not the women from camp who bring food and clean clothes, and especially not Arthur. Each time he approaches, there’s something in his gaze, a mix of guilt and a twisted sense of responsibility, as if he’s trying to make up for what he’s done. But you don’t forget, and you don’t forgive. Never.

You could never forget how he looked at her with disgust that day, his contempt for you and your choices etched deep into his features. Calling you all sorts of names. Reducing you to some mere wench.

He tries, though, lingering outside the tent with trinkets and offerings. Small things, toys he’s scrounged up from nearby towns, little comforts he imagines will make it easier for you both to settle in here. You can see the frustration tightening his jaw every time you refuse to accept anything from him, every time you turn your back, clutching Adia tighter.

“Y’ain’t lifting a damn finger here,” he announces one morning to the others, his voice rough with command as if he’s declaring some kind of victory over the damage he caused. He stands tall, as though he’s your protector now, trying to mould himself into something noble. “Keep her off chores, you hear?”

His words carry through the camp, but they’re hollow, a show for the others. To everyone watching, it’s Arthur taking care of his sister and her child, doing what any family man should. Yet to you, it’s just another layer of manipulation. His guilt is a quiet thing, veiled beneath the orders he barks, the food he insists you eat, and the rare times he offers to hold Adia.

Then, one fateful day, you discovered you were pregnant. The news came as a surprise, a sudden twist in a life already tangled in chaos. For a fleeting moment, happiness flickered within you, a light in the darkness. Yet, that joy was overshadowed by your relentless sorrow for Farris. You cried daily, the tears mingling with the hopes and dreams you had lost.

No one left to wait for now, no one whose warmth you could sink into at night, no one to smile at as you fuss with your hair, adjusting every strand just right. Who would make you feel seen and safe, someone to dress up for, to look at with eyes full of love, watching their gaze soften in return? Your hands remain empty now, the very same hands that Farris doted on , the fact that the last thing he saw was them holding a gun at him. Your heart would shatter physically every time you think about it if it was practically possible.

He wouldn't be here to witness the birth of his second child.

“If it’s a boy, what a fine addition that would be, right Arthur?” you overheard Dutch say one day, his voice carrying through the thin fabric of your tent. You cringed at the thought. You knew exactly what Arthur’s vision entailed which was a shadow of Dutch's, raising your blood, his nephew, to be just like him, a cold-blooded killer, a reflection of the darkness that now surrounded you. The thought filled you with dread, the prospect of your child inheriting that legacy.

You were going to raise your son like how Farris was. A gentle soul.

As you held Adia close, her soft breaths a balm against the tumult of your thoughts, it steeled your resolve. No matter the cost, you would raise your children to know love, to know compassion and to see beauty in a world that had torn you apart.

[multiheadcanons]

MY OWN PERSONALLY LONG AWAITED SEQUEL. MURDERING ASS MERCS.

scout: scout doesn’t put a body on his hands unless he’s asked to. he doesn’t mind, by any means, but he does prefer to just beat someone within an inch of their life and send them home as a warning. that’s his personal preferred method. usually the bodies he’s gaining are from him just… forgetting what he was doing, and realizing he’s mid-swing, and thinking “damn… i guess im killing this guy” and just continuing until they stop struggling. and they see he’s genuinely lost as to what he was doing, and they don’t realize that is not the time to try to plead their case. in fact, he’s more likely to finish the job if they start yapping. then he’s gotta deal with the body. this is much more where he’s suited. he can get a body across town without showing up on a CCTV or a single offhand witness statement. and he’s not bad with a butcher knife. he’s not scientific like the doctor is, nor particularly skilled at butchering, he’s just trying to get the body into the smallest pieces to toss in a bag and sink in the farthest body of water in the state. and the willis family has friends everywhere. he can get it somewhere to get it as compact as possible.

soldier: soldier doesn’t kill people. soldier just does his job. and sometimes that job is making every living thing in the room that did not travel there with him not live anymore, but that’s not killing. that’s him doing his job. though soldier is a verified violent and bloodthirsty man, he’s got some restraint to him. nobody dies by his hand unless he’s told specifically people have to die. once the magic words are uttered, get out of the way. he’s been known for friendly fire when he’s really involved. soldier also doesn’t have a give for his murders. they’re bloody and sometimes fast. sometimes the victims end up in pieces and he’s gotta pick up the pieces in plastic bags. normally, soldiers own body count goes under the radar in comparison to his teammates, who have more gruesome and defining murders. for soldier, if the body isn’t breathing then it’s a job well done. he might take some teeth, or some fingers, or an ear or both of them, but nothing he does can really hold a candle to his more morbid teammates. at least he’s kind enough to make it quick. sometimes.

pyro: the team definitely knows when pyro is in a mood and on a roll, for lack of better term. most people, in fact, who are aware of pyro’s existence will know because the news won’t stop talking about a string of arsons and fire related murders. and when the team looks at pyro and asks “pyro, Did You Do That?” pyro will absolutely get red hot pissed off. yes, they did do it, but holy shit, what happened to innocent until proven guilty around here? why is it okay for everyone else to kill and bludgeon people— hell, the doctor is straight up kidnapping people off the streets and selling the organs but the second pyro kills one measly person it’s a crime? there’s one charred body and now it’s a crime? all of a sudden setting things on fire is a crime? give them a fucking break. get off their tits, clit, dick and balls. are we not all criminals here? do we not all have a side hobby? god forbid pyro has a hobby. pyro is the only mercenary who doesn’t need a reason to add another body to the list. them waking up in a good mood is enough reason for them to go spread some cheer. funerals are fun if you plan them right.

demo: the first of three of the most passionate killers on the team, tavish is a man of action and commitment. he is fiery, and bright, and generally lovely to be around! however demo has a penchant for getting very carried away in the heat of a moment. this can go so well in so many ways (so many ways…) but this can also become a nightmare scenario if demo thinks you’re worth the trouble. sometimes he also cannot help himself. he just gets so mad. and before he knows it there’s blood on his hands and he can’t see very well and he feels… fuzzy. satisfied. exhausted, somewhat. demo also, arguably, has the bloodiest murders on his rap sheet. if he’s got death on his mind, he’s going to achieve it, and the harder the victims fight the worse it will be. and of course, nobody wants to die, and victims don’t realize that when he asks them not to struggle, that it just hurts them both more in the end, they don’t realize that’s genuine. he’ll just slit their throat and let them bleed out if they would let him do that. but they end up unidentifiable. he takes the teeth for that purpose specifically. gives them to the blu soldier. it’s a gift!

heavy: heavy will swear up and down he does not “have a passion for killing”. the team tells him to not make them laugh. the enemy team would just laugh. the second of the three most passionate killers on the team, heavy never realizes how much he savors the feeling of violence because he is mentally checked out. so only the team registers the way he chews at his bottom lip before battle. how he almost seems impatient, no, excited. they’re the ones who register the glint in his eyes when he’s given a new contract, and how he comes back with a bigger ego than when he left. hell, they see the way he treats his guns. the enemy team notices how, even with his hands around their neck, there’s a smile creeping its way on his face as they lose their life. nobody would ever want to be on heavy’s bad side. but heavy doesn’t target people who will be missed, either. nobody really knows what he’s done. he doesn’t find it particularly interesting to talk about in states of sobriety. but both teams are pretty aware as to what he’s willing to do. what he won’t add is that whatever they think he’s willing to do, he’s willing to take it further. on solo contracts, he brings sascha. if it’s just him, he doesn’t mind making a little more noise. he’s not quite competent again until he’s reloading. but he never feels guilty. in fact, he feels great. it’s what makes losing with the team on the field feel so horrid.

engineer: engineer’s criminal record is clean because he has friends in high places. so he’s less a convicted felon and more a cleared person of interest in many, many missing persons cases. many people want to see this specific conagher fry. and most of those people have been taken care of, as well. the third of the three most passionate killers on the team, dell used to be a real spitfire. he would get someone’s existence wiped clean from american records if he didn’t like how they looked at him. and with his more influential friends, he got away and still continues to get away with it. the conaghers have a chokehold on the bee cave and surrounding county politics. and every conagher uses it in their own way. as engineer has grown and matured, he feels a lot more regret about his actions. but they’ve already been done. and if you put him back there, he’d probably do it again. and he will continue to indulge the urge if he feels he has enough reason to. and none of the bodies will ever be found. but with the gravel war, and being on the front lines of it, he gets his fill of violence. he normally has no need to target others. he’s pleased with his share!

medic: the only people who call medic’s long list of egregious acts against humanity “crimes of passion” are people who are sexually attracted to him. and most of those people are promptly dismissed. this isn’t a passion, it’s his career. when business is good, this shit makes him so much money he doesn’t fucking care. the experiments are his passion (but he’s not going to get on the news to explain that). the man makes his money murdering and harvesting and occasionally butchering and selling and framing whoever he can for it. and the man is so big brained in his frame jobs, by the time anyone actually questions it he’s skipped town. he’s taken out so many academic rivals that way. murders are normally coined by the distinct lack of organs. something is always missing. it makes the victims’ families sick. their loved ones will never be whole again. and he doesn’t really give a shit either. firstly, it wasn’t like he autopsied them alive. they were dead before they experienced that, and frankly the drug concoction he gives is quite humane. secondly, the organ was used, or sold. they didn’t go to waste. but they wouldn’t get it. they never do. this is no longer something he has to do. if he harvests the corpses on the field fast enough, they don’t dematerialize. most of the time.

sniper: sniper is arguably the most normal man here when it comes to murdering. he’s not killing people out of a passion of any kind. as a matter of fact, his hands aren’t bloody unless money’s involved. it’s also why his rap sheet is arguably the cleanest, with only a few charges, and none of them are particularly serious. because he will also sell you out in a heartbeat to get a lesser sentence. sniper isn’t a murderer as much as he is a man willing to do anything to keep himself afloat. and he doesn’t think that’s a shameful thing to admit. his survival must come first. whether that’s an honest days of work stocking canned tomatoes or blasting heads, it’s about the money. and one of those, he is really good at and it pays… so well. he’s willing to sacrifice most morals depending on the figure of the check. and he’s clean with it. nobody suffers more than they have to. you could call him the nicest.

spy: there is no such thing as spy showing mercy. spy gets so many solo contracts through mann co, and some unrelated requests that there is never a day spy’s hands aren’t bloody. and most people know when the frenchman has struck. there will always be one clean stab, unless you fought him. then it’s a single stab and a clean bullet between the eyes. unless you really pissed him off. then he might just unload the entire clip. on those, he’s convinced authorities there’s a copycat killer out there, even though they haven’t caught the first one yet. spy is one of the few mercenaries who still kill recreationally. though it is very rare nowadays, when spy gets an itch, every county he steps in goes into martial law, because he doesn’t leave without a minimum of five bodies. and there are never survivors. then he goes back to the base and watches the news segments. the team will join him for this, since he rarely shows himself in the base. only a few have had the sense to ask whether he had something to do with it. he answers with another question: “did i?” the team finds the question off-putting. it never seems like spy gets pleasure from murder on the battlefield. so they don’t imagine him being the type. and they would be right, it’s not a joy he gleans from it. it’s just a form of control he exercises over others when he feels like he’s unable to control anything else.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Seventeen: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] warning: suicidal ideation no smut this chapter sorryyyy

Info: the boy is going through it. [diary entries from Ani {dates are odd but I promise it’ll make sense later}] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

September 9th, 11:53 pm

Anakin immediately reacted to your sudden, startled jolt. The gasp you’d inhaled had him momentarily concerned you may have hurt yourself in some way, it sounded pained and although he wasn’t sure what it could’ve been, that didn’t mean he could dismiss the idea entirely.

”You okay babydoll? What happened?” He asked, setting aside his Xbox controller to give you his full attention.

”Yeah!” You squeaked, nodding your head quickly, though your movements were perceived as slow by you. “Yeah, just uh, one of those weird ‘almost asleep but suddenly I’m falling’ things.”

”Oh…” He nodded, relaxing a little bit. “Do you need me to get you some water or something? That kind of thing is stress induced you know.”

”Yes.” You swallowed hard, fighting a lump in your throat that just refused to diminish. “I know, uh I think maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom.”

“Well, alright.” He said, giving you a critical once-over before waving you off and returning to his game.

Scurrying off to the bathroom in the most awkward way you possibly could, you shut the door with a bit more strength than anticipated, causing Anakin to call out and check on you. One forced ‘all good’ later, you were sitting on the closed toilet lid with your head in your hands. The initial panic was beginning to fade now that you’d removed yourself from the situation, making room for fear to frost over your skin and halt your critical thinking.

Ghost could be anyone, logically you know that. So there is no reason to fly off the handle and accuse someone you care deeply about of committing many, many crimes. There isn’t any way for you to peacefully have such a conversation without it feeling like an attack. In the event you are wrong, such an assumption would no doubt spell the end of the one and only stable, loving relationship you’ve ever had.

If you’re right… well.

But you’re not. Of course you’re not, how could Anakin be capable of some of the things, any of the things Ghost has done? He’s a gentle giant, the guy who would rather scoop up spider in his bare hands to set it outside instead of squashing it. He makes you feel special and adored, your moments with him are calm and caring. He’s practically the polar opposite of Ghost.

Ghost has his moments, few and far between, where he is more than the mask. The moments when he’s less grey and more moral. Less animal and more man. He’s what you’d expect a jar of licorice would be like personified. The candy no one likes, the one that gets over looked and outright hated on. But the people who actually like licorice, they defend it until their dying breath and it seems like you’ve become quite fond of the bitter sweetness and the tough to chew exterior. Once you get past it, it’s really not so bad. Just like Ghost.

you shook yourself out of the stupor you were in, standing up to turn on the sink and splash cold water on your face, hoping to startle some sense back into yourself. After patting the sensitive skin dry, you pulled out your phone and promptly brought up your own contact info, dialing the number to call Ghost. It rang, once, twice, three times before disconnecting. He had hung up on you.

He had never hung up on you before this moment. While you knew he had every right to ignore you, perhaps never even speak to you again… you couldn’t let this go. So you tried again and again and-

‘What do you want?’ The text chimed through just before you could hit the call button one last time.

‘I think we should talk soon.’

’Why the fuck do you want that? You’re calling me this late for that? You should be groveling for forgiveness.’

‘This is me groveling?’ You audibly huffed at his response, waiting for him to send a follow up or not.

‘You can do better than that. I’ve seen you beg for cock, you know how to grovel.’ He responded.

‘Does it matter?’

’yes.’ Was the simple reply, short and sweet and read in his voice he uses when he snaps at you.

‘Nevermind.’

’fuck off.’

’Really?’ Outwardly scoffing at the text when it popped up on your screen.

‘Oh no, did I hurt the baby’s feelings?’

‘I should be meaner.’

‘But I won’t.’

Three texts in a row, three texts all containing completely different tones. Sarcastic, irritated, and ‘pissed but i still love you’. You thought about replying, started typing out a message but erased it, only to do it again. Finally you decided against replying at all, turning off your sound and putting the phone back into your pocket, flushing the toilet for appearances sake and running the water again.

You planned to head back to the living room, but saw that Anakin was cleaning up… sloppily, but still. He was straightening out the throw pillows and blankets, returning his controller to its spot beside the tv and pushing all the stuff on the coffee to one side, then calling it finished.

“Anakin. Are you alright?” You asked, standing in the entryway to the very short hall.

“Yes.” The word short and clipped.

“You sure?” Your voice was meek, timid, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to sound… nit-picky or anything; it’s just that your cleaning habits seem to have changed and I know how you are about having a clean space.”

“The first thing you say to me after coming back from the worlds longest piss is ‘hey why’s your house messy?’ Really?” He scoffed, his eyes flickering down to your hands, your pockets.

“I don’t mean it like that.” You frowned, your eyebrows pinching together in a show of frustration. “I’m just worried that’s all, you never leave stuff like this, especially before bed.”

“No, no.” Anakin waved your half-apology off like he didn’t care to hear anymore from you. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get right on it.”

“Hey, it’s late. Don’t-“

“Shut up alright? Just… just go to bed.” Anakin snapped, shooting a glare over his shoulder at you.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” You asked quietly, your face morphing into something resembling disappointment. He’d said that to you jokingly plenty of times, but this time, you knew without a doubt he meant it. The way it was delivered spoke volumes to how he was feeling.

Anakin sighed, turning around to run both hands through his hair and ruffle it up frustratedly. His arms crossing over his chest tightly, clenching his fists with his jaw set firmly, the muscle rolling beneath the skin when he gritted his teeth.

“I am sorry.” He said enunciated every syllable, almost looking through you rather than at you.

“Is it because of the pill?” You asked, meaning only to understand the situation better, though causing it to worsen.

“What an astute observation baby!” Anakin sneered, throwing his hands up frustratedly. “Wow. Now if only you could poke your cute little head a bit farther out of your ass. Yeah?”

“What do you mean?” Questioning him didn’t seem like the best option currently, but what else were you supposed to do?

“It… it really doesn’t matter.” He grumbled, spinning away from you to walk toward his kitchenette. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll feel better if I clean up. I’ve just been so stressed.” He hissed the last word, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Can- will you let me help at least? It’ll get done quicker.” You offered, trying to be helpful might distract him and you from everything else.

“No.” He sighed, his hands laced behind his head, his shirt riding up just a bit as he leaned backward to stretch. “No, I want to do it. Just go to bed. Please?”

“Kisses?” You asked quietly, clasping your hands in front of you awkwardly.

“Yeah, yes of course.” Anakin softened, coming toward you with open arms and an odd expression on his face.

Pretty, clear, sapphire eyes rake over your visibly anxious body. He seemed stuck between barreling past you to lock himself in the bedroom, scooping you up to hold and console you, maybe even smacking you if you spoke a few more tart words.

He did none of those. Instead he gingerly touched your face and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his expression unchanging in an uncomfortable way. His gaze piercing straight through you, burning upon entry and icing over at the exit. The muscles all relaxed save for the few pulling the corners of his mouth downward in a subtle frown. You hated it when he went blank like this, his emotions were completely unreadable, his skin taking on the properties of stone to stay cemented in place. A physical example of someone taking brick and mortar to their heart and mind.

“C’mon. I’ll put you to bed.” He said softly, nodding toward the closed bedroom door.

Turning the handle and pushing the door open, he led you into the cozy space that you were so hesitant to enter earlier. You braced yourself to have your fear confirmed, thinking you may find a hair band that didn’t belong to you, a false eyelash, the scent of someone new on your pillowcase. But as you walked to your side of the bed, stepping over a few stray clothes in the floor, you surveyed the nightstands, his was uncharacteristically crowded with cups and a collection of gum wrappers, yours was just the way you left it.

Technically, your ‘nightstand’ was really just half of his dresser. What wasn’t occupied by his large and ever growing hoard of shiny chains and oversized jewelry, rings, belts, wrist cuffs and the like; was home to a few of your things. It was mostly just for convenience sake, you did live just across the hall. All you really needed here was a little pink basket with your name sharpied on it that he’d bought for you containing all your ‘girlish possessions’.

Hair bands, bobbi pins, a scrunchie and a large hair clip tucked away in a small, clear plastic case that lay at the bottom of the basket. He even got your brand of mascara, concealer, foundation, blush and lipgloss in a cute heart shaped makeup bag. Among the other items he’d gotten for you were a hair brush, perfume, deodorant, a phone charger, your very own reusable water bottle (so you’d stop crawling over him and chugging his water at 2:00am), and a pink shark plushie that only slept in his bed when you were there.

You’d added your own items of course, your favorite shirt of his, some clean underwear and a pair of shorts and socks. Sometimes you just can’t be bothered to walk across the hall for such trivial things. It’d be nice to have a drawer like he has at your place, but the poor boy has so many clothes the things hardly close at all. So your basket serves you just fine.

After grabbing the charger and scrunchie you climbed in bed, already in pajamas. Already in pajamas. You moved from the mattress like you’d been burned, searing, scorching guilt licking at your palms to make them sweat. Anakin had been to distracted by picking up his dirty clothes and tossing them in the laundry basket tucked inside his closet to notice your knee-jerk reaction to the reminder that you were still in the clothes, still in the panties, that Ghost had lovingly peeled off your lustful flesh.

The panties that still had a little wet spot in the crotch, the ones he’d taken off just before your confession. The ones he threw at you in grieving anguish as he left you behind for the night. Thank the gods for those extra clothes, you grabbed them and swiftly went across the hall, passing a befuddled Anakin who watched you as you walked with purpose to the bathroom.

You couldn’t sleep next to him in that sinned in fabric. Even if he was being a complete ass, he didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect. So you freshened up and changed clothes, rolling the dirty ones into a tight ball as if it’d squeeze out some of the shame before you tossed it in his laundry basket. Tying up your hair loosely to keep it out of your face, you brushed your teeth and then returned to the bedroom, opening the closet and dropping the clothes into the laundry basket without a second glance.

Anakin was laying face down across the foot of the bed with his arms limp at his sides, lifting his head to rest his chin on the blankets when he felt your weight subtly pushing down against the soft memory foam. His eyes flickered a shade lighter than before at the sight of you, though they quickly returned to the flat, unfeeling eyes you rarely saw.

“Why’d you change?” He asked, his voice rumbling tiredly in his chest.

“Just… wanted to feel clean before bed I guess.” You answered, looking down at your lap where your hands rested palms up.

“Clean.” He scoffed, nodding his head. “Okay.”

“What?” You snapped at him, irritated by his tone or perhaps feeling a bit agitated by being questioned on such a sensitive topic.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He sighed, giving you a lopsided, half-hearted smile. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

You didn’t verbally respond, not pleased with his response or the way it was delivered. Simply pulling up the covers to your chin while Anakin situated himself atop the blankets with an arm tossed over you, groaning because he realized the lamp was still on. So he rolled to his side of the bed, reaching out with his right arm to pull the chain. He audibly hissed as though the movement hurt him, turning your head to watch as he rolled back over with a scowl on his face. Not one of anger, but one of swallowed pain.

“You okay?” You asked softly, shifting to face him as his left hand snuck under the blanket to lace his fingers with yours. There was just enough light filtering through the open bedroom door for you to see the annoyance flash over his features.

“I’m sore.” His tone flat again. “Pulled a muscle or something I think.”

“I can rub your back if you want?” You offered quietly, reaching out to gently feather your fingers over the fabric of his tshirt.

“Appreciate the thought darlin’ but I don’t think it’d help. It hurts to touch.” He said, a genuine appreciation in his voice. It was nice to hear some real emotion from him, it relaxed you, knowing he might be coming out of whatever emotional episode he’d fell into.

“I’ve been putting Arnica on it.” He added, scrunching and wiggling his nose like it itched.

“Arnica? Like the stuff for bruises?” You asked confusedly.

“No.” He said sharply, rolling his eyes. “I mean, yes but no. It helps with swelling too.”

“Oh,” You nodded, taking his word for it to avoid anymore upset. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”

“Well, you can’t.” He said. You didn’t take it as a jab, although the words fell hard from his lips, you knew he probably just meant it as a matter of fact statement, so you nodded in acceptance.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” You asked, trailing your fingertips over his forearm.

“Once I get everything picked up.” He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Listen… today has been a train wreck, I have been a train wreck. I really am sorry.” He whispered, true emotion finally shining through in both his words and his expression.

“It’s okay. It’s just a bad day. Everyone has bad days.” You said softly, looking at him with sympathy. “I haven’t helped the situation I know.”

“I could’ve handled it better.” He sighed.

You shrugged. “Let’s not play the blame game. No one wins that one.”

“True.” He gave you a small but meaningful smile accompanied by a squeeze of your hand.

“Will you wake me when you come back?” You asked, your eyelids getting heavy after Anakin’s release of emotion, it calmed you, knowing he wouldn’t be going to bed upset.

“Sure, why?” His eyebrows knitted together as he smoothed out a loop in your loose ponytail.

“Just cause.” You said quietly, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “I want to know you’re here.”

“Cute.” His voice affectionate as he let out a little chuckle. “I love you too.” He whispered.

“I know.” You nodded, still unable to say it.

You just couldn’t. You couldn’t before, you definitely can’t now. You’d already confessed it to someone else, someone who you probably should’ve ran from, got a restraining order against and begged until they locked him away. But that’s just love isn’t it? It makes you do crazy things.

Crazy things like betraying your dutiful and loyal partner with lustful trysts that should’ve never happened. Wild things like getting railed more times than a two dollar whore in the span of 24 hours by two separate men, one of whom being completely anonymous. Your sister would be appalled if she ever discovered that you were fucked with so little respect that you’d been sliced open and loved every second of it. In actuality, you wouldn’t mind doing it again.

All the things love tricked you into doing, you continued to allow and you would do so until the idolatry buried you alive.

Insanely deranged things like killing a man. Your panicked shooting indirectly causing another’s death by your lover’s hands. Perplexing things like the remorse fading in less than a day, the grief of extracting a human’s soul like that should’ve haunted you for life. But if it weren’t for your fear of being caught, you might’ve forgotten it by now.

Even if you could let those words slip through your soldered lips, you’re not sure that the barbs on your tongue would stop you from confessing more than just your love.

Or is it even that?

What if it’s not love and simply security and a devotion to the stability Anakin provides? What if you’re taking advantage of his kindness and trust in you, using him for the best of his qualities and his unwavering faith in you? Could you be so cruel and callous, is it possible you may feel indebted to him in some way and your heart is misinterpreting that for love?

Maybe it’s your subconscious, your self-preservation trying to crack through the deliberately placed cage in your mind. The dank corner of your mind where you squirrel away unmentionables, undesirables and guilessly horrid thoughts and memories. These days it’s getting fuller and fuller, the barrage of incoming files seemed never ending. The curator inside must be struggling, grasping at the iron bars in hopes to come out with only a few paper cuts. If just one of those bars bend, a flood may come running out and you’re positive that sort of unloading might turn you toward madness.

Diary Entry: September 9th

You’re finally asleep. God I wish I knew about your sleeping pills. Then I could’ve just popped one between those soft lips and you’d have went to sleep so much faster but you haven’t told Anakin you take them. I felt like I had to wait for hours, staring at your pretty face. I loved the view of course, however I didn’t love the way your lip kept twitching like you were upset as you were falling asleep. You’re still upset.

You’re just going to have to get over it. I won’t do it again. It was a moment of weakness and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t take it back anymore than I can’t make the memory of it go away. One pill. That’s all. Forget it.

I cleaned everything up. I even scrubbed the kitchen floor just to get some tension out. I’ve ruined my scrub brush, the bristles are all bent out of shape now.

When I went to check the bathroom and see if anything needed tidied up, I noticed my drawer hadn’t been closed properly, I know I didn’t open it. So it must’ve been you. Nosy bitch.

Well. I need a new hiding spot. Or maybe it’s just time to let that shit go. It’s not like I need twelve pair of panties and the other little trinkets I’ve stolen from you. I can take things and not have to hide it anymore.

——————————————————————————

Diary Entry: September 9th continued

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I never knew what i was doing but now i just feel like I’m paddling through shit creek with my bare hands and a wooden barrel for a boat.

My world is falling apart and I have no one to pray to because my goddess is just as rudderless as I am. How did i fuck up so badly and how the hell am I supposed to fix it when I just keep making it worse? I feel like I’m losing it, actually, truly losing it. I need guidance and the one person who has always been able to give me that is more lost than I am. I’m not meant to be a leader.

How can I bring you back from the dark when you are my light?

Is it even possible to atone for the things I’ve done or should I do worse and hope it cancels it out? Obviously I won’t try that because you can’t really get much worse than what I’ve done without doing some truly heinous things. See? I am capable of listening to the voice of reasoning I so often ignore.

You ignore yours too. I know you do or else we never would’ve made it this far. I used to think it was because you’re just a fucking idiot. I’ve come to the understanding that you are willfully ignorant.

I can’t even blame you. I can’t, not when I’m the one who set us up for this. It’s my fault and I’m just waiting for the window of your soul to chop me in half like a guillotine the next time I try to crawl through. You gave me such a slim opening and I was barely able to wrench myself away in time to only lose a few metaphorical fingers. The me inside my mind has yet to staunch the flow from the loss.

I know now why you won’t say it. Because you did say it. Just not to me, not to the me I made for you. I don’t know how to feel… relieved maybe, but I can’t help imagine it’s a bit unhealthy. For you I mean. I’m perfectly fine being the way I am, though I never meant to share the worst parts of me with you. Despite knowing, witnessing, participating in such a thing; you still chose to tell Ghost you loved him before you told Anakin.

I don’t know what to do with that information.

Then, you went and confused me even farther and denied me the only organic opportunity to tell you who I am. I’ve already shown you. That was the whole point of continuing all this. I could’ve stopped when we started dating but I didn’t because I didn’t want to. I realize now, you didn’t want me to either. You’ve seen the me I curated and molded into perfection. The me that you deserve. You’ve always had the option to take him and leave the rest behind but you still haven’t and I can’t foresee a future where you will.

Do you love Ghost because he is real? Is he real? Am I?

Have I always been him and never Anakin? Sometimes I think yes. Others I wholeheartedly believe I made them both just for you. Deep down i know its not true, I know who I am. I am an undeserving man. It doesn’t matter what way you spin it,. It doesn’t matter how many me’s I create, I will never be good enough for you. You know that, don’t you?

Can you tell that it’s a half-truth? Is that why you can’t tell me you love me? You know there’s something missing, it’s an incomplete file. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve known all along that I’m a fraud. You’re the only one. Other than my mother of course and don’t you dare make some sort of Freudian joke, that’s just clichè.

You are the only person I haven’t been able to fool. Further proof you are who I believe you to be. A goddess. They have some sort of ‘all knowing’ ability, yes? I’ve compared you to the Greek’s Artemis and her sister-goddess Diana from Rome, Goddess of the hunt. And hunt you have, even on those wobbly legs of a fawn. You hunted, hungry to learn and grow until you’ve turned into the beautiful, powerful doe I knew you were destined to be. My Doe. My Goddess.

You wanted to see me and you did. So why wouldn’t you let me tell you?

Are you afraid? I am.

I’m so afraid I tried to numb myself. Though like the savior you’ve become so good at being, you saved me from myself again. How is it that you can appear at just the right moment? I would’ve taken that second pill had you not come out to stop me. I might’ve even taken all your sleeping pills. Because I am afraid, and what do cowards do when they are afraid? They take the coward’s way out, it’s called that for a reason.

Diary Entry: September 10th

I hate lying to you. I hate hiding things from you.

I hate myself for doing that. I know I didn’t have to but I felt like I did.

I hate myself.

Diary Entry: September 13th

God I’m so fucking frustrated. Why are you being like this!? I don’t deserve this. You tell me you love me, you stop me from showing you my face, and I got pissed so I left. I gave myself blue balls but I’m going to blame you for it because it’s your fault after all.

We’ve kissed, we’ve touched, you’ve straddled my hips and rubbed your warm, wet panties all over my boxers but you won’t let me fuck you. You won’t let me make love to you. You won’t even let me get a finger beneath those pretty panties that I paid for.

There’s only so much my hand is capable of.

What are you afraid of? Telling me you love me? Probably. Last time you fucked someone it slipped right out. What a shame it would be for you to say it to me again.

Date

September 15th

You scrubbed at yourself in the shower, contemplating the man troubles that have plagued you ever since that night you finally made up with Anakin. He’s been grumpy, overly asshole-ish and so unbearably stubborn for the past few days that he’s on thin ice, holding a heat gun over the weak spot. Nothing you say seems to help but it also doesn’t seem to hurt, so you’ve been in a perpetual game of hot potato. As long as you keep going around the circle you won’t get burned.

Ghost hasn’t spoken to you in over a week and you’re beginning to think he may never make an appearance again. He hasn’t left a message, a note, a gift. He hasn’t even been inside your apartment. Ghost had never ever been so neglectful. It’s to the point that you might call and report him missing if you were certain of who he was.

The cameras in your home had been so well hidden that you didn’t think you’d ever find them, turns out they’re pretty easy to spot when theyre low on battery and the damn thing flashes red while you’re trying to sleep. You had always assumed he had a camera in your room, but to have it confirmed and see that it’s directly above your bed… was one of the more uncomfortable aspects of the odd relationship between you.

It was so tiny you couldn’t believe that it actually functioned as a camera. You plucked it from the hiding spot on your ceiling fan and put it in your jewelry box along with all the other things that Ghost had left for you. It was kind of entertaining, like a weird game of eye-spy to see if you could find the others now that you knew what to expect. You hadn’t found them yet, but you knew it wouldn’t take long for the rest of them to need charging too.

Oddly enough, it made you a little sad to think that he might’ve stopped watching. You always imagined that when or if Ghost ever left your life that you’d be relieved. If you would’ve told the terrified mouse who’d woken up to a stranger with a knife all those months ago… that she’d be sitting in the shower floor mourning the loss, well, she’d send you to the fifth floor without hesitation.

You’d wracked your brain over and over again, grasping at any idea that seemed remotely plausible in hopes that you’d conjure up some elaborate plan to fix everything. No grand scheme had revealed itself yet, aside from faking your death and moving out of the country, but Luke would hold a grudge against your faux corpse. You had promised that he would be allowed to die first because he couldn’t bare the idea he might outlive you.

Luke.

Maybe it was time to tell Luke. You wouldn’t have to share all of it, you could even lie a little, make it less rapey and more romantic. Sans murder and add a dash of sweetness. It’s not like you’ve lived a single day of your life for the past few months without telling a handful of lies a day. What’s a few more?

Maybe you should threaten warn Ghost first. As a courtesy of course. He should know if you’re planning on spilling your guts to your best friend, it’s only fair. What’s Ghost going to do? Roll up to Luke’s apartment and duct tape your mouth shut? No.

You sighed, stepping out of the shower, half expecting to see Ghost sitting on the sink again, unfortunately he was not. Unfortunately.

You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t have time to mope about, you’re a girl with a job that you neglected for days on end and they were kind enough not to fire you. So long as you were okay with being on probation; you were of course. Finding another stable job in a city like this on such short notice would be nightmarish. Thank the gods you’re their best waitress.

Ever since you returned to work, Sara has forced you to wear a ‘trainee’ badge and all your regulars have bullied you endlessly for it. Those little old men may seem sweet and harmless but the moment they find something to poke fun at they turn into a pack of jackals. Today you’d be back to serving them coffee sans the trainee badge of shame. Unless of course you are late.

Hurriedly dressing in your uniform and fixing yourself up enough to be presentable, you sprinted out the door and down the steps, quick walking to your car. You’d be late if you leisurely walked to The Bluebird like you normally did. You’d made a habit of parking right next to Anakin’s vehicle, so you had to walk past it everytime you climbed in to yours. You’ve not used your car since you returned from your weekend getaway and Anakin’s car hadn’t been there when you arrived.

You hardly glanced at it anymore, being so used to seeing it there. It always looked the same. He always parked it the same, always backing it in to the spot. So you weren’t expecting anything different when you bent down to pick up the quarter next to his driver side door. It must’ve fallen out of the overflowing change cup he kept in the door pocket.

You smiled, seeing it was face up, taking it as a good luck sign. You needed some good luck, so you picked it up. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed something different about Anakin’s car. The tire.

Dirt. Real dirt. Not the city street gunk or the sand and gravel mixture in the back parking lot of The Cerulean. It was dark earth and grass, trapped in the grooves of the rubber. Where had he gone that he might’ve needed to drive over actual dirt?

——————————————————————————

“Hey doll.” Anakin’s deep voice appeared suddenly to your left, his hand on your back as he walked past you to take a seat at the counter while you finished up taking your table’s order.

You gave him a smile and trudged off to the kitchen, clipping the order slip to the line above the stovetop. As you came back out of the kitchen, you shoved your pad and pen back into your apron pocket, surveying your tables to make sure everything was as it should be before you stopped to talk with Anakin.

“What’s up Ani?” You asked, leaning on your elbows against the counter.

“Huh?” He raised his eyebrows, tonguing his labret piercing distractedly while he picked at his nail polish. “Oh, uh I just wanted to come say ‘hi’ before I had to go to work.” He said, giving you a little smile, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

“What’ve you been up to today?” You asked, turning around to get him a Pepsi, watching the liquid pour out and bubble up in the cup.

“What’ve you been doing?” He countered, taking the glass from you hesitantly, looking you over like he was searching for something.

“Just been at home and here.” You frowned, unwrapping a straw and popping it in his drink for him.

“Got plans or anything after work?” He asked, taking a sip through the straw.

“No? Sh-should I? Did I forget something?” You asked worriedly.

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head, eyes flicking down to his drink and back up to you. “No I just want you to stay at my place tonight.” He said quietly.

“But you work tonight.” You said, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m aware.” He said with a snort, looking at you with a flat affect.

“I- I mean I’ll definitely stay.” You nodded. “I just guess I’m surprised.”

“Why?” He asked, curling up his top lip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever stayed at your place when you’ve been at work before.” You said, tilting your head to the side.

“You haven’t.” He confirmed, unfolding a napkin in front of him and laying it flat, ripping off tiny pieces.

“Well, first time for everything then huh?” You smiled, hoping to break him from the reeking attitude he was carrying around with him.

“Come out to my car with me.” Anakin wasn’t asking, not even instructing. He was demanding.

“Oh-okay just a second.” You nodded, walking toward the kitchen doorway. “Vigo! Anakin is here, I’m gonna take a break.”

“Yeah sure.” Vigo waved you off, tossing a towel over his shoulder before he flipped on the tap and began washing his hands.

You turned on your heel and expected to see Anakin sitting at the counter where you left him. Though as you untied your apron and tossed it under the counter, you scanned the diner and saw him nowhere. Instead, he was already heading out to his car, the ‘Open’ sign on the glass door of the restaurant swinging back and forth just proved he pulled it open with more force than necessary.

Peering through the glass as you approached the door, hand out to push it open, you spotted him leaned against his car with his arms crossed. His head down, staring at the blacktop beneath him until he jerked to the side, sensing your presence growing nearer.

“Get in.” Anakin opened the drivers side back door for you and gently ushered you inside. A big contrast to the gruff tone he spoke with.

“Yes sir.” You rolled your eyes, speaking sarcastically. It didn’t seem like Anakin thought it was just a good natured jab. Rather, he reacted like it was a personal attack.

He firmly grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it as he climbed into the back seat behind you. He let go just as quickly as he gripped it, wordlessly splaying his fingers across your scalp to apologetically massage your scalp.

“What the hell was that for?” You scowled, batting his hand away from your head.

“We haven’t fucked since you came back,” he said, ignoring your question. “I want you to fuck me.”

Your jaw dropped through the floorboard of the car and shattered on the pavement beneath. Watching him unbutton and unzip his jeans, more comfortably spreading his legs and leaning back, his hands laced behind his head with a grunt. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, waiting expectantly for you to make your move, but you were simply speechless, frozen in place.

“Hello?” He snapped his fingers in front of your face to get your attention. “If you’re gonna sit there with your mouth open at least put it to work.” He scoffed, grabbing the back of your neck with one hand, pulling out his already hard cock with the other.

There was a split second of hesitation on his part, pausing like he realized what he was doing, suddenly coming back to consciousness after being possessed.

“Princess… I’m so sorry, y-you don’t have to do anything.” He turned his head to you revealing his paling cheeks as he quickly released the back of your neck from his rough hold, only to be shocked by the lustful gaze staring back into his worried eyes.

“Th-that was hot.” You squeaked out, melting into submission.

“Wait- really?” He asked, eyebrows pinching together in shameful hope. His hand hovering over the nape of your neck as if waiting for permission.

“Y-yeah, yes.” Swallowing thickly, cautiously sliding off the backseat and onto the carpeted floor to kneel in front of him.

“Sweetheart, no.” He shook his head, a mask of remorse passing over his features. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

“Anakin.” You said quietly, “please shut up.”

“O-okay.” He nodded quickly, suddenly timid, so unlike that man from just seconds earlier.

You lowered your head without another glance up at him, moving to swirl your tongue and suck on the silver ball of his jewelry to slight push and pull the metal through the piercing before taking his cockhead between your lips.

You were too busy to notice the absolutely wicked, deriding, straight up unsettlingly evil grin eat away at the faux timidity he’d painted on his pretty face.

Diary Entry: September 17th

Is there a word for when you kind of feel bad about something because you know that you should, but you don’t actually feel bad about it? If there is one I’d like to know it. It’d be perfect for this. It’s exactly how I feel.

I don’t think I’m obligated to actually feel any sort of ‘remorse’ in this situation though because it’s not really my fault. Even if it is… it’s only indirectly. After all the excitement life has finally slowed down enough for me to notice I’m out of my meds. Have been like for a few days.

So, apologies for being a total jerk, but also no I’m not apologizing because I don’t believe you mind it. I think you just don’t like it. You don’t like facing what you already know to be true. Kind of like when you rearrange the magnets on the fridge. You get so used to seeing it one way that you hardly pay attention. But the moment you move ‘em around its like you’re looking at a brand new fridge every time you walk past it. It just jumps out at you.

Same fridge, same magnets. Same me, more Ghost, less Anakin.

Diary Entry: September 20th

Why does life have to kick me in the ass, why won’t it just pucker up and kiss it? I have a nice ass. You’ve said so.

I can list a hundred things that I would rather be doing this week, a thousand if I tried really hard. I would prefer to shove my hand in a manual meat grinder than go back to that stupid fucking doctor.

My mother makes her weekly FaceTime call and turns it into a game of twenty questions.

I know exactly what she was trying to do, fishing for information, trying to see how much I knew. She did the same thing when that murder on campus happened. It wasn’t me. The guy who did it was caught and locked up, it was a senseless crime. The poor kid didn’t do anything but stand in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Just because I live near the campus, doesn’t mean I’m involved. Except for this time.

I don’t do senseless crime. I’m not stupid.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a call from your doctor honey. Did you take me off the information release? You know you can’t do that Anakin, it’s mandatory.’

‘Your prescription hasn’t been filled, you haven’t taken it in over a week! Don’t lie to me!’

Fucking fine. Alright. I love the woman but Christ alive she gets on my goddamn nerves. Now I have to go back to the shrink because I didn’t call and request my meds to be refilled and I didn’t try to pick them up when they were ready. Apparently if you’re three days late to the CVS pharmacy they put your crazy pills back and hold them hostage. Some policy shit about controlled substances.

My mom watched the news and thought to herself ‘hmm, it’s been alittle while since I’ve questioned my son’s sanity.’

Have I not done enough to prove I’m capable of being a functioning member of society? The state says I have. Why can’t she do the same? Officials have signed off on my ability to be normal and surprise! I have ‘maintained mental stability’ and ‘reintegrated into society’.

They’re over it. Why can’t she be?

I mean for fucks sake, she was used to it. Those doctors and nurses who loved to sedate me while I was in that state school weren’t and they forgave me a million times quicker than mom did. I would’ve gotten grounded for months if she had been the one to find out I was stealing meds and reselling them. It’s not my fault they padlocked it with a big clunky thing from the 90’s. A toddler could’ve picked that lock with a spoon, but they trusted a school of delinquents not to capitalize on it? All they did was give me a time out in the bad boy box for a week. It was like a vacation, no classes, no people, no gym.

They expected me to be upset about that? Please.

The only thing I didn’t think I was going to get away with there was the whole therapy-chicken fiasco. My refusal to apologize definitely didn’t help. But when you live in the suburbs majority of your life you aren’t exactly accustomed to a fucking rooster thinking the sun is coming up at 4:00 am. I already had to deal with sharing a room with a chronic masturbator who snored and grease-trap McGee who thought axe body spray could substitute for a shower.

Adding chickens into a coop directly outside my window was the tipping point. A state official who believed caring for animals could be therapeutic almost cost me my graduation. Out of all the animals they could’ve chosen, they picked chickens.

They only lasted a week before I got fed up and wrung their necks like a washcloth.

But I’m an adult now. I’m a big boy, making big boy choices and one of those choices was to stop seeing my doctor. I would’ve kept up with my pills, however, I was busy following my girlfriend to the lake when I got the ‘prescription ready for pickup’ text.

I probably don’t even need them anymore anyway. I’m fine. But now if I don’t get my ass in there for an appointment with Dr. Bullshit I’ll have to get reevaluated through the court and have to see that little bitch ass man-boy I hit with a table. I can’t have that. Not when everything is perfect in my life.

Except for the stuff that’s really horribly terrible.

Appointment: date: September 28th 3:30pm

September 15th 8:23pm

Seconds after unlocking your front door, you flopped down face first onto the couch. Dropping your belongings onto the floor below you with a thud, you had no intention of moving until absolutely necessary. You just wanted to rot. Not because you wanted to die per say… its just that you wouldn’t mind feigning dead for a while and if you just so happened to perish while playing the part of a corpse; well it wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be way easier than living the life that you’ve found yourself in.

Everything had been so undeniably awful lately that the joy had been sucked out of even the smallest things that made you happy before. Like the nice old lady who gets coffee and a slice of cake for lunch, she’s so cute and small and she always leaves a peppermint as part of your tip. It always made you smile, always gave you a warm feeling in your chest, but today was different. Today the gesture made you feel hollow.

Since he left, it’s all you can think of.

——————————————————————————

9:52pm

After peeling yourself away from the comfort of your couch, you showered and ate a dinner fit for royalty: microwave stir fry rice. Then you dragged yourself across the hallway to Anakin’s. For reasons yet to be revealed you were dreading your time inside his place alone. The air felt heavy and stale as you walked through the space, into his living room. It was always like this when he was gone, like the apartment never fully ‘wakes up’ until he steps inside.

It’s odd, feeling like the room you’re in is in a state of dormancy. Yet, it’s not the cause of your hesitancy to stay here tonight, while he’s away. No, you’re hesitant because Ghost he usually visits on nights Anakin is at work. What if he shows up and you’re not there? Will he make an appearance here? Will he think it’s your way of saying you don’t care if you see him or not?

Worse still, could the hesitancy stem from that little voice trapped deep in the recesses of your mind? The one you’ve ignored every time it’s been able to rip the gag from it’s mouth?

The rope of dread wraps tighter and tighter around your neck each moment you’re here alone. No amount of distraction has been able to cure the itch, the burning, nagging itch to get up and search. Is that what he wants? What if he’s been here?

Are there cameras here too? That’s something you’ve never even considered before and the thought makes you feel ill. It’s one thing to have your own privacy breached, but Anakin’s… that’s unfair to him and it’s already gone past ‘innocent’ watching. The camera in your bedroom has surely caught things no one else should’ve seen and that knowledge has begun to haunt you.

He’d been watching you have sex. With him. With Anakin. He had hours of footage, a thousand thoughts crossed your mind at the realization. But only a few were significant enough to take note of. If he’s been monitoring your bedroom activity… why was he only upset about the time you and Anakin had sex in the living room? He was so angry about it, so angry he wanted to roleplay stabbing you. He cut you while he pounded you from behind.

Why hadn’t he been that jealous about every other time? Probably to spare you the embarrassment of knowing the camera was right over your bed. It would be stupid of him to reveal that sort of information, then he wouldn’t have all those videos, perfect for blackmail, presumably great amateur porn. He wouldn’t… would he? He killed a man.

Men?

So it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he might’ve been saving all that up in case he needed it. He did say he’d send those pictures to Anakin if you didn’t behave. That’s blackmail. That’s a threat.

Or maybe, he’d done something even worse. Ghost… could he have…? No. He’s too possessive. He wouldn’t try to make money off of you like that. Would he? Despite laughing off the thought, your phone suddenly appeared in your hand, thumbs working of their own accord to check any and every explicit website you could find using the tags ‘ghostface’ ‘masks’ ‘hidden camera’ ‘blindfold’ ‘gagged’ ‘knife’ and anything else you thought it might’ve been labeled under. Scroll after scroll you squinted your way through countless video thumbnails, all the big sites were clean as far as you could tell.

OnlyFans? Maybe. He’d make way more on a site like that than he would on a larger porn site. Right? Wouldn’t it be considered… niche content? So you searched there, preview and profile pictures of so many people popped up. Maybe it’s not as niche as you thought. The idea that others may be interested in something like that was slightly comforting and only a tad infuriating.

These people might not be your Ghost; but they shared his face. And, they had hundreds if not thousands of people watching them.

It shouldn’t bother you as badly as it does, but you can’t help it. Maybe his own possessiveness has started to rub off on you, because the thought of someone else watching a man in the same mask as Ghost… almost felt like cheating.

Realistically, he could be any of these men.

You could be looking at him right now along with whoever else is online and you’d never even know it unless you saw yourself pop up on the page. But then you’d have to subscribe to **every single one** of these profiles. You might waste your time scrolling through videos and never finding what you were looking for.

Because… realistically he probably isn’t one of these men.

“Enough.” You groaned, fisting your hair on both sides of your head, then pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Finally you got up and made popcorn, sitting yourself in front of the living room tv for a bit of a wind-down before bed. It would be hours before Anakin got home, X-Files was calling and you just had to answer. So you restarted it and settled in for a binge. The familiar theme washing over you in a nostalgic sort of way, late nights passing by on the projector of your memories.

Luke and you in his twin bed, comforter bundled around you as you sat huddled together, crosslegged in the soft glow of the tv and his small spaceship nightlight. Too old for ‘kid shows’ and too young for horror movies, so you found the next best thing: Goosebumps for grown ups.

His parents were fancy enough to have a DVR to record shows, allowing the two of you to rewatch your favorite episodes whenever you pleased. So long as his father didn’t record over them to catch the newest episode of American Idol.

Isn’t it odd how we so often return to the comfort of childhood in times of uncertainty? Clinging onto the old things that were stable even in the forever changing world you grew up in. Every night without fail, re-run after re-run of X-Files would play on channel 72. All night long.

Now you didn’t have to wait until 8:30pm. You could watch it whenever you wanted, or needed. The latter was true in this case. You want to believe. Just like Mulder. But, Scully is reasonable and you needed to be reasonable. An inkling isn’t proof, a feeling isn’t fact. Cold, hard evidence doesn’t lie. But your mind, your heart, your eyes and ears… are not as trustworthy as you might like to think.

You only got through two episodes before you stood up and sat your bowl of neglected popcorn aside.

“Skeptics are often the best detectives.” You mumbled to yourself, a very paraphrased quote from the show.

You’d come here to snoop once already and had found nothing. No evidence. But now you wondered if you may have been searching for the wrong things, in the wrong places.

“What would Scully do?” You thought.

You found yourself slipping into the role you once loved to play alongside Luke. You’d be the voice of reason to his fantasy world of the paranormal, when he’d come up with ‘cases’ for the two of you to solve. Only this time you would be playing both parts.

You’d started off toward Anakin’s bedroom when your phone buzzed, pausing just before passing the threshold into the space, you pulled your phone from your pocket and saw a text waiting to be read.

‘Do you miss me that bad?’

Ghost.

Unsure of whether to answer or not you freeze in place, staring down at the screen. He’d ignored you for what felt like eternity, now he was returning with a snarky comment about your internet searches. He can monitor your search history but he can’t say ‘hello’ for a week?

Your thumbs poised over the keyboard, a million jumbled words fighting for their chance to make an appearance in your quick witted, equally snarky, sarcastic-

‘Yes.’

‘Liar.’ The response came through the very second your phone showed that your message had delivered.

Your face heated up, how dare he call you a liar? After everything you would’ve thought he might know better. You chose not to entertain the comment, knowing it would only make Ghost think he’d successfully gotten under your skin. Even though he had, he wasn’t entitled to that information.

‘Your cameras are dying.’

‘I don’t need them anymore.’ The text finally appeared after several bouts of typing, erasing and retyping occurred on Ghost’s side of the conversation.

He doesn’t need them. At least he didn’t say he didn’t want them anymore, because that would imply that he didn’t want you anymore. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you hoped it meant he had something else planned, not simply that he had lost interest in watching your day to day activities.

It was a sobering concept; the idea that you may be losing his attention. Is it worth it to even try to find out? Will the answer just hurt you more than the not knowing? You suspect it might.

So you turned off your phone. No more googling, no more texting. Just searching. With X-Files to keep you company, you walked around the living room to carefully lift every item in the room. Each little trinket inspected and every backing to his picture frames removed, the couch cushions lifted, unzipped and felt up. Scooting every piece of moveable furniture away from the walls and pushing it carefully back into place. Anakin was peculiar about his things, if you misplaced something by even a centimeter, he would notice.

If you weren’t so angry at Ghost, you might’ve thanked him for the ‘take a reference picture’ before moving someone else’s things trick. It was no wonder you didn’t notice him being inside your house for so long. He really was good at what he did.

But you were angry. Angry at him, at yourself, at Anakin. But you were furious at the invisible wall that kept you from searching Anakin’s room. Every time you approached it, your mind thought up some excuse for why you weren’t finished looking elsewhere. There’s only so many logical hiding places and you were suddenly determined to find them all before moving open to the more… illogical ones.

Cereal boxes. Ice cube tray. Dishwasher and the dishwasher pac container. The fabric along the bottom of the couch. Behind the mounted tv. In the trash cans beneath the trash bag. The water tank of the coffee pot. His shoes.

You even re-checked the bathroom after remembering you never found out what was keeping that drawer from being fully opened. Turns out Anakin beat you to it and got it out of the way, so when you opened it, you removed the drawer completely to find that there was nothing there and never had been. If there’s nothing there, there must be nothing in his room either.

And suddenly, that invisible barrier dissolved.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.” Anakin laughed humorlessly, seeing his text deliver green. He tossed his phone onto the crate beside him, annoyedly pulling the cigarette from between his lips with pinched fingers and flicking the ash on the ground.

”What?” Trevor asked, pressing his back to the brick wall, enjoying a slow sip of whiskey.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Anakin grumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

“Oh come on now don’t give me that shit.” Trevor scoffed, scuffing his shoe against Anakin’s. “I’d like to think I know you well enough to know when you’re royally ticked off.”

”Trev. You don’t ever wanna see me royally ticked off.” He chuckled, deep and gravely from the back of his throat. “I’m just… irritated.”

”You’ve been barreling around the bar for the last week like a bull in a china shop.” Trevor said pointedly, taking a gulp of his whiskey. “I didn’t think anyone would ever beat April’s broken glass record but you’ve fuckin’ smashed it.” Trevor snickered at his own joke, clearing his throat anxiously when Anakin didn’t laugh along with him.

”Seriously man, I’ll help you out if I can. Just say the word.” Trevor shrugged, feeling an awkward silence that he hadn’t shared with Anakin in quite some time.

”This isn’t something you can help with.” Anakin sighed, shoving his phone back in his pocket and rubbing his palms over his jeans, smacking his knees before standing up and tossing his cigarette butt into the designated coffee can.

”Girl trouble?” Trevor guessed putting both his hand palm up in front of him.

”When isn’t it girl trouble?” Anakin groaned, rubbing his face. “My girl, my mom, the fucking cat. Even the damn cat is being weird with me.”

“Well, what’d you do?” Trevor asked curiously, not trying to pry to hard.

”Oh you know.” Anakin shrugged, a smirk on his lips. “Went on a murderous rampage, girlfriend caught me snorting some special K, didn’t give the cat a treat, told my mom off over the phone.”

”Shit, anything else?” Trevor laughed, standing up as well to follow Anakin inside.

”Beat up a middle aged man, mugged a gas station attendant, robbed said gas station, stole a motorcycle, spray painted a few buildings, busted up a change jar, fucked your mom.” Anakin listed off on his hand, turning around with a grin on his face after the last ‘transgression’ left his lips.

”I should’ve seen that one coming.” Trevor huffed shaking his head. “Tell your mother I said ‘nice tits’.”

”Oh fuck right the hell off.” Anakin snorted, shoulder checking Trevor into the wall as they re-entered the bar.

”Yessir,” Trevor tipped his imaginary hat and spun on his heel. “Next time i see you, I’ll be calling you son.”

”Just don’t ask me to call you daddy.” Anakin shook his head, faking a right and smacking his left cheek lightly before running off behind the bar.

——————————————————————————

September 16th 3:13am

Anakin left the bar after his shift that night, feeling a little bit lighter. His mind a little less foggy and a little more organized. He jogged up the steps to his apartment and almost walked in, his hand on the door knob in preparation to unlock it.

It was as if the other side of the hall was calling to him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a while. That same strong urge that had lured him into your life in the first place, he knew you were waiting for him, but it couldn’t hurt to make you wait just a tad longer, right?

Slowly he turned and switched keys, unlocking your door and stepping inside he flipped on the light switch and went about collecting the rest of the cameras he had so painstakingly set up all that time ago. Lining them up on the dresser in front of your bed just before taking all the little things he’d left, all the notes, and lining them up in chronological order from one edge of the dresser to the next, ending the sequence by taking off his centipede ring and placing the bullet he’d carved for you in the center of it.

He carefully plucked your hairpin from the jewelry box and held it for a moment in the palm of his hand, tracing over the delicately carved lines. He’d looked for so long, searched everywhere just to find it and you’d never worn it. He understood of course, he could understand the reasoning behind not wearing it. But keeping it tucked away in your jewelry box seemed like a waste of it’s beauty, a waste of what it represented for him. So, just like he stole it from that antique shop, he stole it back from you.

Anakin stood back as he slipped the hair pin into his pocket, looking down at his handiwork. It was satisfying to see it all laid out like that in front of him. Like a nice little history exhibit of your time together. It brought a small smile to his lips, a happy one, one that was real and genuine, proud.

He hadn’t planned this, he used to plan everything so carefully, so far in advance. He’d been running on instinct and the free feeling he got when he decided something on the spot for a while now. It felt nice to break from the mold he’d created for himself when it came to you, not so much when it involved murder. Anakin wasn’t a man who would admit to be scared about just any old thing. Scared of losing you? Absolutely he would admit to that. But scared of prison? No, he’s too tough for that.

Which is why he was blaming his tears on you and you alone. Despite his happy smile, he sniffed back salty droplets that graced his cheeks, unaware he was even crying until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the dresser.

He was well aware that he’d been sloppy. There were so many things that didn’t make sense at that crime scene and he was hoping that the police were stupid enough to believe it was all due to that poor kid’s hysteria. Anakin was smart enough to know that the police wouldn’t share any information that was valuable, if they had suspicions anyone else was involved. They’d wait and bide their time, gathering evidence and luring the suspect into a false sense of security.

He was paranoid, so, so, paranoid. Rightfully so.

None of the boys he’d left alive turned up that way, which in all reality made it a little easier for him. There’d be no witnesses and no one to point the finger at a real life Ghostface. Two of the boys had bled out, the other died from a stress induced seizure and choked on his own tongue. Anakin supposed that might be a reasonable reaction to being zip tied to two dead guys that had fallen over on top of you. He knew he should feel bad, he did, just not for what he knew he was supposed to.

He felt bad for himself.

——————————————————————————

September 16th 3:46am

You were on your hands and knees, using your phone flashlight to search under all the furniture in Anakin’s room. You even lifted the mattress, took out all the drawers in the dressers and nightstand, even checked the pockets of the clothes hanging in his closet. The suitcase at the top of his closet and the shoes at the bottom.

You gave up searching after you picked up a candle and turned it over, why in the world would you be checking a candle for anything suspicious? You were beginning to believe you were just horribly paranoid, rightfully so, you’d just aided and abetted and murdered not too long ago.

So you cozied up in Anakin’s bed and started watching the X-Files that you’d switched over into his room’s tv for background noise. Now Scully and Mulder had your full attention.

It was a good episode, a string of strange unsolved murders. Mulder had a theory that would connect these murders to ones that had happened several decades before. He was convinced they were committed by the same man despite the time passed between them. He even found matching finger prints to prove his theory, yet Scully was still unconvinced. That was until the culprit came after her, breaching her home’s defenses by squeezing through the air vents.

You jolted upright so quickly it made your brain feel as though it spun on an axis. With your phone in hand you went about the apartment, checking each air vent. It would be a perfect hiding place for anything really. You would’ve never even considered it had it not been for the X-Files. Your palms sweat with anxious anticipation, each one you checked meant you were one closer to finding, or not finding whatever it was the Anakin may or may not be hiding.

You saved the one in Anakin’s room for last, assuming if he were to have hidden anything it would probably be there. You were just about to shine your light through the slats of the vent when you heard the front door open, in a moment of panic you shot upright to your feet, your phone gripped tightly in your fingers. Your face the picture of guilt as Anakin rounded the corner, his face twisting from surprise to confusion.

”What’re you still doing up doll?” He asked, looking at his watch, “It’s almost four.”

”I couldn’t sleep.” You said quickly, realizing the phone flashlight was still on, you tapped the button the turn it off but your fingers were so sweaty you had to wipe them on your shirt before you could properly use the touchscreen.

“What are you doing?” Anakin asked, walking forward as he watched you struggle, “Looking for something?”

”No! Why- what makes you think that?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted in concern.

”Uh,” He pointed to the phone in your hand and watched as you tried and failed to feign a gasp of realization.

”Oh! Right, I could’ve sworn I heard a mouse in here, I was just about to look.” You said, gesturing to the air vent. Anakin took the phone from your hand and flicked the flashlight back on. Kneeling on the ground to look for you.

”Are you that afraid of mice?” He asked with a slight laugh, looking over his shoulder at your pink cheeks.

”No, not really.” You shook your head, “I- you just startled me when you came in I think.”

”Well I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d be asleep.” He said, coming up off the ground and handling you your phone back. “If there was a mouse, he’s gone now.”

“Oh well that’s good then.” You sighed, nodding as you looked down at the vent again. He would’ve acted strangely if he had something down there… wouldn’t he have?

“Whatcha watching?” He asked, nodding toward the tv where a new episode had begun.

“Oh, it’s the X-Files.” You said with a slight smile, crawling back up into the bed. “You’ve never watched it?”

“Yeah I have, It’s been a long time though.” He said, leaning on the door frame and looking you over, taking his time as though he were looking for something. He was giving you a smile that seemed almost wistful, like he was sad about something.

“C’Mere babydoll. I don’t wanna get bar germs in the bed.” He pushed off the door frame with his foot, sauntering over to you, placing his hands on the side of the bed. Waiting patiently for you to come closer, his eyes seemingly soaking up every square inch of skin on your body. He smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands to hold your face lightly and gaze down at you before moving in for a slow and loving kiss.

When he pulled away, he scratched the top of your head with his large hands, raking his fingertips through your hair. Guiding your closer again by the back of your head so that he could place a kiss to your forehead and pat your cheek.

”I’m gonna get clean.” He said, walking to his closet and stripping himself bare, tossing his clothes in his laundry basket. He turned to wink at you, biting the tip of his tongue with a big grin.

It made you blush, seeing him standing there so confidently and so comfortable in front of you. But the thing that made you bite your lip was the way his cock twitched, growing harder right before your eyes just because he was naked in front of you. He could see the lust, the admiration for him and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t an ego boost. He’d also be lying if he denied how much it flattened his heart when you looked away, not shyly. Purposefully. Anakin hid his small frown well, looking down to the side and ruffling up his hair with a tight lipped expression as he turned two the dresser to get a clean pair of boxers.

”Oh my god!” You gasped loudly, the sheets and blankets rustling as you made your way over to Anakin from where you sat on the bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin at your exclamation, turning around with wide eyes.

”What?” He asked looking around and down at himself in search of whatever had made you react so strongly.

”What the hell is this?” You asked, roughly grabbing him by his upper arm to spin him around and inspect his shoulder and back. He’d told you he had hurt himself, but he never let on like it was this bad. This was absolutely no pulled muscle.

“God this looks awful Ani!” You ran your fingers over the tender and multi-colored bruise on his right shoulder. “What happened?”

”Fuck.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the pointer finger and thumb of one hand. “It wasn’t a pulled muscle.”

”No shit? Really? I had no idea.” You said sarcastically, gesturing to the obviously painful bruise.

”Don’t.” He turned around, finger pointed at your face while his eyes stared down at you with darkened eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. He took a breath, closing his eyes again and when he opened them, a little bit of the light you’d grown accustomed to seeing shown through once more.

”I got in a fight.” He said simply, swallowing hard as his adam’s apple bobbed. “Just a scuffle at the bar, trying to break up an arguement. Just didn’t want to worry you princess.”

”I don’t appreciate being lied to over something so minuscule.” You scowled.

”You don’t? Oh, I had no idea.” He sneered, his voice sharp and clipped. “Sorry for trying to be mindful of you and your feelings. I didn’t think it would help our situation any, you know because you locked yourself away for a few days?”

You stepped back, the scowl fading slightly into something more sensitive. It was obvious you’d upset him, abundantly clear actually. The way he responded not only made you feel guilty for not considering the reasoning behind his lie, but also dredged up the guilt from the irony of your own words.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly. “I should’ve reacted better, I was just- it worried me.” You admitted, walking over to pull him in for a comforting hug.

”It… It’s alright.” He sighed softly, nuzzling the top of your head to inhale your scent. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

”I understand.” You nodded, even though you didn’t really. He’d been acting so unpredictably as of late that it was starting to worry you in more ways than one.

“Do you?” He asked, the tone of his voice making it sound less like a question and more like a tease, though his eyes suggested it was serious.

”I think maybe you’re just really stressed or… or maybe something’s bothering you?” You ventured carefully not wanting to upset him again. “You’ve been acting different.”

”You haven’t spoken to my mom. Have you?” He asked, his eyebrow shooting up as he spoken.

”What?” You asked with a bit of a confused laugh. “No, I haven’t.”

He studied your face, searching for deception hidden beneath you confident denial and he was pleased to find none. He monitored your phone, he could hear you conversations, but you were aware of that and he was worried you might’ve found a way to bypass all his precautions.

”Okay.” He nodded. “Sweetheart, I’ve got- I need to… you know what? I think we should probably have this conversation after I put some pants on.” He said stepping back and giving you a smirk at the blush on your cheeks.

”R-right, I forgot.” You said, biting your bottom lip and allowing him to leave the room to shower. The second he closed the bathroom door you moved so quickly to the vent along the baseboard of the wall that you thought you might’ve given yourself rug burn on your knees when you dropped down to check it for yourself.

Empty.

Part Eighteen

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwars @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco @demieyesore @hemmoxloser

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Epel w/ Gardenia!

Epel Felmier:

Gardenia - the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends.

“Why are you staring so hard?”

You never had anyone study your beauty routine as intensely as Epel was now, not even Vil who wanted to check every ingredient in the products you used. At first you didn’t know why he followed you to your room, having just confessed to having a first date in just a few hours and that you needed to start getting ready; you wondered if he was worried about you or about this other person, as Epel had always proven to be a good friend to you. You don’t think he’s quite experienced enough to point out any improvements in your make-up or flex knowledge like Vil or Rook could do but you didn’t mind the company, smiling away as the question went unanswered for another few minutes.

“…It’s because you’re beautiful.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror, amused when his eyes darted away to look at anything but you. You were used to more brazen behavior from your fellow Pomefiore student but this seemed to be the most brazen thing of all, yet he didn’t fully commit to it.

“I have another question.” You tried to keep the laughter from your tone but it hit you all at once why he had attached himself to your side; just to be sure, you moved your mirror to get a full reflection of his face, knowing he wouldn’t notice, “Why did you come get ready with me? Are you going on the date, too?”

Epel’s eyebrows twitched at the mention of a date, the frown on his face apparent. You knew he was being more honest because he didn’t realize it was your turn to study him, seeing the way he reacted to the thought of you with another person. This had just been a distraction date, a nice enough person but not someone you imagined would last longer than the night. Epel, however, had proven himself both earnest and interesting, certainly a person who captured interest. He was also ridiculously cute, pretty even, though you knew he’d hate it if you voiced your thoughts on it.

“You shouldn’t go on that date,” Epel finally stated, voice quieter than normal. His eyebrow was still twitching but he had wiped the frown off his face, his arms now crossed.

“Why?” You ask again, your favorite question of the night it seemed. It was like plucking hairs but the pain would be worth it if you could finally get some form of a confession out of him. His cheeks bloomed a beautiful pink that went perfectly with his hair, a true masterpiece that you could sit and admire all night. You’re already drafting the message in your head to apologize for canceling the date, but Epel was being too cute for you to concentrate for long.

“You know why.” Epel’s scowl is more of a pout and you tried not to give yourself away by fawning over it, taking a little breath before turning in your seat to face him head on. Epel is surprised by your sudden move, looking at you like he was prepared to fight to not get thrown out of your room.

“I want you to say it.”

Epel seemed to think for a moment before his leg shot out, hooking around the leg of your chair and suddenly pulling you closer to him. It was a shocking move and one that displayed some strength, your heart fluttering more by the minute. Who taught him that? He wore such a serious look on his face you thought you might get a scolding first before a confession, but what you got was even better.

“I want you to stay here… with me.”

 “Oh, but I’m practically all done up with nowhere to go! It’d be a crime not to go out tonight.”

“Th-then I’ll take you out!” Epel’s response was the boldness you had been waiting for, your eyes lighting up as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Doesn’t it feel good being honest~? Now get lost so I can get ready for our date, I can at least surprise you with a nice outfit, right?” You ushered him from your room with a playful ‘shoo, shoo!’ while he was still reeling from the feeling of your lips on his skin, standing frozen in front of your door even after you had closed it.

He didn’t even notice when Rook walked by, singing about how love was in the air.

[nie7027]

Something I love about the recent development in Fabiniku is despite how upset Jinguungi is with Tachibana's decision to remain as a girl is it only takes him 1 day to go "Allright we need to come up with a way to fake you always were a girl back in the real world"!!!

That's so lovely!

Because

Because he still isn't happy with Tachibana's desicion.

He's doesn't accept it per se.

He's still mad about losing male Tachibana, his oasis...

BUT HE WILL SUPPORT TACHIBANA NO MATTER WHAT *coughbecause he loves hercough*

AND HE WILL COMMIT CRIMES AND FORGE AS MANY IDS AS NECESSARY AND EVEN ASK THE GODDESS HE DESPISES SO MUCH FOR HELP JUST SO TACHIBANA CAN LIVE THE HAPPY LIFE SHE WANTS.

And he's if anything practical, so hes already thinking about the future and trying to find a solution to the problems, boring in comparison to their current lives but necessary, they will eventually have to face.

And another thing I love is that disagreement. They way it's being handled.

Because Jinguungi not immediately accepting Tachibana is a girl could have been used as a cheap way to get some angst.

It could have been used as a quick conflict between the protagonists to add some tension to the story.

But no.

Tachibana has all the right to be upset with Jinguungi not accepting her new identity, to feel betrayed... but no.

She is instead patient.

She knows Jinguungi needs some time to process and accept this sudden turn.

She understands Jinguungi isn't being a dick just because.

She is giving him the grace of believing he would never hurt her like that.

But she's also being very firm about what she wants. She's setting her boundaries and allowing Jinguungi the time and space to adapt to it.

And it pays off.

Because she knows him and she loves him. And she knows he loves her.

And I don't mean this necessarily as romantic love (even though it is obvious that is also there) because before everything Jinguungi and Tachibana are best friends.

Jinguungi had always been there for Tachibana, and she knows this wont be different and he will keep being there for her.

So that's why Tachibana isn't upset (despite having all the right to be) with Jinguungi rejecting her identity at first, why she seems so unaffected by it.

Because she knows Jinguungi will eventually come around. Because she trust the love they have built all these years.

[hrodvitnon]

Sudden thoughts about Kolibri Blockwart Crushing on Isa.

Kolibri starts off as an aloof hardass because Blockwart duties because her job basically requires her to be a bit invasive (considering her patrol involves the Itou bookstore). Kolibri isn't particularly bothered by this since she's not meant to be friendly and she has to make sure the Gestalts under her jurisdiction are Good Dutiful Citizens of the Nation.

This starts to change when her patrol first brings her to the Itou bookstore and Kolibri encounters Isa in the midst of stocking shelves - and there's a banned book right there, oh dear.

Very awkward first meeting because Isa's inwardly panicking while trying to keep a straight face, but Kolibri feels all of it, and even picks up on some darker feelings in Isa; not necessarily aimed at the Nation (though there may very well be bad feelings for the Nation) but towards herself.

Kolibri doesn't know how to respond to someone dealing with self-loathing on top of trying not to commit thought crime around a bioresonant Blockwart. All she knows is there's a girl on the verge of crying right in front of her and it's not because of anything Kolibri did. Wait, is Kolibri about to cry too?

ABORT. THIS IS A PROBLEM FOR FUTURE KOLIBRI.

Future Kolibri becomes Present Kolibri and must deal with the Awkwardness again. This time Isa's at the register, which is good; less cramped, Kolibri can hear herself think better. Isa thinks the books are the problem, please don't shut us down we literally have no other means of income.

Kolibri senses that twinge of self-loathing in Isa again and it gets surprisingly dire - ("mom and dad and Erika wouldn't be having these problems if you weren't born") - and sort of panic-word-vomits that "No, the books are fine, it's whatever, and technically I haven't read them so I can't personally know if they're illegal for good reason or not anyway."

("OH GOD PLEASE DON'T BE SAD FOR REASONS THAT AREN'T ME BEING AN ASSHOLE PER THE NECESSITIES OF MY JOB I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS")

Why is Kolibri attempting to be nice? She's a blockwart. Blockwarts aren't supposed to be nice.

Isa doesn't know what's going on either. "Do you... want some tea?" "Fucking don't mind if I yes."

Tea is had. Kolibri can't just Ignore the illegal books because that's being bad at her job which is grounds for decommissioning. But she also doesn't want Isa to be sad either, because that has a weird effect on her.

"Hey, why don't I just, you know, read the books and decide if they're okay to be sold or not? Also if they are seditious then maaaaybe you can keep an eye out for anyone who might be looking to purchase potentially seditious literature, but it's not like you're an official informant or anything you're just Being A Good Citizen, very definitely. Totally. Your store will be fine." ("PLEASE DON'T BE SAD")

A weird dynamic ensues. Kolibri borrows books of dubious legality for reading (totally for investigative purposes). Isa seems to relax more around Kolibri. They start conversing. Isa shares little things. It's not fraternization, not really, it's just a way of learning about someone in a less invasive way! Bioresonance can be fine with big crowds, but individuals need a finer touch!

Speaking of touch, Kolibri offers to help with the shelves during one visit. Isa thinks it's very cute when Kolibri shows off her telekinesis just to put books away but it's not cute, bioresonance can be dangerous! Isa's laughing, but it's different from when other Protektors heckle Kolibri for being so small.

They start talking about stuff. Stuff outside of the Very Safe Agreed Upon Topics. Kolibri is very interested in how bright Isa's eyes get when she gets excited about something. They talk about things over tea. Simple everyday things. Isa is growing happier, and somehow that makes Kolibri happy.

Isa gives Kolibri a book. It could be legally dubious or totally innocent, but it's special because she noticed Kolibri seemed interested in it and just. Gives it to her. Maybe there's a slight brush of their fingers touching and it causes a mutual jump between them. Reflexively Kolibri looks up at Isa because some people don't like being touched and... were her eyes always green?

She catches a new feeling from Isa. It's not the self-loathing or fear. It's warm and light, a little nervous, but it's a curious wanting thing, and... oh. Oh. Oh no.

[dexjarxenoengage]

Metaphor: Refantazio is my GOTY of 2024, and is slowly becoming one of my favorite video games of all time. As per such, I’m going to be a tad bit defensive and biased towards its story beats and characters (both of the good and bad). One such arguments that I want to address is the morality of its antagonists. More specifically, Joanna, the Holy woman responsible for the kidnappings in Martina. And compare them to Zorba, Louis’s right hand man.

This post is NOT for the sake of defending the actions of both of these characters. This is post for dissecting their actions in the story, but more importantly, how the characters react to the actions of these two antagonists.

Naturally, there will be spoilers.

From: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/YMMV/MetaphorReFantazio

“Joanna in the Martira arc is portrayed with a degree of sympathy and is treated as such in-universe by the heroes. However, the extent of her malice, despite her tragic backstory, led many players to struggle with sharing the party's sentiments. Joanna has been feeding innocent townspeople—including children—to a monster, driven by her desperation to feel like she had regained her lost child. Her backstory is undeniably tragic: her mixed-race child was murdered by a nanny fueled by superstition and prejudice. But the sheer cruelty of her actions—sacrificing innocents ultimately for revenge—makes her difficult for many players to empathize with. While the party does not condone her crimes and instead directs their anger toward the societal forces that pushed her to such extremes, they remain strikingly kind to someone who inflicted the same tragedy she experienced upon countless others, with only Strohl really pushing back in response but ultimately viewing her the same way as everyone else in the end. Though Joanna is ultimately executed for her actions and it is heavily implied that her descent into madness was driven by Melancholia corruption—born of her regret and a sudden moment of clarity after the defeat of her "child." For some players, the level of sympathy Joanna receives can be jarring, given the scale of her atrocities. This is in complete opposition to Zorba, who — while his actions are indeed monstrous — actually deserves more sympathy.”

The reason why I make this is not questioning whether or not Joanna and Zorba deserve sympathy or not. This post is meant to be a question of why Will and the others feel the way they do to both of them. So in order to illustrate my point, I need to explain the crimes these characters commit and how this weighs on the Kingdom at large, as well as the characters themselves. Personal grudges IMO play a huge factor in this post.

- The weight of crimes

As far as crimes are concerned behind both Joanna and Zorba, we need to look at how it affects everyone involved: both the characters themselves and the kingdom.

Due to Zorba’s long term presence in the main story in comparison to Joanna, I have to talk about him first.

Zorba is responsible for using the Grand Cathedral to steal the Royal Scepter to give to Louis. Taking into account what Louis planned on doing with Royal Scepter, and why he sent Zorba to get in the first place, as well as Zorba being the only one who knew Louis’s endgame from the start, Louis’s on turning the nation into Human Monsters has been his plan from the start.

And this is without mentioning his “Day of Calamity” that he was likely planning on by Louis’s order. Zorba reanimated the Louis brought to the Royal Funeral with the intention of it destroying all of Grand Trad, and young and old people in it besides.

Why is this important? Because, to the people that say Zorba deserved more sympathy in comparison to Joanna, forget that Zorba was going to unleash an undead Human out on a city with many people in it (including the young Maria who had just lost her father, Grius).

Speaking of Grius, this adds to the list of “personal” sins on Zorba’s list. Zorba reanimated Grius (who died at Louis’s hand) to use him to attack Will, Strohl, Gallica, and soon-to-be new ally Hulkenburg. All of whom have personal connections to Grius, and all were grief-stricken and powerless to save him.

Even if Zorba did not survive the battle at the Cathedral, the dude already has a lot of blood on his hands. And this without taking into account what other sins he may have committed while under Louis’s service, we don’t know when exactly did he became devoted to Louis.

(Of course, this isn’t to say that Zorba’s reanimating powers are in and of itself sinful. But Zorba has used this power to not only attack innocent people, but use Grius to attack our heroes who were close to them. To use another character as an example, Veyle from Fire Emblem Engage has the power to revive people as Zombies, but would rather not use that power to hurt people (among other reasons). Having that power and using it to hurt people is what makes that power evil.)

Within the time we had with Zorba until he was revealed to have been alive all along, Zorba has helped attack the Cathedral to further Louis’s plans for ending the world. Has used a friend to attack his other friends. And finally, was going to send a human to destroy Grand Trad, which would have resulted in the causalities of many young and old people alike. And people expect me to believe that Zorba deserves sympathy?

Now we look at Joanna in comparison. Joanna has indeed been sending many people (especially children) to gallows that use the jaws of a baby human out of hatred towards the world for the death of her child.

Why is this important? Because the scale of crimes IMO is just important as the crime itself, maybe even more from a certain perspective. Joanna’s actions, from what we know, is locked exclusively behind Martina. The only time people that aren’t necessarily connected to Martina are the people who just happened to be unfortunate to be at the wrong place at the wrong time (as Klinger can attest to). And the only action that affects the party (outside of the fact that Strohl hates humans because of the destruction of his home, which is another personal sin on Zorba to add to the list) is Heismay, who is a recent addition. And even then, as we will get into later, Heismay can’t bring himself to truly hate Joanna.

Zorba’s actions on the other hand were clearly affecting a wide range of characters and the world of Metaphor at large through his actions; both morally and personally. For the entire party, Zorba is responsible for briefly turning the recently deceased Grius against them (who is with the person responsible for killing him). For Strohl, Zorba’s actions was going to repeat an event that has haunted him all his life, not helped by the fact that he an devote ally to the person responsible for both Halia’s destruction, and Grius’s death. For Hulkenburg, it’s also personal, outside of Grius’s reanimation, Hulkenburg sees Zorba as betrayal towards the oath of knighthood (something which is big deal for any story involving knighthood).

- The reason for said crimes and the response to it:

The thing that the people who play this game have a problem is how the party responds to these characters who have done these things. Zorba was discriminated his whole life for being Mustari/Clemar hybrid (not only are Mustari are the second most hated race in Metaphor, second only to Elda, but Hybrids are often mistreated as well, as seen with Maria’s Social Link). Not helped by the fact that many people were disgusted by his ability to reanimate (not that I blame for that). The reason for why he is so devoted to Louis is because he didn’t judge him for his race or his abilities.

Zorba is hated by the party (especially the starting party members). All of whom, during their encounter in the cathedral call him out for his hypocrisy (such as when the characters uses a portrait of Louis to get Zorba out of their way, it’s fine to disrespect the dead, but bad if Louis is insulted), but also refuses to excuse his actions just because of his suffering.

• Zorba (talking to Will): “Surely an Elda like you know what it’s like! To be an outcast, to be every fool’s scapegoat! They call us “lesser tribes”! They loathe us! Their speeches of tribal harmony mean nothing when every day, they cheat and abuse us! Do you think I didn’t believe, once? That I never dared to hope my efforts made me equal? Then I heard exactly what they think of us… “The lessers are expendable. Send them to the fore and they shall be our living shields” They doomed us and laughed as we died.

• Hulkenburg: “But these atrocities make you no better than your oppressors!”

We move on to Joanna, who lost her child (who was also a hybrid and illegitimate child) to the nurse who was sent to look after her child. All the while, even her family was glad the half blooded child died. And finally, her husband was ratted off of Martina, leaving her alone. Let’s see how the characters react to her story in the midsts of her heinous crimes…

• Strohl (who, along with the others, have witnessed Homo Jaluzo devour Morris (he deserved it): “This is your child? It just devoured a man! All I see is a mindless monster!”

• Joanna (who is enraged by this response to her “child.”): And a monster is all I see…when I upon the world! People are beasts of fear and superstition. Murderers without remorse. I have done nothing they’ve not done to me. Abominations… They are the unnatural. They deserve to die. They should all be so glad to nourish my child. My dear… sweet… child.

• Hulkenburg: A mother’s love should nurture. But this is beyond the pale…

• Strohl: And you? Do you not condemn her? She kidnapped children, murdered them in cold blood, and would see you blamed for it!

• Heismay: In truth… I know this woman’s pain, all too well. In the name of her child, she was willing to turn against the entire world. Behind her atrocities… I see the devotion of a bereaved parent. You found yourself unjustly in a terrible darkness… and I struggle to blame you. Burying your own child is unbearable. Grief and madness fill the gaps where love had been. But my eyes were opened. These people helped me see. The only way to beat the darkness… is to confront it! Step by meagre step… You must walk back to our reality! Look upon that… And see true that it is not the child you once loved!

The main difference between Joanna and Zorba’s actions and parts in the story is how the characters react to them. Strohl, as the Human Slayer is naturally appalled by Joanna’s actions and the human himself, and ask for Heismay’s response to this. Heismay, who was also a victim of the death of a child in a world filled with discrimination. Heismay calmly understands why Joanna would take the path she did while still making it clear that what she’s doing is wrong and she needs to face reality and accept her child’s death.

Heismay knows full well that, in another world, Heismay could have been the kidnapper everyone deemed him to be. I think that’s why Heismay doesn’t fully condemned Joanna to the extent that could (and perhaps, should) have.

- The aftermath of crime

Another crucial factor in how Zorba and Joanna are treated by the characters in the story is the aftermath of their respective defeats. Zorba outright ignores Hulkenburg’s point of calling out Zorba for his actions. Joanna, on the other hand, comes to see the error of her ways. In fact, IMO, this is the most important aspect about this discussion. Joanna admits her wrongs and makes the choice to atone, Zorba did not.

After Joanna is defeated, she makes good on her initial promise to give Martina’s support to the Prince if Will and the others succeeded in solving the case. By offering up her head for the Exhibition for the Brave… As well as clearing Heismay’s name.

While we are on this topic, the reason for why the party are even in Martira to begin with. They wanted to turn in a criminal for the Tournament for the Throne in order to gain the political support needed to get Louis’s attention so that the team can find a way to break the curse over the Prince. So accepting Joanna’s atonement is the right thing to do from a mission/political standpoint, not just a moral standpoint.

And another thing, the fact Joanna kept her word. If Joanna wanted to, as Strohl pointed out, she could use this chance to escape and continue to cause trouble elsewhere. But Joanna stood true to the promise she made to the very end. And thanks to this action of choosing to trust Joanna’s word, the party is one step closer to defeating Louis.

Joanna vs Zorba

• Will: The rumours painted Heismay as a criminal, but I chose to believe in him. I want to extend Joanna the same grace. A country where no one’s future is written in stone… If that’s our goal, then this is a chance we have to take.

Gallica may think Will is too kind here, which is probably what most of the fandom on this moment may think, but just remember that Will was going to kill Louis to break the curse. He’s not as soft as Gallica (or the audience) may think.

- Sympathy (or lack thereof) for the wicked:

I have seen the Martira Arc plenty of times, along with Joanna’s execution, and I wouldn’t say the party was overtly sympathetic towards Joanna like people think. The only person who was the closest to that point is Heismay and Will. Strohl only is more lenient with Joanna because she made the choice to repent (and again, she kept her word when should could’ve gone against it).

And again, thanks to this choice to atone, the Prince is one step closer in being king and defeating Louis.

Now again, we go back to Zorba, who had been revealed to be alive all along, helping Louis’ goals in the shadows, during which, he has transformed his body into a Human. What does Zorba do not long after he is hinted to be alive? Continue to help Louis’s plan, ensuring that Forden dies (not that he didn’t have it coming). When Louis is about to kill a Church family in order to get the party to come clean about the Prince’s survival, he causally watches and mocks Fidelio’s death.

Afterwards, Zorba is directly responsible for the death of the original Prince, and had Will given up and not accepted being the Prince’s Archetype, this act would given Louis the final victory. On top of that, there was another corpse found prior to the reveal of the Prince’s death.

Again, this is why I can’t agree with the people that say Zorba deserved more sympathy. When you think about it, not only does Zorba’s actions affect them personally alongside the entire Kingdom, but Zorba lasted longer than Joanna for his actions to affect the story itself. I’m not saying that the characters shouldn’t have tried to make some effort to get him to understand what he was doing was wrong, like with Joanna, but you can tell how much his actions affected them.

And it’s not to say that the others don’t sympathize with him to some extent, once we get to his final fight, the others are horrified to see his human-mutated hand. And after the fight, Basilio (last party member, and also knew him from their time with Louis) understood Zorba and showed no anger towards him. And once Zorba does die by his own hand, which the boys did try to save him, the others sadly noted that he chosen his path. Even at the end, when the characters do try to understand him, unlike Joanna, he was beyond saving. Or rather, he didn’t want to be saved by anyone who wasn’t named Louis. Hulkenburg, in comparison to their battle at the Cathedral, does commend Zorba for his loyalty, even if it was towards a madman.

To the people that say that Zorba deserved more sympathy, did Zorba himself made an effort to understand what he did was wrong like Joanna did? No. Was there any implications that Zorba was being manipulated by Melancholia? Given that he showed no signs of calming down or changing his mindset after being beaten TWICE, I would say no.

This whole section may seem like a contradiction of us questioning the sympathy level of these two characters. Again, let me remind you, this was a question on the morality of the characters themselves. Every party member may be flawed people who also have anxiety in their hearts, but remember that they gained their Archetypes by learning to channel those feelings in a healthy manner.

All of them do have a strong sense of justice, if handled differently for each character. And it’s not like having a personal reason for standing against evil is bad thing, considering that’s the reason Strohl awakened to his Archetype in the first place.

You can question the characters all you want, everyone will have different answers compared to mine. But Strohl and the others only showed grace to Joanna because she chose to atone for her sins, whereas Zorba did not. These characters are about fairness, and IMO, they did well on that front.

[tobiasdrake]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy 143 - No Need for War Crimes, Thank You

I can feel the tension rising again. I have a lot of problems with Moko's account and they're pulling my mind in a thousand directions at once. The general picture makes sense and adds up to alarm bells but the details don't fit into place.

That's a valid point. We have no idea what their motives are or why we're doing this and we have observed behavior that they're more interested in the Defense Room than in hurting us. For all we know, Moko and Hiruko could be sitting in two cages in the courtyard of Last Offense Academy or something.

Yes, Kako. Shouma's coming at this from an animal rescue perspective. We know that.

But he's also right. She's clearly human. We don't need to commit war crimes to prove it.

Okay, Imposter Moko didn't know about this, so I think that proves that she wasn't impersonating Nozomi during the battle where we captured Bayonetta.

I still think something's been going on behind those closed doors during the last week that Nozomi's been in there. I just can't imagine what. It would make so much sense if Nozomi's been sedating Moko but there's no reason for Nozomi to do that and also Moko's the one under suspicion here.

It does seem likely that Nozomi's constant presence in the room was stopping Moko from... something. As if the Imposter was biding her time and waiting for Nozomi to leave her alone before springing this sudden revival on us. It can't be a coincidence that Nozomi's unexpected 24-hour absence triggered her to "miraculously recover".

But what is she doing now that she couldn't have just gotten up and done with Nozomi there?

Where did you think it was going, Tsubasa? That was obviously going to be something Shouma had to take care of; I kinda just figured we all knew that had to be done and just weren't going to talk about it because of how gross it is.

I don't know what to do with this information about her not eating meat, though. This feels important but I cannot fathom why. I'll tuck that away.

You're lying to us. I can feel you lying to us. I might not have seen you Vent but I know you were not doing Tasks this whole time.

Interesting refusal, Imposter. Would having to try and physically perform as Moko give the game away? Do you lack the real Moko's brute strength?

Gaku, don't you dare

If she's a Commander then it might be a legitimate threat.

Come to think of it, maybe that's why she was down for all that time. Maybe she expended a lot of her strength forcing her way through the Undying Flames and legitimately did need the time to recover before springing whatever trap she has in mind on us.

She might genuinely mean, "Sorry guys, I'm not strong enough yet (to take my Commander form and kill you all)!"

You noticed it too, didn't you?

You noticed how wrong she feels.

This is going to get bad, but I still don't understand why it hasn't blown up already.

...we should assign a second guard to Bayonetta. Shouma's not going to be enough.

[sunnynwanda]

Black hole

Part 2 for the Wedding bells snippet. The next parts can be found here and the finale.

The moment their eyes land on the ring, Hero jerks up. The slumber is chased from their eyes as their pulse picks up. It seems to be racing against time itself, frantic to comprehend the wave of heat crushing over Hero's head. They sit up in their bed, staring at their left hand. They know this ring. They've seen it one too many times in their dreams to forget its familiar weight on their finger.

They fold their elbow, allowing their hand to balance in the air. It doesn't feel foreign at all. Though it should. Hero was never a fan of jewellery, and it's not like their line of work allowed it, so they never wore much. But this, it feels comfortable. Like it belongs on their finger. Like it's always been there.

Hero exhales loudly, waving their hands over their face to counter the heat that blushes their cheeks. The movement sends a sharp jolt of pain between their ribs, causing them to stop with a hiss. Wait. Hero carefully peels their shirt off, examining their wound - a treated wound, mind you.

How the hell... and who..? 

They stop mid-thought. It seems they attempted to ignore a certain constant in their dreams for far too long. It's time they found out the truth of what was happening with their mind and, apparently, now body as well. And there's only one way to do it.

The bell chimes, announcing the arrival of a new customer. The coffee shop is rather empty for a Saturday morning, and Hero assumes not many were willing to wake up this early for a cup of coffee. Only two customers are waiting for their orders, and three more are at the counter.

Hero gets in line behind Villain, standing a little closer than necessary to whisper into their ear. "Hi."

"Jesus Christ," Villain jumps, glancing around to locate the intruder. "You scared the fuck out of me!" They complain, turning back aroun to face the counter and avoid Hero's scanning eyes.

"Since when are you scared of me?" Hero chuckles at their back, unfazed by the hostility. They need answers, and Villain's mood is of no concern to them. "Is that a new development?"

"Fuck off, I'm not committing a crime," their nemesis retorts, rolling their eyes at the customer in front of them that is taking their sweet time choosing a goddamn drink. Villain cannot fathom what could be taking this long.

"Are you not?" Hero muses, nudging their arm as they come to stand side by side. Villain's face is void of emotions despite the harshness of their words.

"We're in a coffee shop - you think I'm that desperate?" Villain quirks a brow. They sigh in relief when the person in front of them finally makes a choice, stepping aside to wait for their order.

"I don't know," Hero admits, but as Villain steps to the counter, they think of a way to test the waters. "Be a darling - grab me a coffee."

With that, Hero walks towards the corner table. Villain is stunned by the sudden change in their interaction style but shrugs and - much to Hero's surprise - obeys.

When they place the paper cup in front of Hero, they only hum in appreciation. As Villain sits opposite them, Hero decides to keep their charade up. They shrug their coat off, visibly wincing at the excessive movement.

"Does it still hurt?" Villain asks without thinking. Hero can bet they don't realise what they said yet. Just how far away is your mind?

"Yeah, it's a nasty cut," they take a sip of their coffee and have to stop a satisfied groan from escaping. Villain nods, staring out of the window absentmindedly.

Hero watches their face, noting their bloodshot eyes and bitten lips, before glancing at their long fingers wrapped around their cup and not finding a matching band. "Where's your ring?"

It's entirely out of the blue, and Villain is positively out of it because they reply before they can process the question and its implications. "I left it on the sink."

"After washing my blood off your hands?" Hero's intense gaze finally manages to draw Villain's attention.

"Wait, what?" Their face remains composed, but the storm in their eyes is a combination of shock and horror. Their fingers grip the poor paper cup until it bends in, causing the hot liquid to spill over their fingers, slightly burning their skin. Villain can't feel it.

"It was real, wasn't it?" Hero asks though the answer is clear now. They grab a napkin and reach for Villain's hand, forcing them to place the cup down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," it's a poor attempt at a save, given the tightness in their voice, but Villain had to try. Their brain is foggy with anxiety and something else they won't name because hope is a luxury they cannot afford. Not unless they are sure.

"Mhm," Hero nods and finishes with their fingers, discarding the napkin on the table before looking up at them. Villain struggles to keep their face emotionless when Hero's palm covers their knuckles gently. "So you guessed I was wounded?"

"You're always wounded. I'm used to your clumsiness," Villain jerks their hand away from Hero's grip, trying their best to sound snarky. "Tactical research, is all."

"Does knowing my coffee order provide a tactical advantage as well?" Hero quips, leaning back against their chair. Their ribs feel like they are about to crumble in, but their wound doesn't seem to be the sole reason.

"If I choose to poison you," Villain hates the way their stomach turns when Hero gives them a lopsided grin, their lips parting enough to reveal their front teeth.

Villain loves that goddamn grin so fucking much. 

"You mean to tell me it was all a dream?" Hero takes a sip of their drink, watching Villain fumble over the brim of their cup.

"Of course," Villain confirms in a decently confident tone, twisting the napkin between their fingers until it rips. "In what world would I marry you?"

Got you.

"Sure," Hero has to press their lips together to keep their smile at bay. They wait for a moment to make sure their voice is stable and to let the tension brew. If Villain's twitching is any sign at all, they are doing a fantastic job of it. "I didn't mention the wedding, though."

Shit. 

Villain bites their tongue as hard as they can. They taste blood, but that's what they get for not keeping their godforsaken mouth shut. Hero's stare is unrelenting and curious.

"You know I always feel sick when you use your powers on me. No wonder I've been so sick recently," Hero is right, they know that. They know everything about Hero, in fact. It doesn't make this any easier. "You're gonna have to explain what's going on."

"I-" Villain sighs, shaking their head. The sheer terror of telling Hero what's happening overwhelms them. There is no way they can put into words just what they've been going through.

The scope of their misfortune borders catastrophic ranges, with them caged in the very centre of the black hole that keeps compressing inside, threatening to shatter the universe over their head while they watch.

All they can do is watch.

Over and over again until their mind breaks.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Masterlist

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