#but the responses earlier really made me realize how likely the trauma started so much earlier than I thought + just bc i had “accepted” it

[iliothermia]

I really appreciate those who gave me some advice this morning on here about types of therapy, the conversation made me realize that the original events that created my PTSD likely were not the ones I thought they were. I've contacted some therapists who specialize in EMDR and loss trauma and hoping that will help some. Thank you! :)

[generic-sonic-fan]

Hi! Just in case you're still doing the ship chart asks, i'll ask for Shadow x the Commander. I'm gonna have to explain a lot on how I got here (i don't think anyone else has made a case for it on this website before) so please bear with me for a bit lol

My first point of interest... I genuinely think the Commander is meant to mirror Shadow's own journey in a way (both in SA2 and Shth i mean). The details vary but it stands that either through manipulation or general lack of information, they're both driven to seek revenge against eachother for their childhood best friend/sister figure, Maria : to Shadow, GUN, humanity and therefore the world, is responsible. To the Commander, Shadow (along with his two dads) is responsible. But in the end, they're able to see the situation with more clarity. Shadow realizes that Maria loved the planet despite all the flaws of its inhabitants, respecting her wish for her sake... And although those feelings aren't explored that much in depth, i think the Commander realizes something similar too, that Shadow cared about Maria a lot and in a way is finally able to see the kindness she saw in Shadow too...

I also believe that in a subtle way, the commander's arc is an echo to Shadow's search for the truth. Even though he starts out convinced Shadow is the evil one, that viewpoint is challenged when he actually faces him... (in the only scene they have together, the Commander leaves their interaction uncertain and confused, when a minute earlier he was determined to get rid of Shadow for good... just one short interaction with Shadow was enough to shake his resolve and question his convictions. The commander was one piece of the puzzle Shadow needed to solve, but the truth was just as lost on the commander as it was on him)

All this to stay. Shadow's journey of finding the truth in its whole and putting the past behind you is also the commander's, methinks. They're two people coming from opposite sides of the story, they deeply mirror yet contrast eachother... i thought that was really brilliant. So i'm really invested in what their interactions would be like after this game.

Canon hasn't really brought back the commander in the past 20 years (i heard shadow gens would change that though! hurray for me), so this next point would be about what their dynamic (relationship?) might look like post-shth.

We know the commander is pretty remorseful, and goes so far as to invite Shadow to his house... not sure if Shadow would have accepted though, lol. But either way i do believe the commander wanted to bury the hatchet for good and is determined to keep it that way, even if Shadow is still a menace sometimes.

As for Shadow... there is that one scene in Chronicles.

(It's hilarious to me. its canonicity is dubious but i couldn't not mention it)

Shadow doesn't like humans still so I think he has little respect for the commander lol. I feel like while the commander really tries to get along with shadow, the guy remains pretty ambivalent to him at best ha.

However, with their shared past and all, there's potential for them to grow closer on that basis... maybe a sort of confidant relationship. The past isn't something either of them are defined by, but it still can't help but hurt at times... I imagine it would be especially hard for Shadow, who could still be recovering memories of that time and whose trauma seems so much fresher in his mind. In those moments, the commander might be the person in the world who understands his pain the most, and as someone who's lived with it for decades and managed to build a new life around it, his support would be really valuable, even if Shadow doesn't accept it at first. I think that vulnerability and the emotional intimacy that comes with it would be the key for a more intimate relationship to develop between the two... they'd become really important part of each other's lives this way, irreplaceable

Sorry about the huge wall of text haha. even without the shippy stuff, I find their dynamic really interesting and i like thinking of their possible future together... it wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows, probably really messy in the beginning. I believe they could have a sweet ending together though. it's the rarepair that's closest and dearest to my heart and i'd go as far to say i think it would be more popular if they were the same species! That's not the case though, so i'll keep spreading my propaganda >:)

Anyways, I'm excited to know what you think! Even if you don't see it, I hope you got something out of my ramblings

You're honestly kind of insane for this but you know what? I respect it.

Made it into a messy QPR since while their chronological ages match, their mental ages don't quite mesh for me. You go off though, sonadowkismesis. This is a genuine rarepair and I enjoyed thinking outside the box for this.

[naffeclipse]

Ok, finally I can sit down and write this!! XD

Ahhh, what a chapter! Lots of new info, a new routine is starting to set in, and we had a bit of a surprise there at the end!!

So first off, we have that slow testing of the waters that is now a little more hopeful and I love it! So much of this chapter had me smiling widely and made my heart melt at so many points!

Like, first of all how the hunter teases the boys for "showing off" hehe! And it got me thinking! Because it never quite occurred to me how much they must have been holding back physically! Obviously they were careful not to exhibit any obviously demonic features, but the fact is that they never really went beyond what an animatronic their size should have been capable of. Always kept at a speed that seemed possible for their form when y/n was paying attention. never did anything that seemed far out of their reach. And when those things must have been so easy if they could have just done it, I bet it got at least a bit tiring hiding what comes naturally for them. It must be so freeing to be able to truly be themselves now! And of course, if they get the chance to show off a little in order to impress their heart haha!

And Oh. My gosh. The moment when Moon was startled by the crossbow! It caught my attention because aside from losing y/n (physically or metaphorically), the boys have not really shown fear. They themselves admit it's not something they tend to feel. They're always on the lookout and not easily taken by surprise, but they could have encountered at least a couple hunters before the one in the cornfield. They know what happens during an exorcism so there must be some instinctual fear when it comes to a hunter's weapons. But even more than that, I wonder if this is similar to y/n's fear of them growing bored and deciding to kill them in the future. But the boys may have imagined worse scenarios in which the hunter decides they actually are a danger and decides to take them by surprise, an attack when they least expect it. Even if they don't truly believe something like that will happen (and they could likely tell because of the heartbeat), the thoughts might have lingered and the sound of the unhooked crossbow put them on edge. (And in some way, that does confirm to y/n that they do consider them a strong person. They have seen them slay other cryptids, after all. So just what would it look like if the hunter, unhindered by the panic and the trauma that came from a demonic encountered, decided to play the long game to hunt them)

But then! Then when y/n realizes what exactly is happening they use the same words that Eclipse used to calm them!! And God if that isn’t such a neat little reversal of the dynamic so far. A promise that despite being someone that could hurt them the must, they will not. And it’s also a way to show the boys they accept their earlier reassurances. Trust is barely building, but Eclipse has repeated “You are safe” as basically a plea. To give them a chance. To beg y/n not to reject them. To try and not to be the source of their distress. And now the hunter is sincerely using those words back. As an apology and a promise. As reassurance. It’s like a direct response to the times the boys said it and I love it so much! 

And ooooo we get a conversation about the doppelgänger! Oh I can just imagine now, what their point of view must have been a couple of chapters ago. Before the reveal, the cryptid’s words were just an inconceivable (at least when in denial) lie and its dying scream just a way to hurt and mock them. But then it turned into a reality. How close the expression it mimicked must have looked to reality. The brief chase through the gully an eternity as every hope they had of this working out fine seemed to be disintegrating. And even when the worst had passed, the next whole day they just had no certainty that they would be allowed to stay at all. None of them are happy that the doppelgänger was right about how the reveal would go, but as y/n affirms, that was then and now is now. At the very least, it’s yet another way in which the hunter can see Sun and Moon’s more complex being.

(sidenote: Moon then not even shifting when y/n handles the holy water!! He believes them! They’re safe and the water in the in their heart’s hands presents no more danger to them than the unloaded crossbow! That’s just giving me so many feelings! ;w; )

Oh ho! We also get some more info about the sacred rules! I have some theories about Paahlott but at this point they’re pretty vague for what we know XD I have to wonder how she was able to summon them and why they all agreed to the sacred rules. Maybe their views were all already aligned with what she proposed, since other demons like Shoh seem to hold no fondness for the innocence of children. The defenders of the sacred rules at least seem to rather enjoy and care for the little ones on their own accord, rather than just protecting them with indifference! Lots to think about! Oh and also, it’s so sweet how the boys talk about their family and how they are already considering who would love y/n immediately. It’s such a needed pinch of domesticity sprinkled over the wild last couple of days!

I am also so here for the reflections the hunter makes as they see their true form once again! Knowing that there is good to be witnessed among cryptids, but also knowing that means the sadism is so much worse from those that chose it. Because now it’s not a belief that cryptids are merely mindless and driven by instinct like animals. Some might be, but demons certainly aren’t. So it gives much more significance to both acts of kindness and malice.

And ooooooh that vow and the saltshaker comes up again! In the very next sense in fact! I’m just trying to think of what possible scenarios the hunter might find themselves in to consider breaking the vow. Maybe during an attack the only way to protect themselves would be a salt circle. Maybe, there would be no likely way to perform an exorcism without affecting the boys so y/n keeps them at bay and tries to do it themselves so that they can save Vanessa without risk of losing the boys, even if it places the hunter at great risk themselves. Hmmmm!

And DFKGHSKLÑ the almost kiss though!! Boys please! XD I know they are very eager but gotta slow down a bit there kjdhgfjh And it’s a bit funny but it makes a lot of sense y/n isn’t ready yet, because, even with all the demonic cryptid situation, they have very literally spent a lot of time alone before they met the boys. I bet they didn’t really try for a serious relationship after the incident of their past, and with the animatronic friend it probably didn’t cross their mind as a possibility so far (maybe it would have eventually, but it wasn’t happening soon XD) Now everything is out in the open, Sun and Moon basically confessed to them right after the reveal and the realization that they already have been living together and know and care for each other so much is hitting them in the face all of a sudden! It’s familiar but new, just like everything about the situation, so I can’t blame them for panicking a little haha! Like, that’s a whole kiss!

But aaaahhh then it leads to such a show of trust! ;o; Eclipse says “You are scared” and so the hunter does what absolutely shows that’s not the case. This is the heart eating demon. The one that caused them nightmares after they saw him destroying the rake and consuming its heart. And they show them. They might not realize it, just meaning to get them to listen more closely and tell them that it’s excitement, not fear, but it’s still very much placing all the sharp bits of this demon so close to them. The sharp grin right up to their chest. And knowing fully that they will not be harmed. The boys will not try to rip their heart out. They are allowed close. Closer than anyone else. Because the hunter wants and trusts them to be.

But ough then the pain of knowing what happened to Henry! ;O; He thought he was dealing with Bonnie! No doubt the others had spoken about him! So there must not be actual info about him in the book. I wonder if it was written before the cornfield demon found him. Or if maybe in the book there is research that could be helpful, although it could be misleading if it was lying all along. And oof, of course, that would bring back some doubts. The fate of Henry’s daughter was decided because he trusted the wrong demon. Who’s to say another couldn’t do the same? And ah, it aches but it’s actually a good instinct for y/n to keep it in mind. They are deciding to trust, but not blindly. They already did that and it brought a lot of pain, even if it also brought a lot of good. Now they are considering all the evidence, which tells them the boys are sincere, but they won’t let themselves fall into denial. That’s something their heart probably couldn’t take if they ended up being wrong after all.

And then we continue with Vanessa! Oh these GPS marks have me so intrigued. Is she asking for help and the demon interfering? Is the demon setting a trap? What in the world does it mean! Hmmmm. Aaaah, I’m so worried about her! Not only is she suffering a lot, but what Eclipse said about exorcisms doesn’t bode well for her. As a hunter she must have a lot of strength and will to live, but it must be very tough to remain strong after the sheer amount of time she has been possessed. She must be incredibly tired D: Hhhhhhh knowing how Deep Dreams ends reassures me a little but oooough I can’t help but think it would be just as likely a scenario that she doesn’t make it. And how sad it would be. For y/n, who has been fretting over her, having to do what they must to vanish the demon, but in doing so sealing their friend’s fate. AAAAA the suspense!

But that’s just something you are great at, Naff! You always keep us on our toes! X3

And talking about keeping us on our toes! Oh I just knew those three strangers were not just gonna be passingly mentioned but I didn’t expect FEI to suddenly decide they were actually gonna do something about this! I have so many questions about this organization. Surely, if they are affiliated to the Pizzaplex and knew of both the demon and the vessel (maybe even the makers of the vessel), then it wouldn’t have taken so long to confirm right? The hunters certainly knew what to look for. So why? Were they using y/n as a test for the boys? Were they expecting the demon to kill them and when that didn’t happen they sent someone to take care of it? Just what is their deal?

And oh my gosh when I say that as soon as the female hunter started talking I immediately thought of Cafaro XD And then I gasped and pointed at her name when it came up gñklfjhsgñhj Like hello! Glad to see you! Time to get punched again! Okay bye! You are so lucky that in this life y/n is not a vigilante ready to stab your heart, but a very kind, life-treasuring soul! (Though they do both have a knife when fighting her which is a fun coincidence XD)

(side note (wow only 2 sidenotes this comment kdfhjg) : also very interested in that seal! I know y/n threw it to the ground, but maybe if they find out what it is, it could be used to force the demon into a vessel different then Vanessa, if they can lure it out! Then use that to exorcize it!)

Ok, ok, last thing I wanted to comment on was Singh! Aaahhh it was a bit bittersweet hearing him talk. The fact that he was so genuine about it. He so desperately wanted to save y/n and was trying to be reassuring. Like, he doesn’t blame them from the start. And even if he doesn’t listen, he pays attention. He notices the hand on y/n’s shoulder and assumes it means they are not free to speak. But also he does not miss the way in which Sun is protective of them, although he doesn’t stop to consider it as the others keep pressing the matter. Then when he is holding the hunter, he keeps trying to tell them that they don’t have to be scared anymore! Because they might be resisting out of the fear of retaliation from the demon! Or just because they’re confused because of the possession! And then, when he’s the only one conscious, and he sees them getting away he pleads with the demon! To just let them go and not hurt them. That they don’t have to do this! And wow, of course that would resonate with y/n. We hear similar words in the vampire episode. The hunter wanted to free someone else from their perceived suffering. Pleading to let them help. Help them stop them from hurting others. It’s pure kindness. If it was hatred or fear he might have let them just go without bringing attention to himself and risk the demon’s wrath. But he chose what he had as a last attempt of what he thought was the right thing to do.

And then, when there is no reason for the cryptid to pretend, he hears them ask their question. And he doesn’t know the meaning of it. This is another reality that will accompany the hunter if they let Eclipse stay. Allowing this means losing their source of income (even if they are already well off), and the organization that facilitates their job. What they have been all this time will become 10 times harder. So the boys ask again if they are sure. And y/n does not hesitate. And Singh’s world has been tilted. He might soon deny what he heard as a trick, but the doubt has probably been planted! He’ll be left to think about it all. Three hunters faced off against a demon and though the demon won, none of them are dead after all. 

I… got a lot of feelings for this side character that reminds us slightly of the hunter huh? kfdjhglskdjfg

But well, that’s all I have for now! Awesome chapter like always, Naff! I am so, so excited for what comes next and I just know it’s gonna have me clutching my heart! <3

Chaotik, I've been rereading this over and over and I'm not normal about your thoughts at all aldsfjalsdfasfd

Oh yeah, the boys get to behave more like themselves now that Y/N knows! It's a weight off of their shoulders and one less stress to worry about. Also, Y/N likes it!

"So just what would it look like if the hunter, unhindered by the panic and the trauma that came from a demonic encountered, decided to play the long game to hunt them)" <<< The boys have seen Y/N slay cryptids, monsters, and it would break their non-existent heart to see Y/N with that set look, committed to the hunt, focused on them.

AHH YESSS! I'm so happy you took note of how much that means to the boys to hear Y/N say "You're safe." It's such a fundamental moment because, yeah, that's exactly what the boys said to them, but now, it's from them. They mean it. It's true. They're all safe!!!

The doppelganger was a ghost haunting Eclipse for all that time, but now that the worst has passed and Y/N affirms that it might have gotten one little detail right, it never told them about this. About things being okay. And they are okay ♥

Oh ho, I'm glad you like Paahlott and the little lore drops! You're right that the demonic cryptids who agreed to the sacred rules already held affection for little ones. It was for their kindness that Paahlott summoned them. Likewise, Eclipse always had a tender spot for children, and the sacred rules were a simple thing to bind themselves to.

Yes, some cryptids have sentient were others are more mindless/animal-like, but demonic cryptids are a special case, and noting that they can choose good and evil (relatively for cryptids) is another blow for Y/N and their past trauma. The cornfield demon really is a special kind of cruel, but to balance that out, there's Eclipse, who's a very special kind of caring.

I am eyeing your theories on the vow and saltshaker so hard rn hehehe

Ahahah, yup, this is very new for Y/N, and sudden. There's a reason Y/N was pretty obvious to a robot kissing their injuries better. Y/N wanted to show their own love and trust and very real, reciprocated feelings. Y/N is feeling a lot, but it's not fear for their dear friend.

"That’s something their heart probably couldn’t take if they ended up being wrong after all." <<< Keep that in your back pocket for later :)

Ahhhh, thank you, babe! I know I've been teasing Vanessa for so long now, but we're gonna see her soon. Real soon.

About F.E.I.—They knew Y/N was traveling with a demonic cryptid for a long time. Another thing about F.E.I. is that they don't tell their employees everything. That's why the three hunters were so concerned/angry about Y/N.

Ahahha, I love your reaction to Cafaro! She's a fan-favorite (very punchable alsdjflasdf)

Oh ho, that's the last time that seal appears hehe

Ah, babe, I'm so happy you like Singh! He was really important to write for this scene. A lot of cryptid hunters are in Y/N's same boat of experiencing cryptid-related trauma, and most do it for good reasons, even Cafaro and Rowe despite their rough demeanor in that situation. They're people. Good people. Singh was truly concerned for Y/N and to hear that maybe Y/N isn't in danger after all, around a demonic cryptid, changed everything.

There are going to be consequences with F.E.I., unfortunately, but Y/N has chosen Eclipse.

Ahhh, thank you, babe! I always look forward to your comments! They bring me so much joy! ♥

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hey JWB!

Hope you are doing good!

I really wanted to know your opinion regarding Arnav's character development in the show! (I'm unaware if you've answered this earlier)

We all know that Arnav's childhood trauma made him truly Harsh & Ruthless, But then khushi comes into his life, and slowly his character growth starts taking place, I do believe that love can definitely have a tranformative effect on a person, However, love is not a magic cure-all and it's not a substitute for a professional help and personal growth, it's important to seek out a professional help! Also i have seen people becoming harsh in real life due to trauma and depression, but it takes a lot of professional help so that they can heal, I know ipk is set in a fictional world, but still there are many people in real life who are dealing with traumas just like Arnav, So it will be quite unrealistic for such people if they watch Arnav's character growth and start believing that one day they are going to have someone who can heal them completely, instead of seeking professional help, Because the fact is love is not a magic cure-all, That's why i feel like they should've shown Arnav seeking professional help along with Khushi's love, That would have made much more sense! What are your instance regarding this? Please let me know!

Hello Anon!

I am very good thank you :) I believe Arnav was one of the best written characters in the show and the most consistent. He does not change because of love, rather Khushi grows closer to him and is able to see his softer sides.

Arnav still has PTSD trauma from his parents' suicide after Khushi coming into his life - he even tells Khushi that slowly the more he fell for her, the lesser time he had to dwell on his trauma.

So in a way his loneliness went away but finding someone he loved. But you can see how his trauma ended up creating very damaged relationships, especially romantic ones.

Arnav doesn't heal because of Khushi, he gets better over time with his own effort.

The only time he actually is able to overcome his trauma is when he faces his grandma and realizes the fact of what happened. His father was a weak person. He hates his family. And Khushi tells him no matter how bitter the past was, it's still a part of his history that he needs to keep.

And what I love about the show is that Arnav's past still haunts him. Otherwise even after marrying the love of his life, he spends the start of his wedding night nearly crying in his arms about the whole debacle.

His past is written very humanely. He's able to live, love and laugh regardless. Just with a better support system he's able to smile more and more every single day. So they never present Khushi as a fix-all for his sadness, but as a companion with whom he starts sharing pieces of his life with.

Also Indian media RARELY shows mental health help. Especially back in 2012, expecting mainstream show to show psychiatry is rare. Especially on a channel that's very traditional (Star Plus). And I think given that they did an excellent job with Arnav and his mental health. I like to think he went to therapy sometime later in his life.

Idk if you watched the Rewind but whatever little pieces of Arnav narrating his own life sounds like someone who has been to therapy. He recognizes his irrational anger, is calmer, understands Khushi was legitimately wrong in situations but also recognizes how his response to her mistakes outweighed everything else.

He's less resistant to showing vulnerability, in fact he's open about the fact that he loves his wife, idiosyncrasies included.

And to me, that means a lot :)

Best,

Jalebi (you might want to check the navigation link)

[whenthechickencry]

Umineko EP4. Replay Part 7

I am crying at this scene of course, but I think the reasons why for that are obvious so I kind of want to focus on Beatrice's words here. Battler was merely the thing that started the cogs of fate, *one* of the causes, for people that think "Oh you got forgotten and that's why you kill people that just doesn't make sense" The game is, from the start of this plot point, being clear that is not in fact the case. Btw, Battler describing this as some stupid sin is fucking heartbreaking.

I fucking can't my heart is crushed yet again

Aaaaan Battler deals with this by calling Beato a moody, unstable bitch, aahhh Battler....

The word "responsibility" must be incredibly harsh to hear here, where is Battler's responsibility for his sin?

This is Beatrice attacking Battler's identity as comeback for what he did, of course. Ange knowing already is kind of interesting, I think it's stated later that after 1986 everyone knew, but you get your first taste of that here.

Battler can say this, ofc, but he's too busy having a mental breakdown to notice, lol.

list of people who lied to people's faces in the games spotted.

It's kind of interesting to see how Kasumi's words exactly mirror what Ange was saying earlier in the chapter and face her with vitriol, of course Kasumi deserves it for what she's doing to Ange but, they both had the life they intended for themselves suddenly taken from them and became unable to build a new life.

Again, it's hard to not see Ange's harsh criticism as harsh criticisms of herself, too. She literally started this journey to take out her trauma on Eva and make her into the culprit.

Ange starts noticing the similarities herself, too!

Ange's 101 course on understanding Umineko's themes!

I don't really think you can push the blame to a literal 6-year-old like this, though. The responsibility of this obviously lends itself towards Eva, but I can understand Ange is introspecting and trying to come to terms with her abuse here.

Ange has come a long way into understanding people she dislikes, I think what caused her to kind of revert in ep8 is also the fact Rudolf and Kyrie are people she *liked*. I think she still struggles with understanding people as having both good and bad and idolizes part of them and demonizes other parts.

I had forgotten this scene but as soon as they mentioned the magic to be friends with Mama and i remembered where they were going I became so sad aaaaa this scene kind of hard to read too. Especially once you think how many people expressed these kinds of sentiments to Maria....

This scene doesn't really shy away from its brutality, which I think makes it strong one. Dropping a slur might seem excessive but that *is* the sentiment expressed by real people towards people with autism in reality. The fact it isn't scared of showing that makes it stronger and more real, to me.

It is really, really funny that Ange's example of white magic is uh magical murder of a bunch of people. Asakusa is the one doing it, but.

Oh, I forget she even drops character at the end, lmfao. And then Ange fucking dies.

As much as Ange might have grown here, she still thinks her life is fundamentally broken and not worth living without her family coming back, to the point of destroying Beatrice for that purpose. Bernkastel is enabling her by telling her only worlds of isolation exist.

Beatrice is so fucking destroyed by now.... her voice is so sad. The way she desperately needs *someone* to be satisfied with her even if its a 9 year old.

This scene is so fucking good and I would struggle to describe it with just the chat log so I took the video.... the way Ange's sprite changes to crying, the way Beatrice comes to the realization and starts crying herself too.....

Beatrice could have refuted Maria here. Could have told her the secret of Ange's magic, and probably could have destroyed both her friendship with Sakutarou and Ange in the process and made Maria more dependent on her.. But she chose not to. She dearly cares for Maria and chooses the best for her even when it meant to step into a world where she saw no allies anywhere, a world where the only thing left to do in her mind was suicide.

Ange says while crying. This is obviously that is something above what Beato can do at this point in time, but Ange can't admit that, or else she would have to deal with the fact she sent Beatrice on a suicide march. I am not trying to demonize Ange, though. The same understanding that leads you to Beatrice also leads you towards understanding Ange.

I think the point of this red, Ange is my sister red, etc. Is to get you thinking about what the re means. Even if it's not an 'objective' truth it can still be declared in red as long as it is treated as true by the game.

And, as a last step in order to reach her goals, Ange rolls back any progress Beatrice has made into getting Battler to understand her. She is once again demonized in her mind and now he has activated his hero complex in order to get him to destroy her. Beatrice plays along because by now the only thing she wants is for all of this to end.

Well I don't have any comments here, Battler.

Beatrice....

[privateanxieties]

So. Immediately I must mention this before I forget:

He telegraphed emotions so loudly, it was as if she could hear his thoughts. He thanked her graciously, plead for her mercy, vowed his love to her—

This is right before she kicks him away from her. In light of what you said in response to my ask earlier, I realized I forgot to say that yes, that's exactly how I read this scene. Imagining that Peter was assaulting her being the thing that made her orgasm, and the subsequent realization that he was looking at her with love, must've fucked her up pretty bad. She's literally and figuratively unable to receive that love, to even believe it, nevermind bear it, just like Peter. She kicks it away. It's so overwhelming and yet thrilling, because it gives her power, when all it's even done before was make her vulnerable. Make her suffer.

Perhaps, also, when she kicked him away, she was doing something she could never do with john when he abused her? She couldn't fight back in the bathroom because she was paralyzed with fear and acceptance, but she blew up at Peter immediately after. Everything she could not do to john she did to Peter. The monster she feels she can control, in your words. I'm going to start bleating like a sheep because it's brillianttttttt

So, back to talking about love and trauma. You know, easy subjects to approach.

This final scene from C16 reminds me of much earlier in the story where we got glimpses into Honey's inner world and realized she does not love herself. She can't. She doesn't know how to do that. It also reminds me of the scene where she was high with Peter on the couch, and she confessed to how sick it all was, their whole relationship, but that she fucking loved it and that stuck with me also.

Peter's words to her from chapter 15, which overall was a punch in the gut (thanks mom), that she loves it when the bad men hurt her (paraphrasing here), are another piece of evidence towards this concept. Honey didn't know love growing up due to her mother being who she was. She thinks love is suffering. Sacrifice. That that's all it is. She didn't know love with john, who made everything a nightmare for years. More suffering, more sacrifice. More fear. Of course she will not believe Peter's love for her or her love for him, unless he scares her. Unless he makes her suffer and sacrifice. And if he won't make her, she'll find a way to do it to herself.

This is just my wild theory but she's probably convinced herself that she must suffer under john's abuse to protect Peter's loved ones, like Miles, and to protect her own family. That that is her demonstration of love. She wanted to help Peter when they had that scene in his office with the camera, and pushed her boundaries of comfort to an extreme, to please him. Did she end up enjoying herself? Maybe in the moment when she saw how powerful he made her feel. There were undertones of fear there also. But it all ended with her feeling used and discarded, and I'm really glad that it was so well adressed when they had their date.

My heart was falling out through my ass when Peter was talking to his conscience in the office by the way. Thanks for that. I thought he would have a breakthrough, and he did in the end, but that it would be too late, and it kind of was? He took responsibility only to hear she never wants to see him again, exactly like he thought and feared.

I desperately want Peter to finally figure this shit out, figure her shit out, ohmygodpleasetalktoeachotheryou'resoannoyingandIloveyouboth

and share a moment that isn't marred by their struggles and tarnished by lies and trauma. That would be the highest of highs, and I shall be eternally grateful if we will witness it.

Lest I start sounding insane, I'm gonna stop here. Also I want you to know that I sat down with soup to read 15 & 16 and it went cold because I just couldn't eat through them. *sad noises* But that means I can now use it as comfort because I really need it after that rollercoaster.

sugar and vice, pt 16 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: your own worst enemy is yourself

words: 8.1 k

chapter warning: negative self-talk. or4l *f receiving* creepy font. mean dom honey.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr*g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

These two are f*cked up™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you've come this far you should know what you're getting yourself into.

Back to Part 15.

Part 16

Hey.

Hey, asshole. Can you hear me?

—wake up—

Are you still crazy? Snap out of it!

—W̶A̶K̶E̸— ̵U̵P̶—

Peter’s eyes snapped open as he flinched awake. He would have fallen flat on his face if he hadn’t caught himself on the doorframe. Blinking rapidly, he peered around at his surroundings.

He was sitting on the floor of the hallway in the condo. He found himself leaning up against the guest bedroom door. Honey’s bedroom, he needed to remind himself. It was pitch dark. His ears were still ringing from the explosion hours before.

Wiping the drool from his face, he pushed himself up to a dazed stand, his sleep-deprived mind struggling to come back online. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep—just rest his eyes for a moment. 

He could no longer remember the last time he slept, but it was with Honey next to him. That was days ago. The math was fuzzy—when had it ever been difficult for him?—”although both the EEG and behavior indicate wakefulness, local populations of neurons in the cortex may be falling asleep”—but the hours reached the triple digits. 

How could he sleep at a time like this?

They’d almost been killed. The woman he loved had almost died. Again.

As shock began to take hold of her on the rooftop, he wrapped her tightly in his jacket and swung home. He told her to close her eyes, and she did. He’d have to deal with her questions later. Might have even passed out. 

From the moment he landed on the terrace of his building, he was in a state of frenzied hypervigilance. As he entered the condo, he clutched her in his arms like a baby, and she curled her body around his like a koala. The only thing that kept him from losing his mind into blind panic was her steady exhales of oxygen on his neck. He counted every one of her breaths, the sensation being the only thing between him and hysteria.

Felicia was there, war-face on, having gathered a search-party of his guards as soon as she had gotten word of the explosion outside of the arcade and that the couple was missing. Despite her good intentions, Peter was outside of himself—even more so than he’d been recently. 

He didn’t want their help. He didn’t want their presence. He didn’t want them nearby, not within arm’s reach, not touching him. And he certainly didn’t want any of them touching his girl. 

He knew he was being unreasonable. He knew it was unproductive and hurtful to see everyone else as a threat. Particularly for Felicia, his most trusted ally.

He didn’t give a shit.

Psh, sounds like you.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was no one besides him and Honey in the Penthouse, he was certain of it. No other heartbeats detected. But where did that voice come from?

Down here, genius.

Peter’s eyes darted down the hallway, his hair standing on end. His senses were in overdrive, alerting him that the voice was coming from his office. Fists clenched, he stalked towards the room with cat-like steps. Trailing along the wall, he quieted his breathing, trying and failing to detect the other heartbeat in the room.

He set aside his fear, letting his rage give him courage. He stepped into the doorway, eyes alert, ready to face the intruder.

But no one was there.

Ooh. Here it is. He’s finally figuring it out. Took you long enough.

The voice was there again. He glanced around his darkened office in confusion, unable to see the source. Cold sweat beaded at his brow, his hands having gone numb with a clammy chill. 

Jaw slightly agape, he wandered further into the room, eyes roving the area. His pulse increased with every step, dread filling his belly like an anvil. Was his home suddenly haunted by ghosts? Was he finally going crazy?

I’d say the latter is more likely, wouldn’t you?

From where he was standing near the lounge area, he glanced over at the source of the voice, coming from behind his desk.

It was him.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

And again.

He stared in utter confusion, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. 

Himself. Sitting behind his desk, dressed up like it was Easter Sunday, wearing a bright white suit and white collared dress shirt, the top buttons loosely unbuttoned. It was one of the expensive suits, by some fancy designer that he didn’t care to remember. Only he didn’t remember the suit at all. He’d remember wearing an all-white fancy getup like that, looking like Lucifer on his wedding day.

By contrast, his eyes—or, the eyes of the him seated behind the desk—were as dark as a winter night and three times as cold. The jaw of his doppelgänger firmly set with a look of disapproval. 

“Fuck, I’m losin’ my mind.”

Well, you lost your soul a long time ago, his other self answered him, lips moving. His whole body went rigid with terror. So what’s a pesky mind worth? Never had any common sense to begin with.

Peter stepped back, eyes wide. He sealed them closed for a moment, willing the vision away. Praying to whatever god—

Oh, don’t bullshit me. We both know you got nothin’ to say to God.

“What the fuck is happening?” Peter murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

What do you think, Parker? 

Peter stared at the ivory-clad doppelgänger silently, heart hammering in his chest. His tongue felt dead in his mouth.

His twin rolled his eyes, agitated. Here, let me spell it out for you. Hi, Peter. It’s me—your conscience. We haven’t spoken for a while.

Peter shook his head. “This... this isn’t happening, I.... I’m dreaming. I hit my head. I’m-I’m—”

A crazy asshole? The Phantasm version of himself replied, eyes narrowed with disgust. A pathetic nutjob? A fuckin’ drug addict? A big baby in desperate need of a nap? Take your pick. They’re all true.

He tilted his head, confusion contorting his features. 

Thanks to all that crap in your veins, you’ve been awake for 104 hours. I did the math for you. You were a paranoid, fascist dictator; now you’re a sleepy, paranoid, fascist dictator.

Peter’s eyes darted, bewildered at the revelation. 

His other self glared at him through narrow slits. At a certain point, didn’t you think there were gonna be consequences? 

He looked up at the Phantasm, face blank.

His doppelgänger rolled his eyes. No, of course not. You never think, do you?

Peter brought both hands to his eyes, dragging them across his face, before burying them in his hair. The throbbing sensation that usually lived behind his eyes was back, this time with the force of a hurricane barreling down on a small house. 

That headache you have? It’s not a migraine. It’s that Thing inside you, telling you that you’re going through withdrawal. 

Withdrawal—that would explain why Peter thought he was going to throw up. 

His other half sneered, Christ, get ahold of yourself. You haven’t tweaked out like this since you got bit.

“I... gotta—” Peter swallowed hard, his mouth feeling drier than a desert. “I—Eddie, I need Eddie.”

Yeah, you do. The Phantasm spat. Too bad you treated him like shit, too. When are you ever gonna stop hurting the people around you?

Peter shot him an angrily glance. “I didn’t—” The sentence died in his mouth. “I’m trying to protect the people around me.”

Oh, like you protected Honey?

His heart lurched at her nickname.

Yeah. Bang up job you’re doin’ there. The Phantasm shot up to a stand behind the desk, pacing with silent, livid footfalls. Fuckin’ valet, really? How stupid could you be? You told her to get in the car! Another half second and she’d be nothing but a splatter on the pavement! The entity narrowed eyes on him, cruelly adding, ‘Course, that’s how you like ‘em, yeah? 

“Shut up.”

Or what, prick? You gotta throw me in the trunk of your car? Whack me right here in the street? His doppelgänger chuckled darkly as he echoed the words which speared him earlier that night. She got your number, alright.

“I didn’t ever want her to get hurt, that—” His throat tightened at the sting of tears in his eyes. “That wasn’t my intention.”

Well, congratulations. Road trip’s over. Thanks to you, we’re in hell.

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” Peter declared firmly. “It’s not nice and it’s not pretty, but without me, she’s in danger. She coulda been dead already, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen. Fisk is comin’ after all of us—”

Wouldya look at that? Too scared to say his name ‘cept when you’re passin’ off blame. 

Peter fell silent.

Don’t you see it, moron? He already won! He turned you inside out—made you give up everything that made you different. Your friends. Your philosophies. Your moral obligations. Whatever was left of that beat-up soul of yours—it’s all gone. And it’s your fault. You didn’t beat Kingpin, you became him.

Peter turned his face away, scowling at the shadows.

You know what Fisk didn’t do? His temper didn’t get Miguel thrown in jail so he could be eaten alive by the wolves. His shitty choice in guards didn’t get Hobie killed. That was all you. Goddamn it, even the kid that loves everybody can’t even stand the sight of you anymore.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like his skin was crawling off his skeleton. He paced with a locked jaw, eyes downcast.

And Fisk didn’t make that poor girl his prisoner. Not like you did.

Peter’s eyes snapped over at the accusation. “I never hurt her!”

Are you stupid or are you so used to the sound of your voice lying that you can’t tell the difference?! 

His Phantasm wheeled on him, stalking towards him with rage building. ‘Your Honey,’ eh? You’re a piece of shit for that, y’know. You stole that poor girl and you force her to sleep with you at night ‘cos you’re afraid of the dark. You’re afraid of your nightmares? Bullshit! You are the nightmare. 

Peter flinched as if the words were stab wounds. His face twisted with disgust turned inwards.

Every time you touch her you’re insulting everything you claim you stand for. Everything your family—your parents, Uncle Ben—everything they believed they saw in you! What May taught you about respecting women! Christ, what would she say if she saw what you did with that goddamn camera?

Peter grimaced, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears pushed through his eyelids. His stomach roiled with nausea. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to—”

You thought you could get her to break, huh? Thought you could get her to tell you the truth? That you’re a fucking monster and she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you like a rabid dog if she had the chance? Is that what you wanted to hear?! Fucking answer the question, goddamn it!

“Yes!” Peter roared over the sound of his heart snapping in half. He whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I knew she hated me.” His voice was tiny and thin, his lower lip wobbling as he forced out his confession. “I just wanted her to say it.”

Hates you, The Phantasm corrected. Present tense. ‘Specially after what you said to her in the street. 

His brows furrowed, tears dripping from his chin.

And you had the audacity to be embarrassed? Worried about how those people looked at you like you’re an asshole? Got news for you, bub. You’re definitely the asshole!

Peter felt like his legs were turning to rubber. A wave of exhaustion came over him, powered by his adrenaline, anger, fear, and despair. He leaned over the edge of the pinhead sofa, hands gripping the frame still cracked from his earlier outburst. 

His lip trembled, and he bit it in place. “I’m sorry...”

Don’t apologize to me! his doppelgänger huffed. You shoulda said that to her! ‘I’m sorry. Don’t go.’ That’s all you had to say. ‘I’ll hunt you down?’ Really? What kind of Lifetime Movie-of-the-Week creep are you tryin’ to sound like?

Peter shuddered with anguish, haunted by the cruelty of his own words.

The voice was softer now, but not from kindness. How about ‘I need you. I’ll follow you anywhere, wherever you want to go. Not like some pathetic stalker. I’ll follow you just to make sure you get where you wanna be, and get there safely.’ The mocking voice of his twin went hollow. ‘Even if it’s not with me.’

The Phantasm added, sighing with frustration. ‘I���ll follow you because I have nowhere else to go.’ That’s what you should have said. You should have told her the truth.

With reddened eyes, Peter gazed up at the vision hopelessly. “What... what is this? Wha’do you—whaddya want from me?”

I want you to be a man and take responsibility for what you did. Responsibility, Peter! Take responsibility for what you did to Honey. For what you did to Gwen.

Peter shook his head in confusion. “What—what does that mean? What do you want me to do?”

—̵he wants you to D̷̫͆̊IĘ̶͖͎̝̰̹̫̋͒̃̍—

Peter’s stomach clenched at the foreign voice. Terror crawled up his throat. 

It was an awful, twisted voice, full of anguish and rage. Pulled taut and flayed. 

Peter watched his mirror reflection go still, its complexion paling like the color of his suit. The Phantasm looked beyond Peter’s shoulder, eyes widened as his gaze flicked back to the source of that voice.

Peter had heard it before. He’d heard it all along. He just never faced it.

Well, I guess now’s your chance, The Phantasm said grimly. Peter watched his mirror image’s eyes go cold, swallowing down trepidation. 

Not J̸̳̽U̴̢̦̍S̴̬̽͐T̷̥̐͂ ̶y̶o̵u̶— The tortured voice added. He wants U̴̡͍̗͍̣̟̻̹͂̾̒̈́̿̾̏̂Ş̸̙͓̟̪̳̩̜͋͐̊ to d̶i̶e̸!

Slowly, Peter turned his gaze around, pivoting towards the opposite side of the room. The shadows that shrouded the lounge area also hid something else in its darkness. Something moving. A humanoid figure with limbs and fingers stretched to a grotesque state, too long to be human. A figure that wasn’t just hidden in the darkness, it was darkness. 

Peter gulped down the urge to scream in terror at the entity. It looked like the lovechild between an H.R. Giger sculpture and one of Guillermo del Toro’s nightmares. He was terrified of it, despite knowing its origin. He understood the beast intimately, despite not having a word for it. Peter questioned whether or not something could be considered The Unknown, especially if he knew exactly where to find it.

Well there ya go, his doppelgänger supplied. Speak of the Devil.

At the end of the sentence, the shadow came alive. 

Two triangular eyes—giant, almost as large as the head of the creature—opened wide, blinking at Peter. They were milky white prisms that flexed and bent the way that eyes would. 

Peter was rooted in place, unable to move and unable to escape its gaze. At first glance, Peter wondered if it was actually smiling at him. He sealed his own lids shut, chest heaving, hoping that this was all a nightmare and that he would wake up.

No such luck, he heard in the darkness. 

Trembling, Peter opened his eyes and was only more shaken by the sight. It was smiling at him. In fact, the human-sized skull was nothing more than eyes and teeth, half of its face cradling rows of quill-like spikes, enough to rival a shark’s mouth. 

It was smiling alright, mouth oozing with thick goo. A sleek serpent slithered out of the mouth with viper scales, twisting and bending in the slime that dripped from the jaws of the creature. A few more blinks and Peter realized, as bile threatened to surge upwards, it wasn’t a snake after all; it was a tongue. 

The creature didn’t move so much as it flowed. Inky black liquid made into a living nightmare. 

N̸igh̸t̶m̷a̶r̴e̴?̶ A raspy hiss slid into Peter’s ear like a centipede, the sound sinking into his brain. Every hair on his body stood on end. It was almost as if he could feel a hundred tiny legs scampering and burrowing into his gray matter. W̸e̴ are here to keep y̶o̶u̵r̸ ̴n̷i̵g̵h̴tma̸r̷e̵s̸ from becoming ̷r̴e̵a̴l̴i̸t̶y̸.̴

It wasn’t just one voice coming from the mouth of the beast, but several. A Legion of voices—all of them intertwining into a dissonant squall. It created an unharmonious chorus of demon-speak, nails on a chalkboard, and what could be mistaken for Peter’s own voice—if he were being mutilated and flayed alive. The resulting sound sliced into Peter’s eardrum and made his skin crawl, like the feeling of accidentally grinding his own teeth together, or a fork scraping a plate.

W̵e̷ ̴Are the Ó̵͔͍̾N̵͕̂L̶Y̶̧̽͠ ̷̡͖̕O̴͈̿N̶͎̈͝E̷̬̠̎̉̄S̶̹̥̏͠ ̴standing b̶e̵t̴w̵e̴e̵n̶ ̵y̵o̷u̴ ̶and your own ̵̵̝̎̀f̴͜͠ǎ̵ḯ̴l̴̓u̵͊r̷̟͚̅e̶̟̪͊. W̷i̷t̵h̸o̵u̵t̷ ̴U̸̵̸̧̧̺̲͙̲̻̍̎͆̓͝S̵̷̴͚̞͖̻̘͖̲͔͊̃̈́, you would have ṇ̸̊ǫ̷̦t̵̝͗h̵̝̚î̴̜̖̈́ng̷̗͆!

Guy has an ego, doesn’t he? Wonder who he gets it from. The Phantasm said from behind. 

Part of Peter wanted to argue. But denying his involvement—denying his likeness in the beast—was useless.

W̴e̸’̸r̷e̵ M̶̤̃Ã̷̫̏D̴̦̰̃E̶̡̘͠ ̴f̵o̵r̶ ̴e̸a̸c̷h̴ ̵o̶t̸h̸e̵r̵, d̸̆̍́o̸n̷̓'̴̄̆ť̷ ̵̼̃ͅẙ̶̬̬o̴ǔ̶̘̖̆ ̵̱̫̄s̵̢͍͌s̸͉͙̺͗͝së̵̮́ee? Y̶o̸u̶r̸ R̵A̶G̶E̶ ̷a̵n̶d̷ V̶̧̺̻̽͒̚E̸͔̔̕N̶̻̬͓͐̂Ġ̷͈͚̇ͅĘ̷͓̞͂F̷͉͠U̵̻͍̫͌L̶̟̞̾N̷̡̠̤͝E̶̤̦͆̕S̸̮̿̆Ş̵̩̺̈́ ̵m̶a̵d̴e̴ u̸s̶̵ a̶ ̵P̶E̸R̷F̶E̷C̷T̴ ̸b̵r̵e̶e̸di̷n̸g̴ ̴g̷r̸o̵u̵n̷d. W̸E̵ ̴A̶R̵E̴ n̴o̷w̷ ̴a̴ p̸a̴rt̸ ̵o̸f̵ a̵ lif̴e̶ f̴o̵r̵c̸e ̴t̴h̶a̴t̷ ̷h̵a̵s̴ ̷e̵x̵iste̷d̷ s̷i̴n̶c̶e̵ ̷th̵e̴ D̴A̸WN̶ ̸O̴F ̴T̵IM̷E̵.̴ ̵No̸ more̸ ̵H̴̦͊̐Ḯ̶̤̘̖͝D̴͙̝͎̀͘I̴̗̐̅͗N̸͔̗̥̊̀̚G̴̡̰̽̀.̷̜̙̟͑ N̶̹̝͛̿̈o̴ ̴͋m̴͙̅̈́͋õ̴r̶̙̾̕e̵ M̶̙̬̌͘A̴̽S̶̅͂K̵̻̫͉̾. Y̶o̵u̵ ̷w̵i̵l̸l̴ ̴s̵e̶e̸ ̶Ŭ̷̡̧̢̢͚̬͔̥̜̪̭̖̖̂̄͋̌̔͘͝S̷̨̨̭̗̺̣̳̏͐͒͑̈́͘͘ ev̴e̷r̸y̴w̴h̸e̵r̴e̶ y̸o̷u̷ ̴l̷oo̶k̸. E̵̴̵s̶p̴e̴c̵i̵a̷l̷l̶y̵ ̵in̴ ̷y̶o̷ur̴ N̵̖̖͇͚̱̤͓̹̞I̶̡͔͇̣̦̯̍͂̽̋͋̐̎͆͝Ḡ̶̇͑͊̒Ḧ̵͑͌̑͘͘T̷̪̳͈̭̉́̿̍̎M̸̢̓́̿͐̉͒͠A̸͓̱͙̺͋̿̈́R̸̨̀̐̏̉͒̀͜͝Ȩ̴͈͎̘̬̩̹̀̎̍͊S̶̛̥͐̈́̐͛͋͛͋.

Peter stood in the middle distance between the two entities, literally caught between darkness and light. The only difference was that there was nothing vague about the two forces quarreling around him. Peter knew exactly what he was dealing with: the inner dialogue of self-loathing he had grown up with, and the new and improved model, spawned from the compound he had been dosing himself with for months.

Monsters of his own making.

D̴o̷ ̶you wish t̶o̶ ̷w̴a̷l̵l̵o̴w̵ in self-pity ̴a̵l̸l̵ ̵n̷i̶g̴h̸t̶?̷ ̸ The Darkness said. Or will W̵e̶ S̷̡͉̖͊́T̵̨̼̰͈̈́͑́̚R̵͕̪̳̈́̓͐Ȋ̴̞̝̫͊Ǩ̵͉̖̈́̕É̸̙̲̰̤̄͛ ̶̭͙͒͒̚̚B̶̩͉̰̱͛A̵̲̠͉͉͐̚C̵̪̲̥̓͆K̶̜̿̋͌ at those that wish to ̶H̸͕͓̖̣̗̮̹̫̺̮̹̲͖͕̠͒̉͒̎̄̎̒̓̓Ả̸͇̠̙̠́̈̎̀͛R̵̖͔͇͋͐̾̅̀̂M̸̼̘̮͎̖͉̹̉̐  U̸S? T̸h̵̶̴o̶̵s̷̷̷e̷ t̵ha̵t̴ t̴r̵i̵e̵d t̷o̸ T̷̤̤̉A̷͙͠K̵̹̩̑͊E̸̢͌͝  ̷́A̷̳͊Ẉ̴͔͒͑A̸̺͚͂̄Ỳ̴͇̗͠ w̵h̶a̷t̶ ̶i̴s̷ O̵̖̿Ù̶͔R̶̜̈́S̴̨̒?̴̝̈́?

“Fisk,” Peter said, lip curled up the way a dog growls.

What makes you so sure it was Fisk? The Phantasm countered. How did he know where you were goin’ tonight? Nobody knew. Tonight was supposed to be special. Something you planned just for her without anyone’s help. Not because you’re a controlling asshole, for once—but because you wanted to prove to yourself that you weren’t a total fuck-up. 

A cruel scoff echoed in Peter’s mind, and he bristled with shame. So much for that plan, huh?

Peter stared down at the floor, too afraid to look at either version of himself. “It had to be Fisk. Who else has the power to do somethin’ like that. You think Danny’s people—?”

The Phantasm let out an exasperated sigh. God, it’s a wonder you ever made it this far. How the fuck did you become a boss, by the way? Couldn’t think your way out of a paper bag with a pair of scissors in your hand.

F̴̣̥͊Ö̴̡̟̟̣̱̪̭́̋̍̿̂͗Ọ̸͂̆̈́̀̑͠͝L̷̰̟̦̮̖̺̆̓͜.̴ You r̸e̵f̶us̴e̵ ̵t̷o̷ ̴s̴e̵e̸ ̶w̴h̴a̴t̴ is̵ ̴r̷i̴g̶ht̴ i̶n̵ ̶fro̵nt̷ o̴f̵ y̵o̶u̴. T̶h̵e̸r̷e̶ ̸i̷s̴ ̸a̸ ̴S̷̢͓͖̿N̴̸̶̴̶̶̵̶̢̡̨̼̹��̫̮̰̼͎̔̃̃̿̎̍͗͝Ä̸̞̰̣͚Ḳ̵͇͖̜̓̎́̇Ę̶̭̝̿̑̋̋ in O̵̻͐u̴̟̓r̴̫̃ house. It mus̶̝͖̊̀̊͑̈́̒t be ex̷̟́traċ̴̞t̶e̸d̴͐.̸.̷̀.. I̵t m̶u̶s̵t be̴ ̷m̸a̴d̴e̶ ̶a̸n e̶x̵͆̔͆́a̴̞̔̌͋̄̅m̴̴̴̛̠̘̭͉̯̾̈́́̎̐ͅp̵l̶e̶ f̷o̶r̷ o̴t̶h̶e̸r̸s̵.̴

Peter’s eyes fell closed, expression twisted with anguish. A pit formed deep in his stomach. 

Ỷ̸̥o̴͔̾u̶̓ ̷hă̷v̵ë̵̴͉́͌ kn̵ó̸w̴n ̶̧̕ä̵͕́ll ̵̱̂alo̴̩͋n̶̤̆g̴.̸ Ŵ̷͜E̷͓͗ ̷h̵av̶e̵ Ą̶̛̼̩̮͎͆̂̑̈́̌͝Ļ̸̖̖̗̇̎́̑̕W̴̩̗̺̫̱̩̘̃̽̕͝Ạ̵̫͑̓͐̽Y̷͖̔̉Ṡ̷ k̶͖͗n̸ò̶ẁ̴n.

‘Please stay. I’m sorry.’ The Phantasm added onto the barrage of voices. Peter could feel the anger radiating off of his twin as he hissed inhis ear. That’s all you had to say. ‘You were right about me. You’re right about everything. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I broke your rib. Sorry I broke your spirit. I break things. That’s all I know how to do. I’m sorry I almost got you killed.’

A̶L̵M̴O̵S̵T̷ ̴i̵s̸ ̵Ṇ̸͍͈̫̓́̈ͅO̸̼͓̿͜T̷̠͌̽͊̚ ̶a̴c̷c̸ep̷t̷a̵b̷l̷e̸. On his other shoulder, on the dark side of his soul, Peter heard the other voice tempting him. W̸e̷ ̸n̴e̸ed̴e̷d̴ ̶t̷o̶ ̵b̶e̴ fa̷s̵t̷e̴r̶—S̵T̴̲͍̙̫̞͚̀̍̂̆̓͑͘̚R̵O̶N̵G̶̛͇̮͔̪̱͑̍͌͋̀͂̎̄͠E̸R̸.̴ W̷e̶ ̴Ṇ̴̛́̈́̍̒̒̂̎̒̕É̸̜̩̳̬̺̭̮E̸̻̠̥̹̞̻̫͍͔͕͛D̸͇̩͕̫̖͆͐̉̏̿̾ ̴t̴o̴ ̵e̴v̸̢͎̫͇͙̜̓ol̶̩̳̙̓̈̍̋̇͝͠ve̷.̵ ̶W̷e̸ ̵n̴e̵e̴d̸ ̶t̷o̶ ̸b̴ec̸om̷e̵ L̴̓̐̔͛̐̓͘͝E̷̍̐͠T̵̞̞̥̤̗͋̑̄͐̏̂͋́̄͜͜͝H̴̡͓͚͕̅̑̂̓̄̈́́Ạ̴̯̟̖̮̖͓́̀̽͜L̵͈͍̱͓͕̟͆̂̅

“Peter?”

With a gasp, he spun on his heel, wet eyes glaring at the doorway. His whole stance was defensive— fists balled, chin tight, face reddened. He was ready to attack.

By contrast, the tiny feminine form that barely took up a quarter of the door space made herself even smaller. Honey gazed at him with concern. “Who are you talking to?”

Chest still heaving, Peter’s jaw fell open. He realized that he was standing alone in a room talking to himself. Having an open conversation with his inner demons. 

Swallowing back his embarrassment, he looked her over more intently. She was dressed in a gray terry cloth robe, her hair soaked wet from her bath. Even in the dark, the cuts and bruises on her face from the explosion were visible. She leaned to one side gingerly, no doubt favoring the cracked rib from Peter’s tight grip. The sight brought more tears to his eyes, along with more self-loathing. And another sort of rage, one that he couldn’t immediately define.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured, stealing the words from his mouth. 

He connected with her gaze and followed its path to a blood stain on his shoulder. He leaned over to get a better look at it, hissing suddenly at the sting across his back. He was injured, alright. The explosion had sent burning shrapnel and bits of glass in all directions, including his back. He thought he had gotten it all, but a blood-streaked oozing laceration left his shirt sliced open.

She stepped closer to him, and inexplicably, it made him flinch. Honey paused, having noticed the cagey reaction. He looked disheveled, and not just from the dried blood and soot marking his skin. His eyes darted, unable to meet hers. 

“How... How’re you doin’?” he timidly asked, focusing his attention on hers.

Honey observed him quietly, and felt a pang in her heart. He looked lost. Afraid. Only slightly better than the sheer panic he experienced immediately after the explosion. He looked like he needed a hug and her arms ached to give it to him. 

And she loathed herself for that.

“I can help you,” Honey replied, ignoring his question. She nodded an indication of his wounds.

He shook his head. “‘S’fine.”

“I think you have a piece of metal sticking out of your back,” she replied.

Peter turned and glanced behind his shoulder to see that she was correct. A small three-inch piece protruded from a bloody gash on his left lats. His eyes grew wide, cheeks flushing pink at the sight. 

“Oh,” he said. “That would explain why it kinda hurts to breathe.”

He said it with a humorless laugh, and she stared back with a humorless expression. “Follow me,” she declared, turning her back to him and padding from the doorway. 

He contemplated the tone in her voice, lips buttoned up. She was the one giving him an order. She was the one leading him along now. 

With feet rooted to the floor, he was having trouble finding the courage to follow her.

Peter sat on a stool in the center of his bathroom, his shirt off and his bloody back exposed. The piece of metal was out. Peter had insisted that he remove it himself.

Honey sat behind him on an ottoman with a tray of bandages and disinfectant next to her. The pair spoke very little. 

He kept quiet with his head down, glancing periodically to the bathroom mirror. Every stolen glance was wary, as he struggled to read her stone-faced expression. Just as intently, he watched the pair of scissors on the tray within her reach.

“This looked worse than it is,” she announced, the most conversational they had been in hours. “Except for your lower back, the other wounds aren’t that deep. Probably don’t need stitches.” 

The contents of a trauma kit were laid out neatly in front of her. It only surprised her for a moment, before she considered how routine emergency room visits from gunshot wounds might be cause for suspicion. 

She reached for a surgical needle with dexterous fingers and a flat tone. “You’re lucky.”

He let out a small scoff in the pit of his throat. Muscles tensed at the pain, and also— for some reason he couldn’t ascertain— half-expecting her to slit his throat. Bitterly, he mumbled beneath his breath, “Good ol’ Parker Luck.” 

Keeping an intense focus, she snipped a length of stitching, threading it through a curved needle. 

Peter continuously bounced his heel on the foot of the stool, anxiously waiting for the needle’s bite. He hadn’t planned to suture the wound at all, relying instead on his accelerated healing abilities. Unfortunately, she saw the wound before he could hide it, and insisted she knew what she was doing and that he needed to allow her to help. He reluctantly agreed, with a suspicion that her insistence was less about providing aid and more about the opportunity to use him as a pin cushion. 

She stabbed the needle into his flesh, because of course she did. He jolted and hissed, his theory confirmed. “Sorry,” she said, in a tone that wasn’t very remorseful. “Slipped.”

He bit down hard, breathing through the pain, saying nothing. Better to let her stab him with a needle than with the scissors. 

He glanced over to the mirror to see her deftly drawing the needle upwards with a needle driver in one hand and forceps in the other. Instead of attempting to pinch his flesh together like a novice, she pressed the tip of the forceps beneath his gash, using them to steady his flesh while she drew the needle. She stitched a perfect centimeter on either side at the center of the wound, with a line as straight as an arrow.

She was good at this, he deduced. She had done this before.

He bit his bottom lip as she tied off the suture. Two surgeon’s knots and two square knots that would’ve made any nurse proud. “Where did you learn to do that?” he quietly asked.

With her mouth in a tight line, she pierced another hole into his flesh, this time slightly less vindictively. “Girl Scouts.” 

He pouted, letting his shoulders sag. He didn’t need to listen to her heartbeat this time. He shifted uncomfortably, irked by her callousness. “Huh. They teach field trauma response in between cookie seasons?”

“If you wanna talk about something,” she replied, her vocal chords pulled taut, “why don’t you answer my question from earlier?”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Which question—”

“You know exactly which one,” she said with a cold glower. Her tone was icy with frostbitten contempt. He wondered if she intentionally chose the phrase he’d said to her in his office the previous night. 

He swallowed hard. Of course she did. 

“Bella,” he answered.

“Bingo.”

“What’s the sudden urge to know where she’s at?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What? Do you not believe me when I tell you that she’s safe—?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Jesus,” Peter scoffed, offended. “Why are you—You really think I’d ever put a kid in danger?”

She jabbed him with the needle. “I don’t know what to think.”

He twisted around, leaping off of the stool and out of her reach. With a sharp line between his eyebrows, he towered over her and glared down indignantly. “How many times do I hafta say it, huh?” he demanded. “I don’t hurt children, and I don’t hurt women!”

“Who’s Gwen?”

It felt like a lightning strike. A jolt shot down his spine, eyes widening in shock. She stared up at him with her jaw locked tight, his surprise spiking her resentment. He blinked several times, mouth falling open. “Where did you—?”

“She’s the girl in your box,” she replied, cutting off his question at the knees. Defiant and fearless, she stood in front of him, not retreating an inch. “I found a photo of you and her together. Right next to a pile of dirty pictures of her.” Peter snapped his mouth closed, eyes screaming. She glowered at him like filth beneath her feet. “It’s sorta sweet—in a sadistic way. You keep those around to jerk off?”

His eyes glimmered with rage, shoulders tense. “I don’t know what you think you know,” Peter softly replied, swallowing back fury. “But watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” she seethed. “Am I gonna end up in a box too?” His brows furrowed, wounded by her words. “Is that what you do to us, Peter?” she questioned bitterly, skewering him with her glare. “You shove us in a box and bury us in a pile of your secrets?”

He swallowed hard.

“How dare you lecture me about lying,” she whispered. “You could fill a swimming pool with all your secrets and lies. A giant, fucking mass grave.”

The last word in her sentence dripped with acid. He flinched at it. She noticed. 

“Here,” she sneered, letting the surgical tools clamor down on the tray. “Lick your own wounds.” She rounded around him, stomping off.

He reached out, grabbing her forearm. “Wait a minu—”

As soon as he touched her, she wheeled on him faster than she’d ever moved in her life. Spinning on her heel, she flattened her hand across his cheek. The force of the slap was hard enough to set her palm on fire while knocking his gaze to the side. 

Time stopped. 

She stared at the red handprint on his cheek with wide eyes, her chest heaving. She could hear her blood pumping. Her heart thumping wildly. Her limbs shook with each giant breath through her nose. She felt enraptured by terror and rage, and the sickening thrill of causing him pain.

Slowly, he straightened his head, dark eyes meeting hers. 

She mirrored his hard expression, sharp breaths and blown out eyes. He looked like a statue carved from marble—all sleek, lean muscles, broad shoulders, and raw power. She pictured cracks of antiquity breaking him into pieces. She pictured a sledgehammer in her hands and what she would do with it.

He reminded her of a mountain of steadily-rising pressure and heat, like a volcano moments from eruption. Yesterday, she would’ve shrunk to her knees in his presence, as if praying to a fire god for mercy. Instead, she burned on the inside, her body already filled with molten lava. 

There was no more room for prayers. No faith in mercy. Her anger reached a fever pitch, driving her towards blind madness, twisting her view of the world around her. 

She was weak. 

Had always been weak. 

Had always begged for mercy. 

Had always been on her knees, in one way or another. For her family. For God. For John. For Peter.

The latter in the list took a step towards her, steel-eyed and jaw tense. She held her ground, glaring up at him boldly. 

She hated Peter. 

She hated John. 

She hated all men. 

If God was a man, she hated him too. 

And her mother. She loathed her mother. 

She hated being a pawn, being a tool. 

She hated being talked down to. 

She hated being used. 

She hated being an object. To be won or stolen away.

Fuck it. Fuck them all.

“Get on your knees.”

Peter blinked at her, untrusting of his ears, or his brain’s ability to comprehend the words that just came out of her mouth. She kept her eyes narrowed on him, unflinching. His hard glare faltered as confusion set in, his thick brow raised upwards.

“Did I stutter?” she said in an icy tone. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

Wide-eyed, he took a step backwards, breath caught in his throat. He stared at her like a puzzle. A complex equation. One he’d run so many times, which always had a reliable outcome, and now, suddenly—the conclusion had changed. Not even math was reliable anymore.

She narrowed her eyes, piercing him with a vicious gaze. Her voice dipped down in her throat. “That means kneel.”

Electricity crackled off her tongue. It sent a jolt down his spine. Down and downwards further, electrifying the part of him that longed for her touch. He gulped, feeling his blood rushing in opposite directions. 

His brain urged caution and calculation. He considered the distance between her reach and the scissors on the tray, or the razor on the countertop, or any number of objects she could use to cut his throat. 

Simultaneously, his arousal urged him to respond without delay to that tone, which he’d never heard from that sweet voice. It begged him to kneel, to strip naked, to bend over, to save her the trouble and throw himself on the nearest blade. To do anything she fucking asked.

Another feeling tugged deep in the back of his mind, hoping that whatever she asked for next would involve a little bit of all of the above.

Never breaking eye contact with her, Peter moved like a cautious fawn and slowly sank to his knees. Now beneath her, his chin lifted high as she stared down at him. He was on the opposite side of the height advantage, but not by that much. 

By the look on her face, he had nothing over her. She towered over him in every possible way. She wasn’t just feisty, she was formidable. She was tantalizing and terrifying. Dauntless and dominating. 

She lifted her chin higher, peering down at him like a sacrificial lamb. Taking in the way he trembled before her with shameful, heavy breaths. She lifted her knee, hooking her foot over one of the stool’s rungs. The robe she wore parted scandalously, pulling back a curtain to reveal a hidden oasis in her scorching heat. 

“Make me come in your mouth,” she demanded. 

She kept a straight face as he stared up at her, stupefied. Brain rebooting and crashing. Gazed at her motionlessly, mind spinning off its axis, contemplating whether or not all of this had been the strangest dream he—

She slapped him again. Hard. 

He glanced back up at her, stunned. Anger crawled up in his chest—a spasm, really—only to be pushed down by filthy, Pavlovian desire pulsing from his cock. The result was a blazing concoction of passion that made him hard in a matter of moments. 

Slowly, he breathed in and out, and with it, he caught the scent of her arousal. All rational thought ceased, reduced to basic animal instincts. He swallowed painfully, eyes darting down to the source, mouth watering.

His gaze darkened with lust. His next outward breath dragged in his throat, like the pant of a dog responding to a female in heat. 

He looked up at her, his eyes unsure, questioning—challenging, even. Her face was unquestionable. Challenge accepted. 

He placed one of his hands on her raised thigh, pulling it up further over his shoulder. The force of it almost knocked her off balance; she had to grip the countertop to steady herself. She hissed at the sting at her rib, but didn’t stop him. It was a cracked rib. She’d been fucked through worse.

His other hand clamped around her opposite thigh, steadying her stance as he dove in. She sucked in a gasp as she felt the heat of his lungs on her flesh. His tongue darted out and licked a stripe from deep at the entrance of her core all the way up to her front. The slick force of his muscle sent goosebumps across her body. She whimpered with pleasure.

His abs clenched at the sound, twisting his insides like spaghetti on a fork. He felt like his stomach was being tossed into a pit. He dragged his tongue slowly, gathering her essence as it exploded across his taste buds.

Honey. 

She tasted just like honey.

He groaned at the realization, burying his tongue into her folds. 

She quivered in his grip, staring down at the lewd sight of him on his knees beneath her. Her eyes watched him through the valley of her heaving breasts. Modestly, her free hand reached up to clench the sides of her robe together, keeping her chest tightly concealed. 

He paid it no mind, as he dragged the muscle back through her heat, sucking her into his mouth. His grip tightened on her thigh, drawing another sharp gasp from her lungs. He ran his tongue greedily over her, the light stubble of his cheeks scraping her sensitive flesh. 

She hissed at the burn, and ached for more, imagining what it would have felt like had he not shaved his beard. She found herself longing for it. An breathless gasp and mewl broke out of her throat.

This was better than a dream.

Peter moaned into her folds, the vibration drawing another whimper from her lips. His eyes shot open, glancing up at her with a devilish smile. Not allowing himself to dwell on his pride, he retracted his lips, instead teasing her sensitive bud with kitten licks from the end of his tongue.  

Her eyes rolled back in her skull at the sensation, another mewl squeaking out. His hips involuntarily jerked at the tiny sound. He wrapped his lips around her sensitive bud, sucking gently, using his tongue to split her open further. 

Her sugary tanginess dizzied him. The sweet glucose of her thighs rewired his brain chemistry, and he was immediately addicted to the taste. With his neck craned uncomfortably, he lapped at her folds, drinking her in like a water fountain in a desert. His eyes would look up often, both to ensure she was satisfied and to reassure himself that this wasn’t a fever dream.

She squealed and flinched, bringing her hand up to stabilize her side. He remembered her injury, and even though she was distracted, he wanted to relieve her pain. He wrapped his hands around her waist like a belt, his lips never leaving her flesh. Lifting her by the hips, he hoisted her in the air suddenly, twirling her until she felt the cool marble of the vanity beneath her.

He didn’t slow down. With one arm bracing her lower back, he cradled her hips and held her still, while the other hand pushed her folds open. The new position allowed him to breach her further, his tongue dipping and teasing the inside of her opening. 

She was pooling nectar, spilling out between her legs and into his mouth. Desperately, he chased her juices, sucking at her flesh and groaning as he felt his cock twitch. 

She cried out in ecstasy — fuckfuckyes fuck me with your tongue, take every drop— spreading her legs wider. Simultaneously, her fingers dug into his thick tuft of hair, using him for leverage as he ground his tongue into her clit. Every time she tugged on his scalp, he had to steady his mind at the sensation. He steeled himself, filling his brain with vile images, afraid that he’d climax from the sting of her nails. He palmed his aching cock, whimpering into her pussy.

She yanked hard enough to tear at his scalp, and he looked up blearily to meet her disapproving stare. She gazed down at him, fire in her eyes. “Did I say you could do that?” she demanded. 

He flushed with a tidal wave of emotions. Her bratty tone matched with her dominating, lustful glare threatened to drown him. He released his crotch immediately, licking his lips, already longing for her cunt.

It was as if he tasted her once, and whatever power he had was ripped away. His skill and stamina, developed over a decade of casual one-night-stands, was suddenly worthless. He’d mastered the art of drawing pleasure, even after Gwen. He’d pour his frustration and aggression into the occasional fuck, mostly to satiate his own sado-masochistic desires. But on his knees before her, his confidence was negated. Before he was a feared leader. Now he was nothing more than a slut for her praise. Begging to be used. Anxiously waiting for her moans of approval.

She shoved him forward by the scruff of his head, and he eagerly returned to his station. There, he wrote a love letter. A letter of apology— of hopeless affection, of helpless devotion— drawing out each line with his tongue. His masterful calligraphy focused on her clit, with fingers timidly reaching up to tease her opening. He watched her intently as he slid his middle finger up through her velvet. 

She glanced down to catch his pleading gaze. He pulled back his mouth, borrowing his own tongue momentarily to pant desperate words at her cunt—Tell Daddy what you want, babygirl. All he wants is to make you feel good.

He pressed gentle kisses to her clit as a shudder rolled through her, his filthy words burrowing into her brain. Her eyes were blown black with desire as he tickled his fingertips at the plush spot in her pussy. His tongue returned to her clit hungrily with wet, open-mouthed kisses, spurring her pleasure faster with the added stimulation on her G-spot. 

She moaned, scaling towards the summit of not only her climax, but a twin peak of elation that was hard to describe. It was the kind of emotion that cartoon villains have as they bellow with laughter about their nefarious plans. An rageful joy. A violent thrill. 

She hatefucked his face and buried her nails into his scalp, hard enough that she hoped she could draw blood. And like the whore he was, he whimpered helplessly in her grip.

Her voice used to make those sounds, as she gargled and choked on John’s cock. 

She once made those needy, pleading noises on Peter’s desk, splayed out like a open diary. She revealed to him her secrets and desires and fantasies, watching him milk his cock as he read each line with a greedy smile.

John was always greedy when they had sex. It made her feel good to please him. On her wedding night, sex with John was different than it had been before. He fucked every hole like he was angry with her. She spent the rest of the night worried that she’d done something to offend him. Weeping in the bathroom quietly as she wiped blood stains from her pubic bone.

Her heart was going to burst through her chest, she was certain. Peter was good at this. He seemed to genuinely enjoy eating her out, she thought. He whines like a whore, she also thought. 

Peter probably fucked that silver whore until she was covered in blood.

Now, Peter was all over her cunt, with his tongue and his fingers and filthy begging. He held her hips steady with his grip. His arm pinned her to the bathroom partition wall like a steel beam across her chest.

It was hard to breathe; her lungs were going to explode. Hard to hear his pathetic mewling over the sounds of her moans. She was loud, relentless. She wanted the neighbors to hear it. Wanted the faceless ghosts haunting the hallways to hear it. Wanted all of New York to hear it. Wanted Johnny Storm and Danny Rand and even Felicia to hear it.

She was there, but she wasn’t. She was at the arcade. With Peter in the bathroom. His hand clenching around her throat. Greedy, bloody hands—his grip penetrating her, violating her, humiliating her—

“Fuck you’re clenching around my fingers,” Peter groaned breathlessly. “Fuck!—yes, use my hand—let Daddy help you—”

Lightning shot through her. Blinding white heat surged through her body, inside and out. She trembled and shuddered as a roman candle sparked in her belly, the explosion scorching her. Her body convulsed as her orgasm crashed through quivering thighs.

Electric screams echoed in her ears, rolling off of her tongue. They dwarfed Peter’s drunken voice—that’s it, good fuckin’ girl, god, y’taste so good—and she had almost forgotten everything about who they were. 

Until she felt his fingerprints tightening on her slippery thighs. She looked back down at him to find him helplessly moaning into her split, where he devoutly chased every drop of her with his tongue.

The sight of him on his knees—face wet, lips dripping with her cream, hips twitching with a raging hard-on—was so vulgar. So erotic, it almost made her come twice. She locked eyes with him, drinking in the charred whiskey barrel hue of his irises, and seeing his desperation to communicate. He telegraphed emotions so loudly, it was as if she could hear his thoughts. He thanked her graciously, plead for her mercy, vowed his love to her—

She picked up her leg and jabbed her heel into his throat as hard as she could. The kick stunned him, flattening him. From her perch, she watched him heave and cough on the bathroom floor, rolling onto his side defensively. He choked and gagged, palming his throat.

When he looked up at her, he looked like a kicked puppy. Too shocked to be angry. Too scared of her wrath to question it. She leered at him from above, fixing him with a vindictive glare. He laid beneath her, propped up on one elbow, while the other hand rubbed at his neck.

Her look reminded him of a cruel child chasing an ant with a magnifying glass on a sunny day. She looked to burn him alive. He fought the urge to crawl away. Her eyes flashed at him like a death ray. Lip curled upwards in disgust. He followed her gaze downward to his lap, and saw what she was seeing. The front of his pants were soaked through with his own cum. 

Cheeks blushing, he flinched, panicked. Moving his arm in a feeble attempt to hide his shame. Whatever drop in confidence he had plummeted straight through the center of the Earth. He was a child. A stupid boy awakening from a wet dream. He could barely meet her eyes.

“You have one final chance, Peter.” Every word came out like the ominous tolling of a bell. “One more chance to tell me the truth. Because I know what it sounds like when you lie.” 

Her voice sounded detached from her throat, untethered from her soul, echoing from a hollow cave where her heart had once been. The coldness of her tone was unnerving. He blinked up at her, lip quivering. Hating himself for what she had become.

Straight-faced and dark eyed, she asked, “Who is Gwen?” 

Peter swallowed hard, tears welling up in his eyes. It had been so long since he heard that name on anyone else’s lips. The sound of it still hurt to hear. Not just heart-shattering. It was like his entire being was made of glass. And the vicious look of contempt of her face was a stone being hurled towards him.

He studied her, half in despair, half in horrified awe. Full of regret.

He sniffled as he drew breath. “Gwen—” His voice cracked and he loathed the puny sound. He wanted to take the medical scissors off the tray and cut it out of his own throat. 

He rasped out his reply, “Gwen was my... my wife.” His tears felt like they were boiling against the coldness of his cheeks. “She was my everything.” He clenched his jaw to steady it. 

When he looked back up at her, her face remained unchanged. She rendered him with an unengaged stare, just shy of apathetic. 

“I lost her,” he added weakly. A shadow crossed his features, darkening his face and his spirit. “She died.” A lump formed in his throat, and each following breath was a painful, slow drag. The ache had nothing to do with his injuries.

A crease formed between her brows, tension in her jaw. They stayed silent forever, both fearing what the other one was going to say.

She broke the silence first.

“Peter,” she said with a wary tone. Her eyes grew colder as they began to rim with tears. “Are you responsible for her death?”

He sank further into misery, his face contorted with shame. He peeled his gaze away from hers. 

Responsibility, Peter.

His cheeks glistened with anguish. 

He nodded.

Observing the gesture felt like death. She felt like a corpse. She and Gwen were no different. Dead bodies trapped in boxes.

Her lips pulled in a tight line. “Thank you. For telling me the truth.” Despite the heartbreak and rage streaming through her, she was no louder than a whisper. She waited until he looked her in the eye.

“Now. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

To be continued...

A/N. Going through a hard time right now, thank you for being nice.

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (5) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues…

Rating: E (18+ only)

Warnings: age gap (legal), dilf!frankie, praise kink, voice kink, size kink, low self esteem, discussion of addiction/ptsd/trauma/triggers, divorce drama, no use of y/n, no beta reader, DDLG🎀, unprotected piv sex, oral m and oral f, hickies galore👅, mild BDSM (cuffs⛓, choking).

Masterlist here

AN: Whatta ride... but all things come to an end🥺. i'm blown away by the support for this fic. Thank you all 💕.

Chapter Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had his own mental list of stuff he needed to do before you would arrive. He dunged out his closet to make room for your clothes. It was long overdue. He had a lot of things he didn’t wear anymore that needed to go. He went out and bought some more plates and silverware since his two plates and Rosie’s plastic plates would not do. He no longer looked around his home with a sense of loneliness, now he pictured all the places you could fit in. He could see you reading by the window in the living room so he bought a comfy new chair to put there. He noticed your small plant collection in your apartment and thought you’d maybe like a bigger one in the back yard so he bought a planter box.

He was reading your novel, titled Our Little Kingdom, while your candle burned. You didn't give it to him at first. While you were in the bathroom and Frankie washed your dishes, he noticed a stack of papers poking out in the trash. It was your manuscript. When you came back and saw him reading it you tried to take it back but Frankie insisted and you caved. It was good. Frankie wasn't just saying that because he loved you. He could see how great writers had influenced you and still it was uniquely your voice. The story, too, was compelling. He couldn't help but imagine you as the protagonist as she was just as sweet and clever.

You were making good progress on your list. You had put in your two weeks notice and started to applying to jobs in Miami. You enjoyed working with veterans so you hoped you could do something similar again. As two weeks went by you were disappointed you still hadn't heard back from job interviews. Packing was a little more difficult. You didn’t know what was worth taking and what was worth leaving. You knew Frankie had most everything already so it was a matter of picking your most special things. The rest you were slowing taking to Goodwill in batches.

You had completely forgotten you sent your book in to publishers until a flurry of emails came in on the same day.

Frankie woke up in the middle of the night to his phone ringing. He sat up pulling the phone towards him. It was you. Why would you be calling so late? Maybe something was wrong?

“Frankie?” You sounded congested. He heard a sniffle. Frankie furrowed his brow at that.

“Hey. Is everything all right?”

“ They-they-“ you could barely get it out “they rejected me.”

“Who?”

“All of them. All of the book agencies.” You threw yourself onto your bed, hot tears running down your face.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, sweet pea.” Frankie didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. He thought your book was amazing. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. “They’re idiots. Every one of them.”

“They’re experts, Frankie.” You felt more tears leak from your eyes. “Maybe I’m just not a good writer. Maybe-Maybe-" You hiccuped and low cry slipped from your mouth. You covered your mouth, taking in raking breaths. It was agony to admit this to him when he believed in you most. You felt like you had let him down. Frankie's heart literally ached in his chest as he listened to your quiet weeping over the phone. He waited for you to continue, feeling his own eyes grow misty.

“Don’t disappear on me, little pea. Let me hear that voice of yours.”

You were unable to speak. Scared of what may come out. You felt like your walls were closing in around you and mocking you. How did you ever think you could be a writer like all your favorite authors? You were so stupid, you thought.

“I let you down.” You said shakily.

“No no no, little pea.” Frankie said quickly. “You could never let me down. I don’t need to a book agent to tell me you’re a good writer. I know you’re writing is beautiful and perfect. Just like you.”

His praise caused another wave of tears from you.

“Daddy…” You bawled.

“I hear you, baby.” Frankie heard his own voice shake with emotion. He never hated the distance more than he did in this moment. He needed to wrap you up in his arms. “Close your eyes, sweet pea. Use that big imagination of yours. Pretend I’m there with you.”

“Imagination isn’t good enough, daddy.” You blubbered, fat tears slipping from your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Frankie’s heart was breaking. “But try for me okay?”

You clamped your eyes shut and tried to focus in on his breathing on the other end of the phone. Frankie did the same, closing his eyes.

“Good, sweet pea. Focus on daddy.” He wished he was there to comfort you, wrap you up in his arms and shield you from the cruel cruel world. “I’m next to you. I’m holding you so tight.”

“Hold me tighter!” You begged holding your pillow pet to your chest.

“Okay. I just did.” Frankie whispered closing his eyes as if it would be more real. “Feel that?”

“Yeah…” A moment went by as you steadied your breathing. Tears eventually stopped falling, drying against your cheeks. Frankie’s steady breathing anchored you.

“I loved your book. It was really really good. And fuck it, I’ll publish it myself.” Frankie couldn't help but raise his voice.

“Silly.” You sniffled.

“I’m serious, sweet pea. Who needs those stuck up assholes.”

“Hmm yeah, you’re right.” You agreed, voice softening with sleepiness. You pushed your face into your pillow. You could still smell Frankie if you really focused. "I miss you, Frankie."

"I miss you, too."

"I still haven't heard from any jobs. And- maybe I'm just not good enough and-" You felt more tears fill your eyes.

"Shhh shhh" Frankie interrupted "Listen to me. You are the best. The right thing will turn up i'm sure of it."

"But it's the only thing left on the list!"

"I know..." Frankie pulled over your copy of the list that you wrote for him. He had crossed things off as you reported to him. "Let's see if they get back to you tomorrow." Maybe he was being too hard on you, making you get a job first. He only wanted to put it on there to give you some independence over the move. He didn't want you to feel like you had nothing to do once you got here.

Frankie waited until your breathing evened out. He called your name quietly. When he got no response he assumed you fell asleep. He didn’t want to hang up. He missed you so fucking much and he felt helpless.

When he woke up the next morning, he said goodbye to Rosalia as usual, called in sick, and started driving north. Fuck the list. You were coming home with him now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course Frankie called you telling you he was on his way. You felt bad for making him miss work but your excitement overpowered any guilt. You set a timer for 14 hours and started packing with new energy. Your eyes were still puffy from your tears last night. But you repeated what Frankie said like a mantra. Who needs those stuck up assholes. There were tons of ways to self publish nowadays. It didn’t have to be through a publishing house.

When you ran out of things to clean up and pack, you watched out the window waiting to see Frankie’s blue pick up. You had changed into sleep shorts and a t shirt. While you had a plan to dress more sexy you ended up accidentally packing that surprise in one of the boxes earlier today. It was getting dark when Frankie finally pulled up. He looked exhausted but still… Frankie. He was wearing his favorite hat and grey t shirt. You ran down to the street to meet him. He’s pulling empty boxes from the bed of the truck when he sees you sprinting towards him.

“Sweet pea!” He smiled as you launched yourself into his arms. “Oof.” You buried you face in his shirt inhaling his scent. He rubbed your back affectionately enjoying having you back in his arms. “Aw… it’s okay. It’s okay now.” He murmured when he heard you sniffle. He oddly felt his chest swell with pride at how much you missed him. He never had to worry about how you felt about him. He peeled your head off him by stroking your head. You looked up at him with a watery smile. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You snickered at his dad phases. “I’m ready. Well… I still have some stuff I need to pack up. Too heavy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Frankie kissed you chastely. You pulled him in for more though, fisting his shirt in your hands. “Mmm no no. Work first. Play later.” Frankie pulled back. You pouted but have to agree with his logic. The faster you packed the faster you could leave.

Back in your apartment Frankie got to work taking apart your bed and dresser. You finished packing your clothes and dusting.

“Hey what’s this? It was under the bed.” Frankie walked over holding a gift bag with pink tissue paper sticking up.

“Oh…” You quickly grabbed it away. “That’s supposed to be a surprise. For Rosie.”

“You got her a present?” Frankie was touched by your thoughtfulness.

“Yeah I mean… I figured it might make her like me more.”

“She already likes you, but she can never have too many toys.” Frankie stepped further into your space. You realize at that moment how sweaty he was from moving all the furniture. It was so late at night and you were both exhausted but the sudden rush of his thicker smell made you feel wide awake. “Can I see what you got her?”

You handed the package back over, watching him gingerly move the tissue paper to the side. His eyes softened when he saw the pink unicorn pillow pet sitting in the bag. A mini version of yours.

“Am I too presumptuous making us matching? I don’t know if she likes unicorns and-" Frankie cut you off, dropping the bag and kissing you up against the wall. He wasn't even sure what part of that turned him on, just your sweetness and wanting to be a part of his family. He held your face in his hands, his grip forcing your mouth open. You felt yourself start to grow wet. You loved when he just went caveman on you. Sometimes he didn’t have the words to express how much he loved you so he reverted to touch; to deep kisses and deep thrusts. His hands trailed down your exposed legs so he could lift you up on his hips. You held onto his shoulders as he swung you around. The bed was gone, the couch was gone.

"Fuck. Hang on."

You laughed as he ran you out to the kitchen to set you down on the counter. You pawed at his pants trying to undo his belt, but Frankie was faster, unhooking your bra from under your shirt and then pulling your shirt over your head. He took your hand and placed it over his large bulge between his legs.

“Feel what you do to me…” He gritted through his teeth his chest rising and falling sharply.


“Frankie- oh my god-please let me” You pulled he belt loose. At first he stops you. “I didn’t get to last time. Please?” He bit his lip considering your plea. He really just wanted to give and give and give to you. But he had been mean last time, not letting you touch his cock. So this time he doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his pants and pull him out of his boxers. You licked your lips as his cock fell into your hand, curving up towards you.

You hopped off the counter, getting onto your knees before him. “Take off your shirt… please?” He obliged. You kissed down his belly feeling it tighten against your lips. He watched you with fire in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. You pushed the rest of his pants and boxers down. You stroked him slowly with both hands.

“You have to tell me what you like…” You held his cock and licked a long stripe from the base to the head making him moan weakly. You repeat the motion adding a few kitten licks at the end, lapping up the stray drops of salty precum. Frankie was struggling to think let alone speak. He gripped the countertop above you, his other hand going to the back of your head.

“Just- go slow.” You followed his instructions, slowly taking his length in your mouth. “Good-good girl.” He clenched his jaw staring down at the sight. Your hot mouth felt like heaven and your innocent eyes staring up at him was just the cherry on top. You took his dick as far as you could before you choked lightly. You were by no means an expert at giving blowjobs but you were frustrated you couldn't go further. Your jaw was already aching from his girth.

“Mm don’t hurt yourself, baby.” He hissed unable to hold his hips still, he jerked a little against you making you whine. “Come back up, remember to breathe.”

You slowly pulled off his cock before going down again. Frankie’s hand on your head gently guided you so you didn’t hurt your throat. You added suction, applying pressure on the underside of his cock. You started to find what he liked based on his sounds. You still couldn’t take him all the way in your mouth, tears gathered in corner of your eyes from the effort. Your hand pumped the rest that wouldn’t fit.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie gasped his hips jerking again making his cock slide back into your mouth. You moved one of your hands to his hips looking up at him to say it was okay. “Are you-you want me to fuck your mouth, sweet pea?” You nodded eagerly. You put one of you hands on his length where he wouldn’t fit. He gathered up some of your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly thrust into your mouth. Like he always did, he waited for you to nod and give him the okay. When you did, he couldn’t help the growl that left his throat. Drool leaked from your mouth onto your chest as he sped up using your head more forcefully. You were sure you had soaked through your panties. It turned you on so much to see him take control, use you for his pleasure, but still his grip on you was firm and gentle. Every grunt went straight to your pussy. “Such a good girl letting me use this hole, too.” He rasped. “You’re crying around my cock.”

“Mmhm” You hummed around his dick making him groan. He was close. He was battering the back of your throat. You could recognize the furrowed brow and the tightening of his balls. You intensified your ministrations.

“Good girl, good-I’m gonna cum in your little mouth.” He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Stick out your tongue, sweet pea.” He ordered. You obeyed, watching greedily as he fisted himself harshly the tip of his cock hitting your tongue. You placed your hands on either side of his tummy, anticipating his load. His chest was flush and his eyes were fluttering shut. When he came he yanked your head up harshly as cum splashed onto your tongue. You loved this perspective, watching his face contort with pleasure. You tried to take every drop but some dripped down your chin. “Swallow.” Frankie ordered roughly still maintaining his grip on your head. You swallowed, his warm cum sliding down your throat.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled up at him, wiping some of the stray cum off your chin. He let go of your hair, now stroking your head then your jaw. “Did I do well?”

“So good.” He chuckled and helped you stand, his breath still ragged. You squirmed pressing your thighs together. The move not missed by Frankie. “Did sucking my cock make you wet, sweet pea?”

You nodded shyly before saying “It’s okay though. You don’t have to-it’s late and we have a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re always looking out for me but what kind of man would I be if I left you all needy. But you have to ask for it, sweet pea.”

“I kinda just want your mouth if that’s okay?” You asked feeling too tired for a full round of sex.

“Of course.” Frankie smiled. “Your mattress is still in the bedroom.” He led you in and helped settle you on the center of the mattress. He pulled your shorts and underwear off, staring at your slick reddened pussy. "You soaked your little panties, sweet pea. Did you touch your little flower while I was gone?" Frankie asked, pulling apart your legs.

"I-I tried to. But it wasn't the same."

"How come, little pea?" His patronizing tone had your cunt clenching. He was teasing you.

"It wasn't your fingers. I needed you." You huffed, trying to push his head down onto you.

"Mmm poor thing." Frankie chuckled, the rich sound giving you goosebumps. He felt his cock start to harden again despite you just sucked the soul out of him moments ago. He slowly licked up your slit moaning at the taste of you. Your head tipped back as he he slowly inserted a finger into you. "Eyes on me." He instructed. You forced your head back down so you could make eye contact. "Play with your tits for me." You obeyed, squeezing the flesh in your hand. He returned to his task, taking your clit in between his lips, quickly escalating your climax. Your hands never stood a chance. He inserted a second finger, curling it against you. They were so thick and long it hit that spot deep inside you it made you gush.

"Oh my god. Daddy-I'm-" You teetered on the precipice your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body erupted in flames as your mouth open in a silent scream. Frankie's eyes widened as your pussy strangled his fingers before fluttering uncontrollably. Your cum dripped onto his hand, he quickly replaced his fingers with his tongue trying to catch it all.

"That's it." He felt you finally take a shaking inhale. "Breathe, sweet pea. Breathe." Exhaustion hit you hard as every muscle relaxed.

"I'm sleepy..." You slurred.

"It's okay. You can go to sleep." Frankie leaned up kissing you, smearing your slick all over your mouth. He returned to licking your pussy less aggressively though. "I got you."

You nodded before drifting off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you dump the last of your stuff at goodwill, packed the truck, turned in your key, and hit the road. You were bouncing in your seat with excitement. You hadn’t ever traveled south of DC. The landscape was beautiful. You and Frankie took turns driving, belting Fleetwood Mac on repeat. You forced Frankie to take obligatory selfies to remember the journey at rest stops or whenever the view was worthy. Over halfway to Miami you paused at a rest stop for a quick nap. Frankie was anxious to get you home and he didn’t want to stay put for too long. He was used to long drives and quick naps, but you weren’t. He didn’t want to exhaust you because there was so much he wanted to show you when you arrived. You laid across the backseat of the truck with your head in Frankie’s lap as the sun was going down.

In the early morning Frankie finished the drive. His own excitement increased when he was back in the city. You had your head nearly sticking out of the window looking at everything. You couldn’t believe how sunny and warm it was here. Frankie turned down a residential street. “Almost there.” He said. You buzzed in your seat.

Frankie made one last turn into a driveway. You instantly got warm feelings looking at the house. It was painted seagull grey with white trim. It was wonderfully symmetrical with two windows on the first and second floor with window boxes outside the first floor window. The front yard was nicely mowed.

“Your house is so cute!” You hopped out of the car, your legs enjoying the chance to stretch. The air smelled slightly salty being so close to the beach. The sun felt wonderful on your skin. You could have laid down in the grass and just fallen asleep.

Frankie showed you around his house with your hand in his, pointing out random things of importance in his giddy state. You followed him around with bright adoring eyes. Despite looking forward to this moment for a while, you barely looked at anything except for him. You could care less about where the tile for the fireplace came from. You didn’t remember Frankie’s story about how Will messed up his back moving in Frankie’s couch in because it was hitting you over and over again that you were home with Frankie. You didn’t pay attention to the story behind Rosie’s crib because Frankie was here with you. His warm hand holding you close like you may disappear. He was here with that damn cute excited voice as he showed you around his home, soon to be your home.

“Sweet pea? Earth to sweet pea?”

“Hmmm?” You smiled apologetically. Standing in the kitchen, the sun pouring in from the window above the sink bathed Frankie in golden light making him look ethereal.

“I said- we should start moving boxes in before it gets dark.”

“You haven’t shown me everything yet.” You realized.

“What did I miss?”

“Your room…” You swung your entwined hands back and forth.

“Our room, sweet pea.”

“So I won’t be sleeping on the floor?” You laughed.

“Never.” He kissed you briefly. “I just haven’t cleaned up in there and I need to make some space for your stuff and-“

“Frankie.” You quiet his rambling with another kiss. You couldn’t stop kissing him. “Your house is immaculate. That’s the room I want to see.”

He swallowed harshly before he led you up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to his room. While showing you the garden and the other rooms he was giddy but now he seemed more flustered. When you opened the door you could see why. Your candle was sitting on his bedside table. It was the first thing you saw when you walked in.

You immediately break away from him, going to inspect his bedside table. Glimpses of Frankie that made you love him all the more. Your candle, your books, your list, his sergeant pin, and an old alarm clock.

“Was this what you’re so embarrassed about?” You asked picking up the candle. It was almost used up. He averted his gaze. The back of his neck bright red which you recognized as a sign of his nervousness. “Frankie…” You set it down and took both his hands in yours. You couldn’t even convey what it meant to you. He had missed you that much that he burned your candle.

“I have the real thing now.” He said pulling you against his chest, dragging his nose over your cheek in reverence. You hummed in contentment. “This is our room, sweet pea. Our home.” He whispered.

“Our bed.” You added moving his hands to rest on your ass, wrapping your own around his neck.


“Eager girl.” He tutted, kissing just below your ear, squeezing your ass lightly.

“I can’t help it. I’ve waited so long, Frankie.” You tilt your head up resting your forehead against his.

“You’ll never have to wait again, princesa pea. I’m here.”

“Then I want you now.” You tugged him towards the bed. Falling down onto his comforter you were hit by a puff of his scent. Laundry detergent, old spice, and that indescribable musk that was Frankie. You barely got a chance to enjoy it before Frankie is falling on top of you. You laughed as he pulled you up the bed until you’re against the pillows. He's about to rip your clothes from you but-

“Wait wait- I have a gift for you.” His eyes lit up.

“Frankie…” You smiled “You didn’t have to get me anything.” He pushed away from you, walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a small package.


“Here.” He handed it to you.

You sat up. You felt guilty you didn’t get him a gift. You slowly peeled back the tape trying to save the paper. It was wrapped so nicely.

“Come on, rip it up. It’s just paper.”

“No… I wanna save it.” You argued, pulling it open finally. You stared down at the contents in your lap. It was a book with a pink cover and loopy writing. Our Little Kingdom. “Frankie… this is- this is my book.” You felt your eyes swim with tears.

“I know.” Frankie knelt in front of you. “I read it and it was so good. I wanted to get it bound. I was serious when I said want to publish it. I want to make it happen. But if you don’t want to at least we can enjoy it how it’s meant to be enjoyed.”

You flipped through the pages smelling the fresh paper. You reached the end and noticed Frankie had slipped in something as a book mark. It was a torn half of a check. “This is…”

“The check I tore up. I use it as a bookmark so I thought you would-“

You launched yourself at Frankie, a habit you learned from him when words were just simply not enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were surrounded by Frankie’s scent, warm sun hitting your face. Frankie wasn't there. You heard movement downstairs. You threw on the first shirt of Frankie's you could find. You practically skipped down the stairs, heart leaping when you saw Frankie in his PJ pants and nothing else sitting at the kitchen table. His body was lit up in the morning sun, he looked like a goddamn dream. He was shoveling some cereal into his mouth but he stopped when he noticed you. He still looked so sexy to you in this moment, his strong arms and big hand gripping the small spoon. His chest littered with small hickies you made. You blinked a couple of times wanting to imprint this image into your brain forever.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“The sun woke me up!”

“Shit. I would have made you some breakfast or something.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled going to stand in front of him. You kissed him, licking some of the milk from his lips. Your hands rested on his bare golden shoulders. You loved how wide they were and how solid and warm they felt.

“Mmm is this mine, sweet pea?” He tugged at the Fleetwood Mac shirt hanging down to your thighs.

“No, it’s another boys.” You teased.

“Don’t joke about that, little pea.” Frankie warned with a small swipe to your ass.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You giggled. “I was only joking. No one else has cool shirts like you.”

“You want some cereal? I can also make eggs or pancakes or-“

“I want-” You slipped your hand over his pants. You could feel his slightly hard cock sitting below. “This.”

“You already had some last night and you still want more?” Frankie groaned his thighs spreading further around you. “I thought you’d be sore, sweet pea.”

“I am.” You admitted kissing him quickly. “but I still want you.”

“Mmm…” Frankie pulled your hand away watching you pout. “I think you need to eat something first.”

“No I don’t!”

“Come on, I’ll let you sit on your special seat.” He tapped his thigh. You debated this. You decided to do what he asked, not wanting to test your luck so early in the day. You hopped up on his lap wiggling back until his semi hard cock was pressed against your back. Your thighs sitting over his legs, your pussy peaking out from his shirt. Frankie rested his big hands on your bare thighs rubbing the skin back and forth. You closed your eyes enjoying his touch. You could feel his breath against your neck as he looked down at the sight.

“Do I look good on my special seat, daddy?” You asked looking up at him.

“Perfect, my little pea.” Frankie smiled. He pulled the cereal over and you popped a bite in your mouth. You didn’t normally like cereal but since Frankie asked…

“Okay, done. I’ve eaten.”

“Woah I hardly call that eating.” Frankie shook his head. He placed a hand on your stomach, fingers splayed out over the entire width almost. He applied a little pressure which had you squirming again. God his hands were so big and warm just above where you needed him. “I can feel little rumblings telling me you’re hungry, sweet pea.” You rock against him more intentionally making him catch his breath.

“Not for cereal.” You bit your lip.

“One more bite, sweet pea. For daddy?” He rubbed his beard into your neck which never failed to make you to laugh.


You took another spoonful of the soggy cereal before looking up at him for approval. He chuckled as you chewed quickly. You looked so cute with your cheeks full. It made cock ache.

“Good job, sweet pea.” He smirked when you swallowed it all. He lowered his hand down to cup your pussy which was already dripping. You hand flew to his thick forearm.

You melted against him as he rubs your clit slowly. Last night was hurried and desperate but now it was like he had all the time in the world. You listened to him take large inhale against your neck, smelling you.

“You look so beautiful, sweet pea. In my shirt. In our kitchen.”

“Fuck…” You moaned. His fingers felt so wonderful and thick against you. You fucking loved the sound of that. Ours.

“I’m gonna fuck you on our table.”

He lifted you up with ease, pushing your back down on the table. The sun coming through the window bathed your body in soft light. You looked divine. Frankie had your legs spread wide, tongue on that pussy before you could even blink. “Holy shit. Daddy!” Your hands clenched into fists at your side.

“Sweet pea.” Frankie pulled off, lips wetted by your slick. You blushed under his hot gaze. “Why don’t you pull my hair?”

You whimpered as he took your little fist and put it in his beautiful locks. “I want to but… the last person I was with didn’t like it.” You turned your head to the side trying to hide your embarrassment. His hair felt like silk in your hands.

“Hey-“ Frankie gently grabbed your chin and turned you to look at him. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He was leaning over you, invading all your senses, but of course the aspect that hit you hardest was his voice. Soft and reassuring. That rich baritone that made you fall in love in the first place. “Pull my hair, baby, I wanna know how well I treat this pussy. You won’t hurt me.”

You nodded feeling your eyes wet with tears. His affection never ceased to shock you. He kissed you, softening your worried look with each stroke of his tongue. When you were relaxed, he returned to your pussy. He was a fast learner for the times, applying the pressure you needed with his tongue while hitting that spot inside your walls with his fingers. Your hands were laced in his soft hair tugging almost unconsciously.

“Fuck-Daddy" You gasped feeling your breath. Your stomach tightened but you still felt like you weren't quite to your breaking point. "I can't- I need- I need-"

"What, sweet pea, what do you need?" Frankie paused, looking at you struggle above him. You grabbed his hand which was holding your hip and moved it to your throat. "Holy shit." Frankie's eyes widened.

"I need you to push me over-" you struggled to think of how to explain it but Frankie started applying light pressure over your throat making your cunt tighten around his fingers. The strain on your airway finally brought you to the edge. He returned to your clit and didn’t let up even as your walls clamped and gushed around his fingers. Didn’t stop as your back arched off the table, your toes curled, and your hands pulled his hair almost painfully. He let go of your throat when you tapped his wrist and your breath returned ragged and sharp, extending your orgasm. You brushed some of Frankie’s hair from his forehead and he looked up, making eye contact, as his lips suckled on your clit lightly. You didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling your body come down from that peak, basking in Frankie’s loving gaze between your legs. You felt boneless.

“I love you.” You murmured. Frankie surged up, capturing your lips in a wet kiss. He pulled back and kissed the happy tears falling from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I love you, too. I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m home.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, needing to feel that promise inside you. Needing his promise filling you up.

“Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

“I’m sure.” You ran your hand through his hair, now addicted to the feeling of it.

Frankie slowly eased himself into your pussy. It was harder without lube. You winced a little once he was fully inside. Fuck he was so big.

"Am I hurting you?" Frankie felt bad and started to pull out.

"No please." You arched your back trying to hold him inside. "I'm okay. I want- I want-."

"Sweet pea..." He bit his lip as he struggled to resist thrusting into you.

"And if I can't walk- then you can carry me." You wiggled your hips. Frankie couldn't help but laugh at that not that he minded carrying you around. "Please, daddy." You asked one last time as you dug your heels into his lower back. Frankie placed his hands on your waist and started fucking into you slowly, withdrawing almost all the way out before thrusting back in again.

“I’m so proud of you… taking my cock like a good girl.” He kissed you softly, moving to kiss a train down your neck to your nipples and back up. "You're home now." You nodded in agreement. "This is our little kingdom, sweet pea.” Your shallow breaths slowly transformed into moans. You felt your muscles relax a little and signaled he could start moving faster.

Needless to say the cereal on the table shook and spilled as he fucked you. Spilled milk on your table. His cum spilled inside you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie enjoyed hosting so much since Rosie’s birthday he wanted to have a Fourth of July barbecue. With your help he took the decorations to the next level. Hanging fairy lights over the patio, and renting a bouncy castle for the kids. In an act of irrational niceness, you had said it was okay if Laura came by, that way Rosalia would be there too.

Frankie was clear he had no desire to hide you. He wanted to show you off. Still, you dreaded meeting Frankie's ex. Rosalia had warmed to you quickly even preferring you to hold her. You already loved her so much. Today she wanted you to follow her everywhere and watch her play. Frankie was stuck behind the grill but he still could watch his girls playing. You were wearing a lovely red sundress which Frankie was looking forward to stripping off. It brushed your thighs in the breeze and it was perfect height for Rosalia to tug on when she wanted to be picked up.

“You’ve done a great job with the decor.” Laura appeared at Frankie’s side.

“Thanks.” Frankie smiled tightly. Her surprised tone confirmed that she always underestimated him.

“You’ve been happier lately.” Laura studied Frankie.

“I guess.” Frankie shrugged turning one of the hot dogs for something to do.

“It just has me remembering the old days. Before everything with you happened.” Frankie prickled at that last statement. Everything with you. She always put it on him totally forgetting how she also made things worse.

“Frankie?” You appeared at his other side, eyeing Laura warily and doing little to hide your dislike. You had seen from yards away how Frankie tensed up, looking down. You wouldn’t let that slide so you went over. Finally removing your glare from his ex wife you look up at him, laying a reassuring hand over his forearm. “Uh- people are getting hungry. How soon until it’s done?”

“It’s ready now.” Frankie smiled down at you, instantly feeling more at ease. His answer let you know he was okay.

“Great I’ll wrangle everyone.” You smiled before darting back to the crowd.

“Who is that?” Laura frowned. “Someone's babysitter?”

“No.” Frankie shut off the grill facing his ex wife face to face. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Laura sounded skeptical. “She’s 12.”

“She’s a woman.” Frankie corrected her. “A woman I love very much.” He wasn’t going to listen to anyone look down on you.

“You should have talked to me before you brought her around Rosie.” Laura huffed, putting a hand on her hip.

“You had no problem parading your boyfriends around during our divorce.” Frankie shot back quickly looking to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “It’s in the court records so I doubt you want to bring it up.”

“Frankie…” Laura seemed to regret what she said.

“Let’s just… move on.” Frankie said as people started to draw near.

“Papa!” He heard Rosie squeal, toddling towards him.

“Rosie!” He picked her up, his anger instantly melting away. “Ready for your hot dog?”

As Frankie and the others started filling up their plates Laura crept closer to you as you were cleaning up some of the kid’s mess by the pool.

“Excuse me. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura.” She extended her hand. She was taller than you. Her face was tight as if she was holding in her sneer.

“Hi.” You decided to be nice, shaking the woman’s hand. You introduced yourself.

“So… you and Frankie. “

“Yes.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“A few months.” You said keeping it vague.

“And it’s going well?”

“Yes.” You grew annoyed by her vague questioning. Obviously it was going well since you were here. Her eyes were the total opposite of Frankie's. Hard and cold and icy blue. You quietly thanked god that Rosalia had inherited Frankie's eyes.

“Hmm he’s not doing that crazy thing anymore?”

“What thing?” You frowned.

“Well one time while we were together he stayed up the whole night because he thought some criminal or something was after us.” Laura laughed cruelly. You wanted to slap her for her lack of sympathy. What was funny about Frankie’s fear? “The psychiatrist said there would be delusions but that was just too much.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” You snipped, trying to keep at least a polite facade. There were people just a few feet away. You prayed the couldn’t hear.

“Hey I’m sorry.” She schooled her features. “Don’t think I’m cruel. It wasn’t easy being with someone like that. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Thanks for that. I think I'm good though.” You finished picking up the last pool toy and walked away before Laura could say more. You wanted to turn back and say something mean but you were determined to be the bigger person. You didn’t want to start drama that would hurt Frankie and Rosalia. You spent a good minute in the garage after putting the toys back, positively fuming.

“Sweet pea?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts, joining you in the garage. “Aren’t you hungry?”

"I was just cleaning up.” You said though your hands were empty.

“I saw Laura talking to you.” He watched you warily. Fear lapped at him. What did Laura tell you...“Everything okay?”

“She just… a bitch.” You huffed. Your word choice made Frankie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry I know you married her but how? She’s awful and rude and judgmental.”

“I know.” Frankie quieted his laughter, pulling you into his chest. “It wasn’t meant to last.”

“Because she’s a bitch.” You grumbled into his chest making Frankie laugh again. His tummy bounced against yours with his laughter. You loved it. You thought again about what Laura said. How cruel she had been in the face of Frankie’s PTSD. “If she says one more rude thing I may have to smack her.”

“You’re hot when you’re possessive, you know that?” Frankie smiled tickling your sides. “Come on, we should get back before our guests start to notice.”

“Alright.” You agreed, taking his hand and following him out of the garage. You felt Laura’s eyes on you two when you came back to the yard. Frankie got your burger set up for you before doing his. It’s the simple things that got you going; how giving he is. You tried to hide your blush from the onlookers as Frankie asked you ketchup or mustard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once everyone went home you and Frankie laid out a blanket in the back so you could watch the fireworks happening on the beach a mile away. He was quiet, at least more than he usually is. You didn’t know what to say to reassure him so again you reverted to touch. You placed your hand on his thigh reassuringly.

“Frankie?” You turned to him. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.” He seemed taken aback by your question.

“Okay.” You moved closer to him until you were tucked into his side.

“You mean about Laura.” Frankie said after a moment. “Just- she didn’t say anything to you to make you upset right? She doesn’t get under my skin anymore. I don’t want her to get under yours.”

“She didn’t get under my skin.” You replied. She said nothing to make you insecure, just make you angry at her is all. “I’m just protective of you, you know. It seems like she was awful to you.”

“It’s fine.” Frankie shrugged.

“No.” You moved to sit on his lap, straddling him. “It’s not. You came back from your deployment probably in need of some comfort and all she gave you was judgment."

“She told you about that night.” Frankie hung his head in humiliation. You didn’t deny it. You didn’t want to upset him but part of you knew he should talk about this. Laura shouldn’t be the only one who holds this memory over his head. “It was my first night back. I just- I swore I heard gunfire. I was freaking out. I was probably acting really scary. I thought they came for me and she-Laura called the cops on me.”

“How could she…” You teared up on behalf of Frankie.

“I ran.” He continued, his voice thick. “I stayed a Will’s and calmed down. That was the end of the marriage.” He rubbed up and down your thighs under your dress. It always comforted him. You tried to think of what to say. His wife, the person who was supposed to love him the most, ostracized him and criminalized him.

Frankie was anticipating you to be afraid of him or push him away, but to his surprised you pulled him into a hug, holding his head against your neck like he was a child. He felt a sob rise in his throat and tears wet his eyes. You were so... kind. It was something he was still learning to accept and realize he deserved .

“You’re right.” You took a breath to relax yourself. “It doesn’t matter what she says. You’re mine now. Not hers.” You kissed Frankie on his nose then kissed his mouth.

“Always, sweet pea.” He rubbed his thumb over the area of your brow that furrowed in residual anger.

“I just wish there were some way…” you chewed your lip. “I have these-“ you pulled his dog tags out from where they hung between your breasts. “Reminds me I’m yours.”

“Maybe I need a necklace too.” Frankie smiled squeezing your thighs. That got you thinking…

“Can I try something?” You asked. Frankie nodded looking amused. You tugged at his shirt pulling it over his head. You never got over how broad he was. His toned arms were flexed holding himself up. You leaned forward planting a wet kiss on Frankie’s neck where it met his shoulder.

“Mmm gonna mark me up?”

You nodded and sucked harder till you were satisfied it would leave a mark. Pulling back you admired the red blooming where your mouth had been. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it did but you loved that he had a physical mark from you. He had scars here and there from cross fire and stab wounds. Some he wouldn’t go into detail. You loved them all but for once you wanted him to have a mark born out of love.

“I’m gonna give you a necklace, daddy.” You murmured tracing the path you would forge, down and around to the other side of his neck. You were gonna make hicks all around his neck like a chain. You leaned back down and planted another mark below and slightly to the right.

“Holy shit.” Frankie groaned, tilting his head back. He felt his cock start to harden under your attention. You slowly made your way across his hot skin until you had seven little wet hickies starting to show through the skin. You traced them with your finger, connecting the dots.

Frankie looked down, watching in fascination. His dog tags were a bittersweet thing, symbolizing his commitment to the military, but you wanted them. You wore them proudly, giving him more closure than 100 hours of therapy. But this... this new chain on his skin represented his belonging to you. “Beautiful, baby girl. Thank you.” He kissed you sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You pulled away before he could deepen it. You start to lean down again like you were going to plant another hickie on him. He pushed you back and rolled the both of you over.

“Daddy! I wasn’t done yet.” You wiggled against the soft blanket.

“No it’s daddy’s turn now.” He pushed the straps of your dress down your arms, tugging your neckline down.

“But I already have a necklace.” You felt Frankie’s dog tags lying in your cleavage.

“Now you’ll have two. I spoil my girl like that.” Frankie teased. He kissed up and down your neck before settling on his starting place. When he started sucking it sent a lightning bolt straight to your clit. You gasped. You could feel him hard against your thigh, not fully yet. You rocked your hips impatiently, clutching his head against you.

“Be patient, baby.” He warned, pausing his work. You stilled your hips with a pout. “Good girl.” He resumed. You wanted to be naughty but you knew you’d never win that fight. Problem was you were loving his attention on your neck so much you couldn’t help but start grinding against his leg again. Your hand reached down and tried to stroke his hardening cock. Frankie pulled back, his lips swollen from giving you hickies. He was only halfway around your chest now.

“You’re being naughty…” Frankie chided, lightly slapping your hand away from him. You continued squirming under his gaze though you at least look apologetic. Frankie pulled away. “You don’t want your necklace?” Frankie pretended to be hurt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” You turned on the puppy dog eyes. “Just- your mouth feels so good.”

“If you’re not gonna behave I’m gonna have to make you behave.” Frankie’s mouth curled into a smirk. Your stomach flipped around in excitement. “Sit back up on your knees.” He ordered. You eagerly sat up on your knees, placing your hands on your thighs. Your dress hung around your waist. Frankie stood up and started undoing his belt. You got excited thinking he was going to let you suck his cock but instead he just pulled his belt from his pants and knelt down again. “Remember just say stop if you want to stop.” Frankie reminds you.

You nodded your eyes dilating, staring at the leather in his hands.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” He instructed. You obeyed your knees widening subconsciously. He tied his belt around your wrists. It’s not tight enough to hurt but you certainly could not move your hands without really trying. Frankie licked his lips, staring down at your vulnerable position. “Good little sweet pea.” He cooed. “Now you won’t be able to be naughty. What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You whispered feeling your cheeks burn at the depravity of your position. The smooth leather of his belt rubbed against your pulse point and Frankie’s smell filled your nose. You’re out in the open. Sure there was a fence but it still heightened your arousal. You were dripping you were sure of it. He knelt before you again to finish his hickies. He held your hair pulling it back to give himself more room.

You tried to lift up your arms multiple times but got stopped by the belt. You whined as he sucked another mark into you and you couldn’t get any stimulation in this position. Frankie let you moan and whine for him but he didn’t stop his mission. He finally pulled back, his hooded eyes evaluated at his work.

“Look at it, baby.”

You looked down at the curved line of hickies running from collarbone to collarbone. “Thank you, daddy, for my necklace. I love it so much.” You looked at his chest. You were matching now. Your lust was momentarily paused as a fresh wave of adoration washed over you. It was so much deeper than sex. Frankie noticed your change in expression and kissed you softly, bringing you back to the moment.

“You sat still for me so good. Now you can ask for what you want.” He strokes your hair softly.

“I wanna-I wanna suck you cock please?”

“Are you sure?” Frankie smiled. “You don’t want my mouth on you or-"

“No.” You shook your head. The emotions swirling in you from lust to love made you hungry for one thing. “I wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He groaned before kissing you hard, licking into your mouth. He never had someone as giving and kind and protective of him as you. He could have cried but there was no need because you were his forever. No yearning just living. He reached around to pull off the belt but you stopped him with a small voice.

“Leave it on.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Frankie stood quickly. You sat up further, your hands still restrained behind your back. Your head was tilted up at him, your dress bunched around your waist, it was the most beautiful fucking sight.

Red blue and white fireworks dazzled the sky above. He picked you up bridal style and carried you inside as quickly as he could while you giggled in delight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things started clicking into place like you were growing along some metaphorical ladder. You were finally where you needed to be. You got a job working at the VA in Miami, running their re-entry program. A small publishing house in Miami loved your book and agreed to publish it for a short run. Frankie took some money out of the Colombia account to cover the rest of the contract. Frankie had the book for sale at the shop pushing it on anyone who would enter. He was so proud of you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Frankie unironically planted sweet pea in the garden, telling you how they are slow to grow, but their delicate flower and sweet smell is worth the wait; just like you. Sweet peas were climbers, with the right support, they would bend to any shape. You knew you could go as high as the sky with Frankie by your side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @floraandfrost @agingerindenial, @heythere-mel, @icanbeyourjedi, @linnie0119, @pedrosmustache, @thisshipwillsail316, @peterhollandkait, @leias-rebelion, @phoenix-of-loki, @prettypedros, @kennedywxlsh, @punkerthanpascal, @the-witty-pen-name, @twentyfirstcenturyfox, @madslorian, @sarahjkl82-blog, @bison-writes, @lightning-fast54, @maievdenoir, @nicolethered, @kenoobiwan, @danniburgh, @janebby, @dihra-vesa, @yespolkadotkitty, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @headinthestarz, @tanyaherondale, @christina-loves, @dobbyjen, @fangirl-316

[julemmaes]

Robyn

Rowaelin Month, Day Ten

A/N: I'd planned on posting them in order, but you get what you get. Idk when the other prompts will come tbf. I hope soon. Anyway, I managed to write over 6k words today and I'm pretty fucking proud.

This is just fluff over fluff, so yep enjoy!!

Word count: 3,047

Rowan was unbelievably late as he sped through the streets of Orynth.

So late that the school had called not only him, but also the front desk of the place where he worked when he hadn't answered the call on his personal phone. Sorscha, his assistant, had entered his office with an embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she didn't want to tell him that he had forgotten for the umpteenth time to pick up his daughter from school.

Lorcan had joined him, for some strange reason, but Rowan had stopped bothering when it came to his best friend. He'd been trying to figure out how he reasoned for years and had come to the conclusion that there was no logical sense in the actions of the man sitting next to him, who was currently singing at the top of his lungs to one of the songs on the Frozen CD - which much to the chagrin of both of them, had gotten stuck in his car radio months before, forcing them into hours of torture.

He would never deny that the songs were all quite catchy, but after the sixteenth time Rowan had had to listen to Let It Go at maximum volume, his positive opinion of the film had begun to waver.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Rowan noticed with deep regret that the only cars still there were those of the teachers and school staff.

They both got out of the car, Rowan walking quickly towards the entrance while Lorcan dragged behind him.

He greeted the caretakers sitting at the entrance, who returned a big smile. A smile that grew even wider when his large, imposing friend entered a few moments later. He stopped to talk to the old ladies and Rowan walked down the corridor he knew led to Robyn's classroom.

He could hear muffled voices from inside the teachers' room on the left and the one he knew belonged to Miss Galathynius coming from the right. He looked out over the classroom, spotting the two people sitting at a desk.

As soon as his daughter saw him, her eyes widened and a huge smile flashed across her face.

No words. No "hello, daddy!" or "I missed you!" from the little girl.

Her teacher turned as she leapt out of her chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs and looking up at him. Rowan smiled at her in turn, running a hand over her hair that was shot in every direction.

"Hello, little bird," he murmured to her. The child's smile widened even more if that was possible.

The woman a few feet away from them pulled herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sincere smile to the child, who hid behind his thighs.

Rowan was about to tell her that Robyn was shy with everyone like this, ready to defend his daughter's behaviour as he was used to doing in front of every adult, but he was beaten to the punch.

"It's good to see you, Mr Whitethorn," she said, extending a hand. Rowan shook it without hesitation. "Actually, I just wanted to write you a letter regarding Robyn," she continued, never taking her eyes off the little girl. "Nothing serious," she hastened to reassure him when Rowan grimaced, "quite the contrary. Robyn is remarkably good. One of the best in the class, though I shouldn't offer that information so bluntly."

Miss Galathynius winked at him, but he couldn't process what he'd just been told.

"Sorry, could you-"

The little hands clamped around his trousers tightened a fraction more and Rowan looked down, trying to figure out what was bothering his daughter, but then something happened that he hadn't even dared to dream about in recent times.

"You're here!"

The little girl broke off and ran away from him in less than the blink of an eye.

Rowan turned just in time to see Lorcan grab Robyn in mid-air, spinning her around as he brought her to his chest and showered her with kisses. The loud, incessant laughter that erupted from her seemed too much coming from that fragile little body, but he never tired of hearing it.

"Why hello baby!" said Lorcan laughing in turn, starting to tickle her until she begun to rebel and he was forced to let her slide to the floor. Robyn was still laughing at the top of her lungs and nearly fell to the ground as she squealed left and right, letting herself be pushed around by the closest thing to an uncle she had ever had.

When Rowan turned back to the woman, she was wide-eyed and her lips slightly parted as she watched the massive man dressed completely in black and the menacing face turn into a completely different person the second he had seen Robyn.

He chuckled, "I know, it's not every day you get to see a little girl be so comfortable with a brute like that."

Lorcan, who was listening to everything, looked him straight in the eye and without stopping smiling and playing with the little girl, mouthed to him to fuck off.

"Well, yeah. You caught me a little off guard." she confessed, still shocked to hear how Robyn was having a full conversation with Lorcan. They couldn't hear anything of what she was actually saying, but even just the fact she was talking to someone seemed to have Aelin unsettled.

She returned her attention to Rowan and let out a breath that sounded more like a giggle, "I've never heard her laugh before."

He nodded, blushing a little at the teacher's surprised but relieved tone.

"I'm sure the dean warned you about the problem she has," he said in a low voice. He grimaced at her poor choice of words, "I mean, not problem, but the difficulty she finds in interacting with people she doesn't know."

Liar, he told himself. Robyn hadn't spoken to anyone but him and Lorcan since the day Lyria had died. It wasn't a difficulty, but a response to the trauma that prevented her from speaking to anyone who wasn't part of her immediate family.

"I know, I know. We've been looking for solutions together." she informed him. "I give her a white board every morning. Come on, I'll show you." she turned to the desk they were sitting at earlier and raised the magnetic board, on which a few words were scribbled on. "I'll write here what she might need. Yes. No. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry." she read, listing the various options. Rowan gaped. "We've only just started going over the alphabet for a second time, so she can't really read or write yet, as I imagine you know, but the little drawings next to each sentence help her."

She continued talking, but he couldn't quite follow.

The woman in front of him - aside from being breathtakingly beautiful - had done as much as she could to help her child with communication.

"Mr. Whitethorn-"

"Rowan. Please, call me Rowan." he said, clearing his throat once he realized how hoarse it sounded to his ears. Lorcan walked up to them at that point, still holding Robyn in his arms and positioned himself next to him, letting their shoulders touch in a comforting way.

"Call me Aelin, then," she smiled at them both. Then she made a small grimace, turning to Rowan, "I wanted to ask if it bothered you, that I sought a solution like that. Maybe I put her in distress, embarrassed her. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted to solve this on my own. I really wanted to discuss it with you, with your husband too, to avoid misunderstandings. Maybe we could arrange a meeting."

He was about to tell her that she had given him the exact opposite of annoyance, that he had been more than pleased that she had helped Robyn this way, when her words finally registered.

Lorcan, beside him, had opened his mouth wide and his lips were slowly bending into a mischievous smile.

Rowan furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, what?"

Aelin's smile seemed to falter. "A meeting? With you? To talk about how to handle the situation," then she shifted her gaze to Lorcan, "You're more than welcome to join as well. I didn't know Robyn had two dads, I apologise for assuming Robyn had a mum and dad. That was very rude of me-"

"I love this," Lorcan whispered, laughing in shock. He turned to Rowan with eyes that sparkled with amusement, "I would definitely be the top."

Rowan looked at him with an expression of complete shock on his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Robyn gasped, opening her eyes wide and bringing a hand to her mouth, pointing then to Rowan's.

"Yeah, sorry, love. I shouldn't have said the bad word." he apologised, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He turned back to Miss Galathynius, "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but we're not married."

"No need to lie, sweetie. I'm sure Aelin," he gave her a knowing look, "doesn't mind at all about our relationship status."

Aelin nodded, "Well, yes. That doesn't change anything. Mr..." she turned to Lorcan, searching for a name.

"Salvaterre."

"Mr. Salvaterre can still attend. The fact that you are not yet married is no reason why you cannot both be present at the meeting. You don't have to worry, we are a very tolerant school and if anyone bothers you, you can come directly to me."

A sound of sheer glee escaped Lorcan.

Aelin continued, "I mean it. I was pleased to see both of you today. I was also pleased to see Robyn smiling so much." she concluded, looking the little one in the face.

Rowan took a deep breath, bracing himself, "No, I meant, we're not a couple. We're not gay. He's her uncle."

The woman's blonde eyebrows shot up and a second later she turned almost as red as the dress Robyn was wearing as Lorcan shook his head muttering something very much like 'you're no fun', which made Robyn giggle.

"Why did you even get off the car?" he asked him exasperated.

Lorcan shrugged, "Because I missed my little bean, you monster." he replied, clutching Robyn to his chest. The little girl clutched Lorcan's shirt in her chubby little hands and Rowan huffed, shaking his head.

Aelin brought her hands to her face, leaning against the desk behind her. She shook her head, her face still hidden, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Lorcan let out a dry laugh, "Don't worry about it. It was fun while it lasted." then he turned to Rowan again, who was still trying to recover from the idea of being involved in a relationship with his friend, "You're really no fun."

"Yeah, no fun dad." repeated Robyn.

Silence fell over the class. Rowan looked at her with wide eyes and blinked once, twice. Robyn was staring at him with a sweet scowl that mimicked so much that of the man who was still holding her, but Rowan couldn't get over the fact that his daughter had spoken while Aelin was still beside them.

He was about to talk, noticing how Robyn had started squirming in Lorcan's arms, when there was a knock at the door.

They both turned, Aelin peering over Rowan's shoulder, and saw the figure of a petite girl with black hair and eyes standing in the doorway, watching them with her head slightly bent to the side. She had a tag on her t-shirt that was too colourful to belong to someone who didn't work in a school with children, so he guessed she was a teacher herself. Besides, Rowan felt like he'd seen her elsewhere. Probably every day when he picked Robyn up from school, he said to himself.

"I know you're not supposed to eavesdrop but I stopped by earlier and heard you were a couple of dads," she said by way of introduction. "I just wanted to reassure you that the school is an extremely safe place. I'm the one who did most of the interviews with the parents," that's where they had met then, "and one of the questions that is asked is just about the tolerance of the people who will be attending the school."

Aelin watched her, remaining silent the whole time and putting on an amused smile, nodded, "That's what I was telling them. How tolerant the school is. They make such a cute couple, don't you think, Elide?"

Rowan turned to her, arching an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was doing. The woman, as if she could truly understand what he was trying to convey to her, nodded her head towards Lorcan, who Rowan only then noticed was standing weirdly, his eyes fixed on the woman in the doorway.

He grinned, deciding to take his revenge right away. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for the reassurance," Rowan began to play along as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lorcan turn towards him, dropping Robyn to the floor, who made a disapproving noise at being dumped so suddenly. "We are happy to know that this school is a safe place for our daughter. And for us."

Elide offered him a blinding smile, "Good. I'm happy to hear that you are pleased so far. And I am happy that Aelin is the one who is taking your daughter's class. She's the best one here."

Rowan didn't know her yet, but he knew the thing Elide had just said could only be true.

"Well," she said again, giving them an apologetic smile, "I really must go now, but if you need anything, you can find all my contact details on the website. Have a nice day!"

Aelin and Rowan said their goodbyes, thanking her. Lorcan took a while to recover, but when he realised he was staring into empty space he ran towards the door, almost stepping on little Robyn, who was moved by Aelin.

"We are very much not gay, miss!" he shouted into the hallway. Aelin, now beside him and with a hand on Robyn's shoulder, cackled. With Lorcan's infinite luck, someone walked by just then and gave him a stern look. "Oh, shut up ma'am. I'm an ally. The best ally."

Rowan shook his head as Lorcan launched himself in pursuit of the poor teacher and burst out laughing when he heard him shout, "I'm not homophobic! I'm willing to suck someone's cock if I have to prove it to you!"

Aelin opened her mouth wide before bursting out laughing in turn.

Robyn, seeing both adults so happy, giggled too and Rowan bent down to pick her up. The little girl laid her full head of white-light hair on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She was tired and Rowan really needed to get her home to sleep.

He glanced at Aelin and reduced his lips to a thin line, "I'm sorry about the commotion, I'll try not to bring him into the building again. Even if it means tying him to the seat."

The soft laugh she gave made something tighten in his chest. He frowned.

Aelin didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, "Don't worry, Elide is crazy about fools like him. If he says the right things, we might start seeing each other outside of school too."

Rowan nodded, now too caught up in the thought of having to take Robyn home to focus on anything else.

They agreed on when to hold the parent-teacher meeting and then he grabbed Robyn's backpack, walking towards the exit.

He was thoughtless as he reached into his pocket for his keys and balanced everything else - including the girl - on his other arm, but when Robyn's hand brushed his cheek, he looked down and his eyes met their twins. Green against green.

"What is it?"

The little girl's voice never stopped making him smile. Each time was like the first time she had said dada.

"I really like her."

Rowan frowned, "Who?"

"Miss Aelin." she whispered, almost as if she was afraid they might hear her.

He smiled at her, "Yeah? You like her?"

"She's nice to me."

Rowan had to put her down as he opened the door and let her get into the back seats by herself.

"I'm glad she's treating you well, love," he let her know, buckling her in.

He hoped she'd tell him more about her new teacher, but like any kid her age, the topic of conversation couldn't last for more than four lines apiece, "Where's Uncle Lorcan?"

Rowan snorted, "No idea, little bird."

Robyn nodded, "Elide is pretty too."

And as if those words had summoned him, Lorcan appeared beside the car, making them both scream. He entered the car in a heartbeat and turned to his daughter, who was still settling into the seat. "Do you know Miss Lochan?"

But before she could answer him, Rowan had entered the car in turn and smacked the back of his head, which made the Robyn giggle, "You're not using my daughter as your wingman. Now stop it and buckle up."

Lorcan gave him a gentle push, before doing as he was told and for once he was happy he'd convinced him to do something.

Or at least, Rowan thought he had convinced him.

"What if I left you a note to deliver to Miss Lochan, Rob? Would you be up for it?"

Rowan knew, even without looking at her, that she was nodding emphatically.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, "Could you stop calling my daughter Rob, please? You'll give her an existential crisis."

Lorcan clicked his tongue against his palate, "Rowan, I'm not giving her a damn thing. We live in this new world, okay? Your daughter could be called Simon and still be a beautiful princess. Grow up and educate yourself before you talk shit."

"Aaaah!" shouted Robyn, "Bad word!"

Rowan sighed and shook his head, but still he was smiling.

This was his life. Had been for the past two years.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

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[whump-a-la-mode]

Hi! Can I ask for a continuation to the supervillain finds drugged and terrified villain on doorstep? Maybe (idk where you’d wanna take it but ig this is just a suggestion) sorta fluff but the villain is terrified of supervillain? Idk where im getting at lmao just write what you wanna write and have fun with it :)

Of course! Thank you both for the asks. I loved that prompt and found it really cute. This one has about the same balance of fluff and angst as the first part, so I really hope you enjoy!

Continued from here.

CW//Medical mentions, past trauma, past drowning, past torture, injuries, food

The medics had left far too quickly.

At least, that was Supervillain's impression of the situation. Only perhaps half an hour after they had been called, their medical team had arrived in full force. Upon the injured villain they had swarmed like flies, with stethoscopes and thermometers and tools that their boss had no clue at all how to identify.

And then, they were gone. The leader of the team made a full report on Villain's injuries, and the care that they would require. Strangulation wounds, malnutrition, half-healed frostbite, and, of course, the beginnings of hypothermia had all stricken the heroes' victim.

But, so the leader had stated, none of these afflictions would require hospitalization. In fact, hospitalization would have likely produced a more negative outcome. With weakened lungs, on account of repeated and merciless strangulation attempts, even the most common of hospital-borne respiratory illnesses could send them to the grave. After all, the whole purpose of a hospital was for it to be full of sick people.

That was all that they had said, before piling up into their emergency response vehicle and leaving the premises.

Leaving Supervillain alone with nothing but a page of written instructions, and a half-dead Villain upon their couch.

Would it have been simple to pass the job onto a henchman? Or even better, a villain with genuine medical knowledge? Perhaps. But every last villain had scrambled off into hiding, and as smart as their henchmen were, this was not their responsibility.

It was the responsibility of a leader to take care of their sick.

And that was exactly how Supervillain had ended up in their kitchen, gingerly spreading butter of two pieces of steaming toast. Though the scent of freshly-toasted bread was nearly irresistible, the food was not for them. The whole situation had left them far too nauseous to even consider food.

But Villain was starving.

Placing down the knife into their sink with a clatter, Supervillain took the plate in one hand, and a topped-off glass of water in the other. They had taken the liberty of warming it-- though a cool glass of water may have been a mercy to some, to the pyrokinetic, it would have, in the best case scenario, caused discomfort. In the worst... Well, they didn't know.

After all, they weren't a doctor.

But, doctor or not, public enemy number one still moved gingerly across their kitchen floor, through the hallways, and all the way to the room where their new, accidental, ward had been settled. So it seemed, the medical examination they had been through had drained whatever energy that Villain had had remaining, seeing as afterwards they had immediately passed out upon the couch. Given that Supervillain was far from the kind of host to allow their guest to sleep on the couch, they had-- gently, of course-- carried them to one of the home's many spare room, and settled them upon a bed.

When Supervillain had left the room, Villain had been neatly tucked beneath the covers, snoring peacefully, if not a little shallowly.

Now, when they entered, toast and water in hand, the bed was empty. Instead, the sheets lay bare, blanket torn away.

They soon discovered why. As slight as the movement was, it was not difficult to tell that the blanket laid in a corner was breathing. The slightest flutter of sympathy danced within their chest-- why was their ward hiding?

"Villain?" They did their very best to make their voice quiet, hospitable, even though they were neither of those things. "I brought food. Are you hungry?"

There was no reply.

Supervillain realized in that moment that, throughout Villain's entire, brief, stay in the home, they had yet to speak a single word. Come to think of it, actually, they had hardly even been awake earlier. Though the medics hadn't believed a blood test to be necessary, the effects of heavy sedation were rather obvious.

This was the first time that Villain was awake, and they had awoken alone. Dammit.

With a soft clack, they set the plate and the glass upon a bedside table, moving towards the shuddering blanket in the corner. The combination of wool socks and carpeted floor made their footsteps almost silent, leaving the room quiet as they knelt down before the blanket. Up close, it was rather simple to see the form of the villain that had hidden themself beneath it.

As much as they would have liked to leave Villain alone and to their own devices, according to the doctor's words, 'they won't be able to survive on their own for a while.' They would need a caretaker, and, through chance alone, Supervillain had wound up in that role.

They grabbed the bottom of the blanket first, about where Villain's feet would be, and gently began to drag it off of their form. As soon as their head was uncovered, they stopped, leaving the fleece to protect the rest of their body.

Anyone could tell that Villain had been crying, sobbing, even. Half of their face was covered in dried tears, cheeks red and eye whites a similar color. As soon as their face was revealed, they struggled to cover it with their hands, revealing the shivering in their limbs.

"Hey, hey." Supervillain reached a hand slowly forth, but stopped short of actually laying it upon Villain, believing that that likely wouldn't aid in their terrified state. "You're okay. I know you're scared, I know. But you escaped. You... You can tell me how you did that later. But you're safe, now. You're in my house.

It's me. It's Supervillain."

That only served to send another wave of terrified shivering through their body, as though they had been struck by a cane.

"If you don't want to talk, I won't make you, okay? But you're hurt. Will you at least drink some water?"

It was as though an emotional grenade had gone off.

In an instant, Villain curled in on themself, burying their face in their knees and curling almost to a fetal position.

"No no no no please no- Please, no. Please let me breathe please I'll behave please not the water please please please no no no."

Supervillain stopped, and noted with a start something they had not made much notice of beforehand: When Villain first arrived, their upper body had been soaking wet.

Someone had tried to drown them.

"Villain." They struggled not to allow their to crack, but fury and sorrow combined were making that a nearly impossible task. "No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you ever again, okay?"

From the tear-stained blanket, Villain lifted their head, shaking, pinprick pupils staring up at them.

"T-Then." They sniffled. "Then why are you here?"

[cryptiql]

riptide

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, some mildly suggestive flashbacks + detailed descriptions of drowning. as always, please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 4.9k

a/n: welcome to the sequel of smoke signals. perish :)

dabi made a mistake. the knowledge sits in the bottom of his stomach like a lump of lead; his innards twisting into a knot whenever the memory of you crosses the expanse of his sleep deprived mind. the burns under his eyes might as well be bags, but they aren't large enough to bear the weight of his guilt. it isn't much better sitting on his shoulders, but the repercussions of pain are what keep him from letting it go, and that's exactly what he wants. no—it's what he deserves. he deserves the feeling like his head is going to burst; the ache in his spine from too many hours spent hunched over himself with a bottle clutched between his shaking hands; the burning intensity from overuse of his quirk. the extra inches of marred skin serve as reminders of what he did, but it's not half as satisfying when the pain doesn't last.

he wants to scratch at the wounds until they ooze that bitter garnet liquid; until he's suffocated by the metallic scent and forced to endure as the taste of blood engraves itself on his tongue when he chokes on it. he wants to suffer—the slower the better—because not even the strongest alcohol can cleanse his sins, nor the stench of his regret.

dabi made a mistake. it won't be the last time, he's able to admit, because his ego is too shriveled from the lack of your warmth, and his heart yearns for the passion of your kiss that still lingers on his lips. when the loft echoes with fragments of the city's ambience, drowning him in an incessant racket, he longs for the lighthouse. this place is infested with selfish ingrates, scuttling about in search of the next outcast to torment, and it makes him wish he still had that safe space at the shore. your siren song was a drug to put him at ease, and now he is without it, and the withdrawal has taken effect.

he knew this would come to pass. dabi overdosed on your love; your affection; your everything; all while watching the consequences unravel at a snail's pace, almost as if he were being teased by the inevitable end. he let it happen. he did this to himself, so he won't shake his hands at the sky, cursing gods he doesn't know exist; as if they would concern themselves with the faults of men like him.

he knew this would happen.

but then, so did you. you had to have known by the empty space in your bed where he used to lay; by the dates that kept getting postponed and the meaningless promises made to make up for them; by the shortage of visits, even just to say "hello" before he dropped from the face of the earth once more. if this were true, it meant that you were suffering just the same—nay, more than him, by forcing yourself into a state of compliance whenever he told you it was time for him to go. dabi could pretend like he didn't see your fingers twitching; resisting the urge to reach out for him; just as he could pretend like the rivulets of tears on your cheeks did not exist, though they begged to be swept away by him. god, he wants to hold your face again, noses brushing together and your dreamy sighs melding with his raspy laughter.

he had told himself that you wouldn't deter him from his goal, but even that seems like a pipe dream now. he feels like an underachiever, chasing a future that can't be set in stone when he already had you, which should have been enough. dabi realizes that the flames of his own passionate desire for freedom have burned you in the process, and it hurts more than he can put into words. you were always better with words, he reminisces, tracing the coffee stained parchment sitting in his pocket.

dabi has long since stopped reading the letters you sent, but he still carries them with him wherever he goes. they anchor him to both earth and sky; the reality that he's lost you, threatening to swallow him from under his feet; and the hope that he'll find you again, one day, after all this is over. "and just what do you think you're doing?"

you can see his reflection in the stove's glass sheen, his mouth drawn up into a devious smirk as he leans on the bedroom doorframe, clad in nothing but his briefs from the previous night. the purplish burns scaling his collarbone and abdomen give him a roguish look that—if you possessed no self-restraint—would normally have you lunging at him like a starved beast. you manage to smirk back at him, subtly shaking your hips while opening the stove door to pull out the doughy mound of bread inside. to your delight, you hear him grumble something not-so family-friendly before he snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. you had never once thought that the feeling of staples against your skin would feel so good, but now you can hardly imagine being without it, and you immediately melt into dabi's touch.

he breathes softly in your ear, chuckling when you flinch in response, goosebumps stippling your flesh. by the way your cheeks puff out in embarrassment, he should take that as a sign to stop, but fuck, your pouting is just too cute for him to resist, especially when your worship-able body is basking in the afterglow of dusk. you keen when dabi starts peppering your shoulder blades with kisses, but nearly dropping the pan causes your senses to return, and you whisper a plea. luckily, he appears to be in a merciful mood, because he relents his onslaught of affection to rest his chin in the crook of your neck.

when he finally notices what you're making, he can't help but squeeze you tighter.

"is that a cake?"

you turn to give him a peck on the nose, which is rewarded with a halfhearted snap of his teeth just millimeters from your mouth.

"that'd be right. though, i'm astonished you know which way is up after last night." your sing-song tone of voice spurs him to squeeze your thigh, and you would have shooed him away if not for how much you liked it. dabi murmurs something unintelligible, the vibrations shooting straight down your spine, and proceeds to remove himself from you in order to better observe the baked delicacy.

"mm. what's it for?" he asks, discretely swiping a bit of the pink colored icing from the bowl to his right. sweet, but not sickeningly so.

you are none the wiser when dipping a spatula into the contents and smoothing it over the cake, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"you never told me when your birthday is, so i'm taking a wild guess. figured i'd whip this up as a surprise, but you woke up earlier than i suspected." dabi swears that his heart is about to burst from behind his ribcage, and all because you're too goddamn perfect. you may as well be a priceless work of art in museum that he's been prohibited from touching. however, the fading marks on your skin signify that he's done more than just touch, and he takes pride in the fact you can't seem to move further than two steps in any direction without faltering.

"i know angel food cake is your favorite—" dabi silences you with a kiss; bruising and passionate; and takes the spatula from your hand, blindly setting it aside on the counter. your protests are short-winded as he lifts you from your behind before promptly turning the oven off and spinning on his heel. he's memorized these halls well enough to not bump into anything during his trek back to the bedroom. you pull away, albeit with a hint of reluctance, just to glare at him.

"what about the—" dabi kisses you again, and while you don't seem too happy about being interrupted twice in a row, the shared heat between your bodies distracts you from being upset.

"you're off by about two months, doll. besides, i think i'd much rather have you as a late birthday treat."

dabi clenches his jaw at the memory, his knuckles whitening with how tenaciously he grips the tattered fabric of his jeans. the league's new base is just as rundown and close to crumbling as he feels, but his despair is masked by the rage that overpowers it. why couldn't you have been a normal couple? why couldn't dabi have grown up with a father who loved him; with a quirk that didn't gradually destroy him and without the resulting scars that made him a hideous monster in the eyes of all who saw him? why couldn't he be as beautiful on the inside as you said he was on the outside? why couldn't he just be happy, after all this time?

why? why? why?

dabi finds his answer hidden in the ashen battleground strewn with rubble and remnants of burnt remains. he finds it in the fear of his victims' expressions before the snare of death claims them in a flourish of blue inferno. it's written there in bold, ichor dripping from his fingers as they smear the message with red.

the privilege of living a normal life is, and always will be, beyond his reach. murder does not warrant mercy, and the only person willing to give it to him is miles away, still desperate for him to come back.

as fate would have it, you and dabi lived worlds apart, but you still look at the same sunset; the same array of stars forming constellations that told stories of your life shared together. they replay in his head like a record stuck on repeat, and only when the song ends does he find himself back in the clutches of his childhood trauma, rather than your embrace.

"dabi? dabi!" his trademark scowl automatically takes place when a finger prods and pulls at his cheek, the familiar voice of twice shaking him from his deep contemplation. jin has been so unfortunate as to suffer minor scorches from the ravenette's flames, on account of him being too bothersome at the wrong moments, and so he instantly backs away at the first indication of danger brewing in the air around him. with how on edge he's felt lately, he really should have gone on a walk to relieve some stress, but the looming knowledge that he can't go to the lighthouse would only ruin the trip.

dabi is fully prepared to smack jin's hand away until he sees what he's holding. he'd recognize that handwriting anywhere, and even without it, the scent of saltwater and freshly baked bread clings to the paper, altering him of yet another one of your efforts to communicate with him. dabi feigns indifference towards the object; quite the contrary to his thinning patience as twice waves it above his head excitedly.

"you've got mail! who's is from? probably a useless nobody! or maybe a secret admirer? but who would admire you?"

to his dismay, the commotion has grabbed toga's attention, and she veers over to their location with a giddy grin on her face. she all but drapes herself over dabi as he snatches the letter from jin, and it doesn't help his struggle when she clings to him like a koala. after a bout of kicking and shoving, he manages to break free of her grasp, grimacing at her lengthy, high-pitched whines of disapproval.

"and can you believe hawks was the one to deliver it? i didn't take him for a carrier bird. . ."

dabi doesn't hear the rest, nor does he intent to, because he's already making his way to the nearest exit with haggard breaths. whoever calls out for him and whatever they say are the last of his concerns right now, and they're abruptly cut off when he slams the door behind him. the summer heat wills beads of sweat to paint his forehead, but he soon finds comfort under the shade of a tree, cicadas buzzing noisily overhead. he would sooner keel over and die than thank the birdbrain hero for catering to him—and by extension, you—but now that the note is there, begging to be read, he can't help but feel some sort of gratitude.

"i need you to do something for me."

the bristles of hawks' feather hover over dabi's pulse in a threatening manner, but he feels no more in peril than he would at the cruelty of a baby chick. he knows the number two hero won't harm him, at least not without regretting it later, and this is the perfect time to use that to his advantage. hawks narrows his eyes at him, nose wrinkling in accord.

"why would i do anything for you after that stunt you pulled?" he snarls, and dabi almost has to laugh at the drastic switch in personality. the way he presents himself to the public is a true contrast compared to the persona only he and the league have had the pleasure of seeing.

"because if you don't, everyone will know you've been fraternizing with the enemy, and we wouldn't want number two falling off his high pedestal, now would we?"

this time, dabi audibly laughs when hawks' guise wavers. the other grits his teeth, slowly withdrawing the feather and allowing it to fall limp at his side. he revels in his victory, short though it be, and reaches into his pocket to procure a letter marked with your name and address. putting your location at the disposal of a hero isn't something he's proud of doing, but it's all he has left, and he doesn't have the resolve to tell you directly.

coward, his conscious mocks as he holds it out for hawks to take. the winged man stares at it with befuddlement, his movements stalling here and there when he seizes the paper between his thumb and pointer finger. dabi tuts lightly but menacingly, yanking hawks towards him by the wrist and igniting his quirk to leave a faint mark there.

"you're gonna deliver this for me, no questions asked. don't you dare open it."

despite the clear uncertainty, hawks took heed of the ominous demand and carried it out later that night. he had not expected a young man with tear-stained cheeks to greet him at the door, much less the endless babble of 'thank you's as you took the letter with shaking hands.

dabi hadn't wished for you to send one back, but the ongoing stream of them was considered fair, after he'd left without much of a trace. still, he had promised himself that he would never read them, for fear of it opening the wound inflicted by having to say goodbye.

dabi can't understand the sudden change of mind for the life of him, and yet, he finds that he doesn't care whether it opposes every rule he set to keep you safe—to keep himself safe. he tears open the envelope and slumps against the tree trunk, bark and leather grating together as he hesitantly unfolds the parchment, briefly shutting his eyes as a last act of resistance to the helpless cry from within; longing for the familiarity of your poetic words. instead of the delicate precision that was to be anticipated, dabi stared down at your messy scrawl, a carnal fear rising from within and causing his throat to clamp up. the memories begin to flash at a faster rate, like an old-timey picture film. dabi has just finished putting the kettle on to boil when hears the floorboards creak, followed by the sound of your slippers shuffling across the floor. he snickers, remembering that the only pair you have is the one he bought you; a well worn match that looks oddly like cloud bunnies. you've made sure to exemplify how much you love the gift by wearing them around the house on rainy or lazy days, all paired with a wistful smile. this morning is no different as you worm your way under dabi's hold and press your face into his chest, a satisfied groan escaping you when he cards his fingers through your hair and scratches the scalp.

the robe you wear is half-hanging from your shoulders, which makes for an enticing view from where dabi stands, but he simply kisses the crown of your head and continues waiting for the pot to simmer.

"did you hear that noise?" you slur, just barely discernable over the kettle's shrieking. dabi quirks a brow in question as you rub the leftover grogginess from your eyes, tiredly nodding at the back window.

"little past midnight, i think. coulda sworn i heard somethin' rifling around in the trash." dabi squints at this new information while eyeing your appearance. the dark circles and intermittent yawning indicate a lack of sleep, and if he weren't there to keep you steady, you might collapse onto the floor as a snoring heap. if it really disturbed him, he should have woken me up, he thinks, pulling you closer with an ever-deepening frown. you snuggle up to him as if it's second nature, sleepily giggling away when his digits stray too close to your side.

"s'probably raccoons, but if you're worried, i can stay longer just to make sure." you look up at him with nothing short of pure, unbridled adoration, cupping his face and squishing it gently, to your own entertainment. after a moment of consideration, you shake your head.

"nah, you're probably right."

the feeling hits dabi like a tidal wave, dragging him below the raging surface; far below where the light of day cannot touch. it suffocates him and brings rise to the sickening taste of bile on his tongue, but he doesn't have time to spare in throwing it all up, so he swallows it. withered patches of grass crunch under his feet as he peels himself from the tree and breaks into a dash, sparing your letter the flames fueled by his anguish as to let it drift in the breeze, the single sentence written on it already engraved in his mind.

it wasn't raccoons.

dabi doesn't care what shigaraki will have to say about this when he gets back. the only thing he cares about is that you'll still be alive to say anything to him when he reaches you, and that whoever has invaded your home is willing to die for what they've done, or what they're currently doing, and fuck—he isn't even sure if this is you calling for help or not, but he can't risk being right.

the distance between the base and the lighthouse feels lightyears apart, yet simultaneously at arms length when dabi is running at speeds he hasn't ever been able to achieve before. if he stumbles at any point during his sprint, or if he happens to bump into an unsuspecting civilian on the street, he doesn't notice. the resonant thumping of his own heartbeat is all that he can hear as he thanks the gods for the flow of traffic being so spaced out, otherwise it would be near impossible for him to reach you in time.

in time for what? he has to ask. dabi doesn't even want to think about the repercussions, but the scenarios arrive in rivulets despite the mental trapeze he goes through to push them down, and they only continue to grow into oceans; darker, colder and harboring thoughts too gruesome for even someone of his caliber to handle. he won't realize until much later that he'd forgotten to put on his disguise, but the way people ogle at him with fear and disgust does not suppress the need to protect you.

even now, he can sense the pressure building behind his eyes, though it's more painful that it used to be. dabi hasn't cried in months, and it shows by how unabating the rivers of blood trickle from his skin grafts, despite his feverish attempts to stop them. look at yourself, holding together by a thread and weeping in public like a child whose lost his mother in the crowd. it wouldn't have come to this if he had stayed.

something shifts in the scenery; a distinct line drawn between the city and its neighboring countryside; but it makes no difference to the impending peril that looms ahead. the closer he gets, the sooner he'll find you waiting for him, dead or alive. dabi staggers, his breath hitching at the thought, as well as the harsh sting of pain that erupts when his knee collides with the gravel below. he pushes himself forward in little time, a strangled yell ripping his throat raw as his vision settles on the top of the lighthouse, peeking over the hillside. you have to be there—you just have to. he isn't done with you yet, and you're sure as hell not done with him.

the earth is damp beneath his feet, and it soaks through the canvas of his shoes whilst he darts past the boulevard and onto your property, crying out to you. surely, you must hear him. surely—

dabi practically hurls himself at the front door, his blood running cold when it opens for him effortlessly and swings ajar to reveal the living room, upturned and scattered with broken bits and pieces of furniture. there's no sign of you or whoever did this. the oakwood flooring groans under his weight as he barrels down the hall, peering into every room, beneath your bed and any other place where you could be hiding. nothing. his search ends in vain at the front doorstep, where he stands hunched over and dry heaving. no, no, no. you can't be gone.

"y/n!" he shouts. his only response is the crashing of waves against the shore and the incessant cawing of seagulls. for a moment, dabi forgets how to breathe, and then the ability returns to him; his legs aching horribly as he rushes to the beach. the arrangement of rocks is sporadic at first, but they gradually form large clumps the further he carries on, urging him to squeeze between the narrower openings. it comes with some difficulty, but at last he is able to hobble onto the sandy coast and rest his sights upon the vast sea. he can recall when seeing its murky blue sea would have put him at ease, but now it only causes his senses to be clouded with distress.

"y/n!" the once calm ripples rise into rolling billows that drench the shoreline in frothy heaps of algae, wreckage and blood. it curls and disbands within the ocean to pollute its cerulean hues with ones of scarlet red, and just like that, dabi's heart sinks like the titanic. he'll never forget the sight of you, face-down in the water; your favorite shirt slashed to shreds, clinging to your body as nothing more than a tattered mess. dabi wades into the water until it reaches his ankles, completely numb to its freezing temperature as he sinks down to hoist you up. he rests you on his thighs and presses his lips onto yours with urgency, shortly pulling back so that he can thrust his palms upon your chest and push. he doesn't care to remember how many times he repeats this, but when he finally sits back on his haunches to release a stifled curse, the feeling of dread has only just begun to take control.

you've never looked so pale.

a guttural sob wrenches itself past his grinding teeth as more tears arise, dappling your cheeks like raindrops. it wracks his body and sends forth a surge of agony to course through his veins. dabi cups your face with a shaking hand, the other secured around your waist while he kisses you, his erratic pleas falling upon deaf ears.

"come back. . .come back." his bawling ceases to end, no matter the abrasive pain blossoming in his gullet.

"c'mon, doll. where's that sweet voice of yours?" his thumb strokes your bottom lip as though beckoning you to speak. when nothing follows, he makes a pathetic sniveling sound mixed with something broken; a blubber or whine, he does not know. the burden of your lifeless form causes the reality to set in; a dagger piercing his insides and twisting as to drag the most blood-curdling screams from him.

dabi loved you, and he wishes he had the strength to say it when you were still there. it was only within the presence of his own demons that he was able to utter his affections; curled into himself and waiting for a reply that would never come, carried on the wind that bit his skin. he loved you because you held him like a child when his father hadn't even the heart to acknowledge him as his own. you spoke his name—his real name—as though the blood on his hands was not there; like you had washed it away yourself through acts of tenderness that he did not deserve.

and now you're gone.

you're gone, and—

dabi's entire body jolts with a start, a familiar heat dancing across the grafts of his marred skin. a faint blue glow radiates from his fists, which are tightly fastened the weighted blanket that lays crumpled atop his legs. he lets go with a shuttering gasp, observing the black smudges that reside where his flames once were, then blinking owlishly at his surroundings. the room is shrouded in darkness, all save for the bedside table to the left of him that is dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. that, and the spaces illuminated by the moon's brilliance, showering the floor with multicolored spots as it glistens through the stained glass window. something slots into place, but all it does is send dabi's mind into overdrive.

where is he? where are you? are you really dead? everything hurts.

his nails drag down the length of his arms, seeking some sort of comfort in the pain that blooms there. it doesn't last long, however, when the bed suddenly dips, and a soothing warmth is placed on the small of his back.

"touya?" you croak, your words lingering with the remnants of sleep. dabi—no—touya, swears that he could cry again, right then and there. his eyes flit over your torso, where several scars in varying sizes have desecrated the skin. as he idly traces the pink lines, one final memory surfaces from the depths of his subconscious. him, desperately pounding your sternum; the last threads of denial snapping in tune; and you, coughing and spewing both curses and whatever seawater that had clogged up your lungs. touya held you in that same position for hours, listening as your ragged wheezing turned into hiccupping sobs. hauling you inside had been no easy feat, and having to hear your muffled groans while he stitched you up by the crackling hearth was no better, but the evening after had been pleasant.

you could not recollect the face of the intruder, and with such little information to go off of, touya was left to wallow in self-loathing for love he had almost lost. no amount of therapy could prevent the following nightmares and panic attacks, but in time, the rekindling of your relationship was proved successful, and dabi was prepared to repay you for the moments where you consoled him.

it wasn't just a dream. it had all happened, and yet here you were, alive and well.

a pensive look crosses your features when you note how quiet touya is, and you take it as a sign to break the tension with a tried-and-true method from the past. he doesn't resist as you coo softly, pulling him under the covers and wrapping yourself around him, a garbled tune fleeing from past your lips before you press them to his shoulder. you trail the faintest of butterfly kisses along his neck, his jaw, his cheeks and so on. the anxiety coiled in touya's chest starts to untangle, leaving him as a trembling bundle of nerves in your arms as you shush him, your nimble fingers carting through his hair.

if he weren't so tired, he would have laughed at how the tables have turned; with you cradling him in the way he's so used to doing. still, not even he can deny that it feels nice to be held like this.

"s'alright sweetheart. i'm here. . ." you whisper, and the effect is instantaneous. touya stills as he inhales the scent of buttercream and fresh pine that wafts into the bedroom, his eyelids fluttering shut. all he can hope for is that your presence will drive away any nightmares that foreshadow his well-needed rest, and that when he wakes up in the morning, you'll still be at his side.

dabi made a mistake, and thousands more will come to pass, because underneath the grit and grime that makes up his callous exterior, there is a human being; struggling to survive and struggling to please, just as much as the next. but he'll never leave you again. he had promised you as such with the band of gold now encircling your ring finger, and as long as he lives, he'll never break it.

[kyotakumrau]

GIGS No519 Interview 京 [Voice]

GIGS 2021 JUN released on April 27th (interview itself was done on April 6th)

The last solo interview is with Kyo. In the previous interviews, all band members from the music instrument squad all mentioned ‘simple’ in reference to Oboro. Yet how did he perceive the song and what feelings were put into the lyrics? Let’s discuss it thoroughly.

The most important thing is that I want to be able to let out honestly what I want express, what I see, what I felt or thought that one moment.

text: Yukinobu Hasegawa photos: Reishi Eguma translation: kyotaku (pls let me know if you see any mistakes!)

You can get GIGS 6月号 on Amazon Japan or HMV or CDJapan or TOWER RECORDS or other shops!

――It shows in the footage enclosed in the deluxe and first press editions of ‘Oboro’ that the songwriting for the new album started quite some time ago.

京   I was probably working on various things without thinking about a single, so I don’t really remember when was it. I’m working on songs aaaaaaaall the time (laughing). I don’t really grasp when each song was done or which one will become a single, so honestly speaking I don’t really know.

――You’re also doing sukekiyo. I have many chances to speak with sukekiyo members and they were surprised that ‘Kyo will be sending new songs ideas or melody anytime’ (laughing). Is your pace of coming up with ideas as high with DIR EN GREY?

京   On the contrary, I’m not saying much in case of DIR EN GREY. Just about ‘I’m looking forward to it’. I’m not writing songs, so upon listening to the demo of the song sent by other members I just give them my opinion like ‘how about we change it a bit like this?’ or ‘this way is good’.

――At the time you started writing songs did you already have an idea what you wanted for the next album?

京   I didn’t. Not at all, I felt I could read this and that about the album from the direction we were going from the atmosphere of the songs the members brought in earlier. In our case we often don’t have talks like ‘let’s make an album like this’. So, on the contrary I usually don’t say much about things like album image, I think we can make more irregular thing if I keep a flat position.

――So even you are looking forward to what kind of response you will have when listening to the song’s demo?

京   I am.

――Because of the spread of COVID-19 it’s hard to move around now, so how do you get input for the music, art and so on?

京   Nah, I don’t really do anything. If you ask about input... the most I do is watching various news.

――Do you feel that the things happening around you and around the world are something that drive you when you’re expressing yourself?

京   I’m sure they do. What I think when I see and feel various things, how I communicate that, it’s about that.

――The single ‘Ochita koto no aru sora’ you released last year had a digital release only thus there were no lyrics included, but fans listened to the song many times to try to understand the lyrics. As a result, I think they realized that it’s a song with a dreadful/intense message. Because lyrics include a such date as ‘㋇㏥・August the 6th’ among other things, there was a reaction also from fans around the world.

京   Frankly, I don’t check fans reactions. I don’t know what people will think after listening, but I don’t want to talk about the atomic bomb. In the end, the fighting continues, the same things keep happening again and again...like that. I think there are many issues, but there’s no right answer to them, it’s all just collisions of what we ourselves think is right and just. That’s why you can’t say that something is bad as a rule. It’s just one way of thinking, there are many ways we can look at things. For example, currently during the pandemic holding a concert is the right thing to do or not, won’t the answer and the way of thinking be different for every person? Now more than ever we got a situation when it’s very difficult to say ‘this is the way’. It’s the way I feel now seeing various things.

――Because of COVID-19 there’s a lot of hate crime against Asians in the US. It’s a crime, but the people who commit it may see it as an act of justice.

京   That’s true. There are also many other issues like the gender discrimination, in all of them Japan is seen as lagging behind. It can’t be simply denied because the situation now and in the past is different, depending on the country or culture the way people feel or think is also different. It’s a difficult issue, isn’t it?

――I think you write many lyrics that make us think about that. There’s not only grieving in ‘Ochita koto no aru sora’, there’s a positive message at the end. That really resonated with me. Do you feel like the way you express and communicate things has changed?

京   No, I don’t think anything changed.

――I’d like to talk about ‘Oboro’ now, it seems like it was a pick out of few songs. What was your impression when you listened to the original song?

京   It was like all demos felt more like the album songs than a single. It’s normal as we originally didn’t start working on them thinking about creating a single, most of the songs were intended for the album and we decided to finish one as a single. Recently we had many up-tempo singles, so I thought it would be a good idea to release a ballad, not as epic as previous ones, but a ballad that could be included on the album.

――What kind of response did you have when you listened to the original song for the first time? Talking about the lyrics, I thought that because of the pandemic it became difficult to move around, and the thoughts have turned inwards. You told me [at t an interview] some years ago that you had some traumatic events, I thought [lyrics] relate to them.

京   In terms of the worldwiev and lyrics, recently there were no lyrics directed at one person, a lot of them had a message from a very broad perspective, that’s why first thing I wanted to do was to have a narrower worldview. So when I listened to the original song and the scene emerged [in my mind], the past songs videos are very broad. This isn’t a continuation but it was a start for me to want to put something like that together. It’s not about my own trauma, it’s a narrow worldview inside a big worldview. And without using grotesque expressions, I wanted to depict various feelings like love or hatred, and wrote lyrics with that in mind.

――The past songs you mentioned were also songs that had music videos made for them at the time. I was actually watching the video and having a flashback. The pain and agony of a woman, and I dare say her feelings about her aborted baby. That’s what gives a shape [to the new song]. At the moment is your expression or the direction of what you want to bring up in your lyrics changing?

京   I don’t mean it like we all should try being positive (thinking about the future) together, but as one should think about various things, I always want to write about what we think is the right path or what is just. But as I said before, what is right varies per person. It’s something I want to write about on the next album in the future.

――In other words, like stabbing/piercing each person’s feelings?

京   Well, yes. I think I’ve been thinking like that since the last album The Insulated World, but this time I’d like to go further into that direction... I mean it’s not like I have something precise I want to convey or I want to bring up this and that. The most important thing is that I want to be able to let out honestly what I want express, what I see, what I feel or think that very moment.

――As your age and work experience accumulate, I think people’s ideas and thinking will also change. What can you think of [that has changed] in the last few years?

京   Nothing (laughing). It’s not something you know about yourself. On the contrary I want to stay without changing. To change because the world is becoming a certain way is really not like me, I was always my own type of person, so I want to continue as I am. This is something I’m saying all the time, but I hate fixed ideas, I want to be always free to express myself. But there’s not much freedom in the world nowadays. Besides the problem with COVID-19, many countries have civil wars. That’s where we learn the importance of freedom again, and I also wondered if having a lot of freedom is not justice. When you start thinking like that it messes with your head, but I want to be free just in the world of expression. I feel like this is a one right no one can take away from me.

I think the most negative thing, for fans, for the band and for me, is not being able to show our real selves at the concerts.

――Are you taking that stance now as well when you’re writing for an album?

京   Nah, I haven’t written anything yet. We’re in the early stage of pre-production, so it’s not the point where I write lyrics yet. The songs are still in the middle of being changed, so it’s like I want to see more of them. Also, most songs don’t have a melody decided for them. And what I feel and think, what I want to express, things inside of me are changing every day. I want to be able to pack as current me as possible into [the lyrics], and to put into lyrics as recent images from the songs as possible, so I haven’t decided on them yet.

――Did you write the lyrics for ‘Oboro’ just before song-writing time as well?

京   Yeah. After the length/scale of the song is mostly decided in pre-production next is a step when I’m inserting temporary lyrics and then start recording.

――You have a [recording] vocal booth at home, so did you record ‘Oboro’ deciding the vocal direction by yourself?

京   If it was different, I probably wouldn’t be singing. I don’t want to go to a studio outside (laughing).

――Do you sing creating an environment for the song’s world like getting your room all dark when recording?

京   Nah, I’m a person who doesn’t do things like that, I can do it anywhere as long as I have a vocal booth. Just, I sing when I want to sing. When using a studio from what time and until what time is decided, engineers have their schedules, so even if I’m not happy with something and want to rerecord it, it takes time to get ‘let’s listen to it’ or ‘I’m gonna organize data’. And sometimes that timing doesn’t match my own rhythm. And, there are times when I want to sing soon after waking up or want to sing when I’m anguished not being able to sleep. I value this kind of speed so I can’t record outside my house anymore.

――In ‘Oboro’, even the trembling of your throat when your voice comes out got recorded, which helps the listener to get into the song even more. What were you looking for in terms of singing?

京   It’s a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it? In the past I was singing with my emotions so my mannerism/habits would really come out hard. After that I tried to get rid of them as much as possible, and as much as possible tried singing putting emphasis on the pitch and timing. For example, when the timing of each sound in first A melody and second A melody didn’t match perfectly, I would be unhappy, but now I just sing naturally so the timing can be a bit off. I deliberately sing with the feelings that were matching the flow of the song, so I don’t record with the intention of singing perfectly.

――You absolutely prioritise the emotions?

京   That’s right. But in case of ‘Oboro’, the lyrics don’t have a worldview where the emotions get stirred up to just burst out. They are hidden inside, I thought it would be interesting to sing in a restrained way without exploding. With that point, I recorded the song with the emphasis on the flow of the song. And I think I will keep that point the same when recording the album.

――There was a time when you were thinking like drawing a blueprint with many different voice tones and the arrangement of the choruses, it was interesting for you to play tricks with them, right?

京   There was a time when I pulled that out as a part of me, but now I want to pull other parts out. Increasing the things I can pull out, if I think the approach you just described is good, I just have to drag it all out. When I listen to the album as a whole, if I think there’s not enough appeal, I’d try a more gimmicky approach. In the end I won’t be satisfied with myself. I want to keep searching for more and more new ways, not only sing the way I’ve sung before.

――You had this kind of attitude from the start. As a coupling song for the single you have a customary self-remake song. This time it’s ‘TDFF’, to listen to the original song from the past again... ah, you don’t do it. I’m shaking my head for jumping into your answer (laughing).

京   I just briefly look at the old lyrics and decide I want to keep this part, I don’t need this part and so on. To some extend in myself I’ll just extract some part and from there extend the image and add things to it.

――Is it like breathing new life into a song?

京   Nah, it’s just the 2021 version. If we redid it now it’d look like this. We wanted to keep as many good parts as possible, but there were also parts where we felt ‘here it’d have been better to go with this’, so they got changed in the current version.

――By changing the song to a newest version can you see your attitude towards the singing or your thoughts?

京   I’m always putting in the things I’m feeling at that time, so I think to an extend I can see it. But it was originally a simple song, so it was easy.  

――It was also recorded in your vocal booth at your home, right? I think I’d actually like to have a peek at you singing to see what’s it like (laughing).

京   Ah, it’s a really simple booth about the size of the phone booth. There’s a small thing working as a desk and I put my computer there, singing while sitting down and using a hand-held mic. I don’t want to use a recording standard stand mic. I want to sing as much as possible the same way I sing at concerts. But there’s no space for me to stand up so I sing sitting down (laughing). But in my case, it doesn’t matter if I’m singing standing or sitting down or sleeping (laughing).

――It doesn’t really affect your concentration.

京   I usually can finish recording one song in less than 2 hours, so I think anyone can concentrate for about 2 hours (laughing).

――The 3rd song on the single is a live track. How do you feel about performing without the audience?

京   Honestly speaking the songs that require a response [from the fans] were a bit tiring, but there was no change with the songs focusing on the worldview or the songs that just explode. Doing it naturally is about doing it naturally. I haven’t listened to that live track yet, but yeah.

――But yeah (laughing). Did you choose the song that got the most votes?

京   Nah, I’m okay with any live track. Like ‘please choose whichever you want’, I leave it to the other members or the people in the company. Concert is a raw thing (=unedited, live), I had many live tracks in the past where my voice was all messed up or where I was singing cleanly. That’s why now I don’t have anything that would make me go ‘wait, this is a bit...’. I think the me from that time is packed there so anything is fine.

――You’re soon going to have a first in a while concert with the audience on May the 6th. I think you might answer ‘not at all’, but how are you approaching it?

京   Today I was at the concert film screening event in Osaka, and we talked there about the concert. And I said there that because it’s still a month away I don’t think about it (laughing). Listen, if you were told you will be having this and that for dinner in a month, you would listen with only half an ear being ‘yeah got it’ (=you’d forget it next moment) (laughing). I start thinking about it about a week before the concert. I’m not the type of person to go ‘I’ll do my best!’, I’ll just let out my honest feelings at the time.

――During the time when you didn’t have the type of space or time that is a performance with the audience, were there any moments when you started wondering ‘what are concerts?’ and so on?

京   No, there weren’t. There were moments when I felt like I’d like to do a show, but I didn’t really think about things like ‘why are we doing concerts?’ or ‘what are concerts for me?’. It’s not like all my music activities stopped, so I didn’t have a moment to think that deeply about it. If anything, rather than us I think it’s the fans who were thinking about it.

――Because for many people concerts are something they live for. Kyo, you’re looking healthy.

京   There were times when it was very hard for me mentally, I don’t know what was the reason. Now... I’m trying not to think too much about unnecessary things. I’m trying to only think about what’s in front of me or about things I’m able to do now, I’m trying not to push myself too much. I’m trying to accept myself as I naturally am. But even then, there are still things that keep piling up, making me worry endlessly. I wish I would be able to let them erupt at concerts. I think the most negative thing, for fans, for the band and for me, is not being able to show our real selves at the concerts.

[angsty-nerd]

Meta: Echo’s Big Fight in 3x09

Let's talk about the Big Echo fight. Because wandering around in the fandom this past week, I’ve seen a lot of very specific conclusions as far as what they were or weren't arguing about, and I’m not sure my take on that scene really aligns with other folks. So let me try to break it down a bit and give y’all an alternative perspective on it.

To start with, the scene opens with Max on edge because they're breaking and entering. Liz is singularly focused on the mission, and he's kinda freaking out. Instead of responding to his concerns, Liz gets straight to business.

"Ooh, ooh, this is interesting. Heath left Genoryx two days after I did. Must have realized he didn't need to be working underneath their corporate thumb."

Liz is kinda projecting here. Heath never once displayed any discomfort with Genoryx as a company the way that she did. He wanted her to stay. He wanted the resources there. We know these things as an audience, and Liz would too if she was thinking through the big picture at this point in time.

Max, on the other hand, doesn't know any of that. Here's what Max hears from Liz: he hears surprise. He hears Liz acknowledge that this is unexpected news. And right as he’s processing this unexpected reveal...Max sees Heath's Wild Pony t-shirt.

Weird coincidence #1 from Max's POV was Heath (the guy who is currently so pissed at Liz that he won't take her calls) supposedly rescuing Liz's science out of the good of his heart so that Genoryx doesn’t get their hands on it? This doesn't add up.

Weird coincidence #2 was Heath quitting Genoryx - a decision Heath made that Liz wasn't expecting.

The Wild Pony t-shirt is now the 3rd thing that doesn't add up. And if the t-shirt clue isn't adding up for you, see my post about it here:

The T-shirt is strike 3 for Max. He can't really pretend that he's not suspicious of Heath anymore. So he broaches the subject with her.

"How much do you know about this guy, Heath? How close were you?"

Max is feeling uncomfortable and looking for more information. He's trying to make the clue make sense. Why would Heath have the T-shirt? Does he have a connection to Roswell that Liz doesn't know about? And Liz doesn’t listen.

"This isn't the time to be jealous about a boy I met."

For all that Liz is clinical and on mission, she jumps very quickly to assuming that Max is NOT on mission. Yes, Max is inherently more emotional than she is. But throughout the episode he's been asking questions about Heath and NOT JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS. That's one of the keys to me here. Max really is trying to give her the benefit of the doubt about him.

At Liz's house, he asked about "the boyfriend" but he wasn't doing it in a jealous or judgy way. If anything it could almost be interpreted as concern. He started with "were you happy" and only when Liz kind of metaphorically admitted that any happiness was a façade...that's when he brought Heath into it. And yeah, Liz says that he impacted her life and helped her grow, but she didn't exactly express romantic feelings that would make Max jealous. So when she basically jumped straight to the jealousy assumption instead of actually discussing this with him, he starts getting worked up. Because she is not hearing him. She is not acknowledging that the facts they have found during this investigation are not adding up. So he is honest and blunt about what he's thinking.

"I'm just saying it's possible that he took your one-of-a-kind alien spores and quit, so that, just like you, he could use the research himself, free of Genoryx."

Max is the one who brings the science into this conversation. Not Liz. And he's not criticizing or questioning HER application of the science. He's questioning the trustworthiness of Heath. Because the lies are starting to jump out at him like a friggin’ neon light.

BUT — now that he's specifically brought up the science, he has her attention. Because Max questioning her science is HER sore spot. So what does she say back to him? Something kinda judgy.

"That grand trust speech certainly had a short shelf life."

Side note: I really don't think there actually was a "grand trust speech" in this episode. I can think of a few scenes where there might have been an opportunity for one. In particular during the milkshake scene when he admits to saving her tapes. But they actually don't talk about trust in that scene. They talk about having hard conversations. They talk about moving forward instead of looking backwards. But they don't talk about trust. My guess is that there might have been content cut for time at some point in this episode, that may have included some grand declaration from Max, but that's really just speculation on my part.

Regardless…Liz's response to Max bringing up the science is to basically accuse him of not trusting her. Which is not what he was saying. He was not questioning her use of the science. He was questioning her trust in Heath through the context of her science. So he elaborates on what he IS saying, and as he does, he's getting more and more worked up...because this does relate directly to his personal fears, and, frankly, his buried trauma that he's never properly addressed.

"I trust you. Okay? But I don't trust some guy I have barely met with a secret that could endanger me, could endanger my family and break the frickin' Internet if it came out."

Max doesn't know Heath, and he doesn't trust Heath with a secret that could endanger Michael and Isobel. His emotions are escalating, because now he's thinking about the science that scares him in the hands of a guy that all signs points to being potentially untrustworthy, and he's triggered.

BUT he doesn't back up his argument. He doesn't point out the very specific evidence he's identified that Heath is probably lying to Liz.

And Liz is inherently reactive and sometimes overly defensive (see 1x09 list of Liz's flaws). So even though he's focused on Heath, she immediately reacts defensively and takes it as a criticism of HER.

"You think I would let myself be conned?"

"No, I think you came out here looking for a partner, and it could blind you."

*deep breath* and this is where it starts to get personal. And rough. Max isn't entirely wrong here. But he also kind of is. Liz didn't choose Genoryx for partnership. She was looking for resources, freedom to do the science she wanted to do, and to save her father from deportation.

But partnership? Yeah, Liz wanted that. But she wanted that from MAX. She was looking for partnership in life, not in science.

And now that Max has thrown that direct criticism out there, Liz is going to throw a bomb right back at him.

"Just because you sabotaged me when I thought you were mine does not mean that Heath would take the same path."

Ouch. This is the hardest line in this whole scene for me to work with. Because it is combative. And purposefully hurtful.

BUT…she is NOT TALKING ABOUT HER SCIENCE. She has not said a single word about her science in this argument. She moved past that. She had the epiphany that she was wrong and she apologized (3x03). That is in the past for her.

This argument, for Liz, is about betrayal. This is about her believing that they were going to be partners and move their lives forward together (2x12), and right when she believed in that future, Max made another massive decision that directly impacted her life (just like he did in 1x13) instead of working with her to make big decisions together.

"And just because you changed the wallpaper doesn't mean you've mended your blind spots."

I really hate this "change the wallpaper" line. It feels like they're mixing metaphors. Liz called her life a commercial. Max is saying that she's changed her decor. Like...pick one and stick with it.

That aside… I think this barb is about her arrogance. Earlier in the scene, she seemed baffled at the idea that Max believes she could have been conned by Heath, because Liz is used to always being the smartest person in the room. She thought she was smarter than Diego and he figured her out. She believed her lab was secure, but Diego (possibly) got in. Sometimes, like most scientists, Liz is so bogged down in the complicated, brilliant details she’s thinking through, that she misses simple things that contribute to the big picture. And I think that's what Max is getting at here. In her arrogance, she believes that she can control the Heath situation. But she's not acknowledging the human factor here - that Heath is a person who may have his own unspoken ulterior motives driving him. Just like Diego did. She's just not seeing what Max is seeing.

BUT - again I'll say. Max is also not communicating the scope of the evidence he is collecting. They're both wrong here.

"I have learned my lessons, but you... oh, my God, you sound an awful lot like the guy who blew up my lab. So forgive me, but you're making it perfectly clear why I felt like I had to go and change the wallpaper."

This is the only line where Liz even comes close to talking about her science, but again, she's talking about his betrayal. She's talking about him undermining their partnership. She's talking about her need for a change of scenery from HIM.

And that’s when Max blows out the safe and they put the fight on hold to finish their investigation.

But, to sum it up…the fight was all about trust and betrayal. It was necessary for them to work through it, though frankly? I wish they could have finished the discussion. Because instead of them coming to some sort of peace with their trust in each other, the truth came out about Heath, Liz realized that she was wrong, she apologized, and they moved forward together, on mission.

I can’t help pointing out though…after the fight and Liz's epiphany about Heath, Max and Liz spent at least 15 hours in a car together. And I'm sorry, I refuse to believe that they didn't talk about anything important for 15 hours. Fic writers assemble? 😆

Many thanks to @ober-affen-geil for doing a quick review and checking me on opinions vs facts. Very important.

And for my next trick… road trips, life choices, and Robert Frost! Coming soon to a Tumblr near you…

[dickgrcyscns]

Snowfall

Snowfall, John Carter x Female!Reader.

Summary: In which keeping a marriage secret is really difficult. Especially when the both of you are bad at secrets and it's been months of you working around everyone. 

Set During: Season One

Word Count: 2,169 words

Gif used not mine!

Life was full of surprises, you had learned that pretty quickly in the emergency room. And you learned early on to take advantage of the breaks you were given, whether that be due to the weather or because one of the residents (and sometimes an attending) told you to take one. This time around it was for a reason a bit more exciting. You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that the snow elicited in you, after all you had grown up in Chicago and spent hundreds of days playing out in the snow. Staring out the window, listening to the quiet hums of the emergency room with no patients, you thought back to the days you would spend out in the snow. Often you found yourself at the Carter family home, running around in the snow with John as his grandmother stood by the window watching you guys play. It was in the snow that you realized your feelings for him. You were fourteen, rolling around in the snow after he had tackled you down to the ground. Your faces were inches apart and for a split second a part of you wanted to close the distance, press your lips against his own. But some part of you stopped that from happening then. 

And looking back at it, that was one of your biggest regrets. You wished you had taken control earlier than when you did. Nothing could change anything, although, and at least you ended up with him in the end. Of course, you still kicked yourself for falling in love with your best friend. Especially since you had promised yourself that you would never do such a thing. (Then again, who didn’t make promises to themselves that would eventually fall through). Now that you two have been together since you were eighteen, and married for just over two years, everything else seemed small. All of the moments of what could have been seem minuscule in comparison to you guys actually being together. 

“Y/l/n?” You turned your head away from the window, smiling at Susan who had called out your name. “We just pulled a prank on Carter and we’re about to have him find out, so if you want to come and watch.”

“I would love to do nothing more than watch this.” Standing up, you walked into the admit area and stood next to Lydia. “What did you do to him?”

“Just something fun,” Mark smiled. “You’re lucky you weren’t sleeping.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” you mumbled, waving your hand in the air. “Let’s get on with the show.” 

Mark grabbed the intercom from behind him, holding it for a few seconds before he pressed the button. He let out a short laugh before speaking into it, “Doctor Carter stat trauma one, Doctor Carter stat trauma one.”

You leaned onto the counter, arms resting and holding most of your body weight as noises came out from exam room four. A smile formed on your lips when the door opened abruptly, John tumbling out from behind it with a cast on his leg. Laughing, you brought one of your hands up to cover your mouth as John walked closer to everyone standing in the room. He pointed a finger between everyone, a smile playing on his lips as he accused all of you for the cast. The finger landed on you, which made you scoff in response. “Y/n,” John said softly, “did you do this to me?”

You blinked. “No.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“I have better things to be doing,” you shrugged. “The cast is cute though, I suggest you keep it.”

“I hate you,” John mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m guessing it was you two then?” He pointed at Susan and Mark who shared a playful look. “Can someone please take it off?”

“I agree with Y/l/n’s statement, it looks cute,” Mark smiled, patting your shoulder. “I’m not taking it off.”

“Neither am I.” Susan grabbed her mug of coffee from the admit desk, walking back to the lounge. “Have fun with that Carter!”

“Thanks!” John screamed out sarcastically, watching as everyone but you walked away from the area as if nothing was wrong. Your care-free persona shifted almost immediately, allowing your soft side to show as you looked over John’s expression. “So now you want to be sweet?”

“I can’t act normal around you,” you felt your cheeks heat up. “They would catch on.”

“And if they did?”

“I’m not sure.” Biting at your tongue, you smiled a little. You reached out to touch his cheek for a fleeting moment, quickly pulling it back before anyone around could see you two. “I would really love to kiss you right now, though.”

“Me too.”

“Snow days just remind me of when we were younger and I would come over to your grandmothers house,” you smiled softly, a chuckle leaving John’s lips. “Do you not remember?”

“Oh no, I do. You would drop by around eight in the morning,” John sat down, angrily tapping on the cast. “That time was when my grandmother was awake and I was still asleep, so you’d spend time with gamma and talk to her. But you were always there when I woke up, effortlessly beautiful. It was unfair, really.”

You leaned down, looking to make sure no one could see you before whispering in his ear, “You know, I always wanted to kiss you in the snow.”

“In the snow?” John mumbled back. “It’s a good things there's a lot of that going around.”

“Do you think they would notice if we just, I don't know, went missing?”

“Probably so,” John pursed his lips, a nod falling from his head. “Seems worth the risk though.”

“It wouldn’t kill us if they found out,” you shrugged innocently. “I mean, I’d just be kissing my husband. It’s not like we have any patients to worry about.”

“Other than myself.”

“Right, sorry. Other than John Carter who is stuck in a cast he doesn't need.”

“No one from the outside knows that,” John stood up. “For all they know, I’m injured.”

You rolled your eyes, walking towards the doors to the ambulance bay. John followed after you, smiling at the sight of the snow falling to the ground. When the cold air enveloped you, you took in a slight breath. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked up at the sky. It was the kind of weather people expected in Chicago, cold and snowy. This time it had the added bonus of being December, which meant there was the possibility for a white Christmas. You loved it when it snowed at Christmas time, it just made the season feel right. John stood beside you, one of his arms resting lightly against your waist. Neither one of you moved to find a remote space, which meant neither one of you were necessarily trying to hide the relationship from the people inside. In fact, if you cared enough you probably would have noticed their faces in the windows of the lobby and the lounge. 

“You know,” John mumbled into your ear, “this would be a lot more fun if we kissed right now.”

“I can think of things more fun than kissing,” you smiled, turning so your body faced his. “Too bad we’re at work right now.”

“So that's how this is going to go?”

“How?”

“With you teasing me.”

“Sure seems like it,” you nodded, a playful smirk on your lips. “I love you, did you know that?”

“Surprisingly, I don’t think I did. Did you know that I love you as well?” 

“Can’t say I was aware of that fact.”

“Strange how that happens.”

“Quite.”

“Are we just going to do this until I kiss you?” John questioned as your lips came closer to each others. 

“I could do this all day,” you whispered against his lips.

“I know you could,” he whispered against yours. 

“Just kiss me.”

“Say no more.”

John quickly pressed his lips to yours, hands coming to cup your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck, curving your body into his. When you two broke apart, you took a few seconds to open your eyes. You were content with everything in that moment. The kiss, the smile on your lips, your husband, and especially the snow that continued to fall around you. When you opened your eyes, you were met with John’s brown doe eyes staring at you. He had a boyish grin stuck on his lips as he pulled you in for another kiss and then another and then another. 

“They’re bound to know now,” you laughed, pulling your arms away from his neck. “At least, they know something. We could keep the fact that we’re married away from them if you want.”

“If we don’t tell them, it’ll keep them guessing.”

“But if we do tell them, we could probably kiss more often while here.”

“This is why you’re the smarter one of the two of us.”

“I’m not surprised,” You began to pull off your coat as you walked in the doors. “I mean, I’m me and you’re you. Of course I’m the smart one.”

“I know that I said that, but it still hurts.”

“Says the one who didn’t wake up when Doctor Greene and Doctor Lewis were putting a cast on your leg,” You laughed, walking into the lounge and putting your coat in your locker. Mark and Susan shared a look, a smirk on their lips. 

“So,” Mark drawled out, a brow raised. “Anything you’d like to tell us?”

“The snow is pretty,” you smiled innocently, putting your stethoscope around your neck. “Don’t you agree John?”

“Definitely, it’s very pretty,” John nodded in response. “I just love when there’s snow outside.”

“Me too.”

“Reminds me of being a kid.”

“And when we would just terrorize your parents until they yelled at us to get out,” you mumbled, pushing at John’s shoulder as the four of you walked out to the admit desk. “God, your dad hated me.”

“Your dad didn’t like me much more,” John retorted. “He really hated me after we started to date.” Your face dropped a little, a smile forming on your lips when everyone in the admit area turned towards you two. His eyes went wide for a moment as he realized what he just said. You let out a slight laugh as Carol walked into the room. 

“Did you just say,” Haleh smiled, pointing a finger between you and John. “Date?”

“I,” John stumbled on his words, making you shake your head. 

“John and I are married,” you shrugged, trying to divert any attention away from it. “Nothing too abnormal going on here. So, how are you guys doing?”

“Married?” Carol blinked a few times, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked between you two. 

“We’ve been together since we were eighteen,” John smiled. “We got married at twenty-one.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone here?” Susan leaned back on the desk, a laugh leaving her lips. “I always thought you two had something going on though. The longing glances were getting old.”

“Personally, I thought it was cute,” Haleh laughed, shaking her head. “Carter’s puppy dog eyes were really the selling point.”

“It was Y/n’s pout that tugged at my heart,” Lydia popped in, making your cheeks flame. “Seriously, all she had to do was jut out her bottom lip and Carter would do anything she wanted.”

“We should have realized this a while ago,” Connie laughed.

"Don’t hold it against yourselves. Honestly, we should have told everyone from the get-go. It’s not like it changes everything for us.”

“You two are cute together,” Carol smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder. She paused, turning back towards you with a wide grin. “Can we see your ring?”

“What?”

“Your ring, can we see it? You don’t wear it on your finger.” Carol grabbed at your hand, holding it in front of your own face. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You grabbed at the chain around your neck, unclasping it so you could take your rings off of it. Sliding them on, you smiled a little at them. Your engagement ring was his great-grandmothers, you always found yourself staring at it. Each time you found something new about it: a different knick on the metal on the ring. Each time you often wondered about how it got there. Carol took hold of your hand again once the rings were on it, eyes wide and a smile growing. 

“How’d you afford this Carter?” 

“Family heirloom,” John mumbled, running his hand across the back of his neck. “I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford a diamond that large.”

You bit back a laugh (because the both of you could buy hundreds of diamonds that size if you wanted to), “Not at all.”

At least the snowfall did one good thing (other than stopping the E.R. from constant use), you and John didn’t have to hide anymore. 

[effei-s]

What shatter-me Warner would do.

The fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

Here’s the thing: Warner from original trilogy had character arch. More important: he was a character.

He was mean, villainous, cold, cruel murderer, with daddy who basically bought him regency (like come on, if it wasn’t for Anderson no one would even think about giving him that position; n for nepotism), but he also was deeply traumatized and abused his whole life and had little to none normal human interactions. I loved that fact that the only good thing he did (killing Fletcher because he was abusing his family) resolved into a complete catastrophe (Anderson killing children and wife) because Warner didn’t think it through. He tried to do the right thing and failed miserably, because he was more concerned with making a spectacle for Juliette. And after that he still had the audacity to paint himself as a hero who saved poor family from terrible tyrant in Ignite me.

I didn’t expect him to act and think like a human being. He didn’t need to act like a normal human. Warner gas lighting Juliette in the first third of ignite me is Warner’s thing to do. Him yelling and throwing tantrums and making scenes in Unravel me is Warner’s thing to do. Him forcing Juliette to do things she doesn’t want and traumatizing her in the process in Shatter me is Warner’s thing to do. Him wanting to torture Adam to death is Warner’s thing to want.

There’s a few reasons for this:

a) he doesn’t know how to communicate with people other than giving them orders or making threats;

b) he truly believes that he’s in the right here (he doesn’t see himself as a bad guy in Juliette story, more like a knight on a white horse);

c) he’s physically unable to be honest with himself and always has someone to blame for his own mistakes and failures;

d) he’s ‘results justify the means’ kind of guy.

Changes for good, with trauma that deep, when you basically don’t have a moral compass, don’t happen over night.

Was his ignite-me arch made sloppy? Yes. Everything was too info-dumpy and too convenient (Juliette forgetting that Warner was going to torture Adam to death; Juliette feeling that she’s the one who needs to apologize; Leila’s entire character used only for a sob story; Adam turned into a douchebag so Warner would look a more suitable love interest, etc). But it still was an arch. And the finale of ignite me was so open I really could imagine that, little by little, in the future, he will start to trust people more and really gonna help Juliette and co to make the world a better place. And his redemption arch wasn’t finished in the slightest, and I would even say that it was only the beginning of it, but it was implied that things will get better from there (the most important part of that being him genuinely wanting to make things right with Adam and James; he’s the one who makes the first step and initiate the bond).

So what went wrong in new three books? Ehm… everything, to be honest. Instead of developing a character that was already there, she decided to give him a new personality. Actually it can be said about every single one of characters, but Warner just happened to be the biggest victim of them all.

Let’s look at Restore me.

Okay, we have his pov, and I never thought I would say it but… Warner is kinda dumb. He’s supposed to be this military strategy genius, someone who knows how RE works from within and… it turns out that he just as clueless as Juliette. More than this, we never actually see him do ANYTHING except fucking Juliette. And for some reasons he never helps Juliette with her work??? There’s so much paperwork and instead of helping her to sort though it he’s… just not there???

Those stupid long monologues about how she’s capable to do anything mean nothing if he doesn’t actually help (as we can see at the end of restore me, when Juliette gets captured).

That fact that he doesn’t immediately check if Castle’s words are true? And instead of helping Juliette with Haider (telling everything he knows about him and his family, preparing her for the dinner) he fucks her??? This is a dumb bitch shit. And maybe you didn’t noticed but Shatter-me Warner wasn’t a dumb bitch.

After all, there’s a simple reason I never wanted the job of supreme commander myself—

I never wanted the responsibility.

It’s a tremendous amount of work with far less freedom than one might expect; worse, it’s a position that requires a great deal of people skills. The kind of people skills that include both killing and charming a person at a moment’s notice. Two things I detest.

Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted power because power meant that he could have control over his life? Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted to work with Juliette as a team to change the world? Yeah that’s him now.

No personal ambitions allowed when you’re a walking dildo, I guess.

Off the topic, but Mafi really enjoys making Juliette stupid as fuck:

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says, remembering. “I’ve gotten a bunch of letters about that. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

Let's continue.

Hurting Haider would be enough to start a world war.

Warner says and then Juliette threatens Haider, a foreign official on a diplomatic mission, and instead of being even a little bit worried and think about possible consequences, Warner thinks this:

But I can only smile at her. I want to scoop her up and carry her away. Take her somewhere quiet and lose myself in her.

Okay, I guess it’s official, there’s sperm inside of his head instead of brain cells. I can’t find any other explanation for this clownery.

Shatter-me Warner would… Shatter-me Warner won’t be in this situation in the first place.

Someone tries to kill Juliette and Warner does… nothing about it. He never goes to check the body of the assassin himself. He thinks that Nazeera hides something and he still allows her to go around and doesn’t even interrogate her when Juliette says that Nazeera was there at the moment of the attack. He doesn’t find it even a little bit suspicious? That guy who had tremendous trust issues in the original trilogy? Remember him? Yeah, that guy. Shatter-me Warner would lock Nazeera and Haider up and demanded answers. Shatter-me Warner would be angry as fuck, and would try to kill Kenji with his bare hands, because Kenji was stupid enough to leave Juliette alone. Shatter-me Warner wouldn’t stop until he had answers (and the head of a person who wanted to kill Juliette on a plate).

New Warner is too busy feeling sorry for himself to actually do anything about it. And after one chapter it’s completely forgotten, like that fact that someone tried to kill her is not important at all.

And then Castle enters the picture with his stupid and sloppy info-dumping (I guess Mafi never heard of ‘show don’t tell’ rule). And says this:

“She can’t lead this resistance,” he says, squinting at something in the distance. “She’s too young. Too inexperienced. Too angry. You know that, don’t you?”

and if that wasn’t enough he also says this:

“It should’ve been you,” Castle says. “I always secretly hoped—from the day you showed up at Omega Point—that it would’ve been you. That you would join us. And lead us.” He shakes his head. “You were born for this. You would’ve managed it all beautifully.”

AND HE’S STILL ALIVE AFTER?

This is a fucking treason right there. And Warner A-OKAY with this.

Shatter-me Warner would strangle him right there. Or better yet, he would go along with this until he has 100% evidences of Castle’s betrayal and then he would kill him. Or he would kill him simply because Castle was withholding important information and earlier in books he put Juliette in a great danger by sending her to Anderson without telling her the truth (unravel me).

But not this Warner. New Warner is far more concerned with fucking Juliette then helping her or looking for a way out of this situation (because now he has dick instead of a brain).

After my father’s revelation, my thirst for information became suddenly insatiable. I needed to know more—who these people were, where they’d come from, how much we’d known—

WHERE AND WHEN DID WARNER IN PREVIOUS BOOKS DISPLAY THIS?

When I say that Mafi simply forgot her own characters this is what I mean. Warner from original trilogy didn’t give a flying fuck about them. He thought that they were weak and stupid.

I will lose her.

And it will kill me.

He said this shit and after he nearly had a panic attack because he imagined her dating someone else? Oh, come on, how more pathetic can he get?

There are words for this kind of behavior: toxic codependency.

Oh wait wait! I know! This is not Warner! This is Edward Cullen disguised as Warner! The mystery is solved!

Oh, he fucks her again. Apparently it’s the only thing he’s good at. What a character! The layers! The complexity!

And then Lena came into the picture.

Until that moment I was more or less okay with Warner. Yes, I was very confused, but I was ready to give Mafi benefit of the doubt. He lost his father and was dealing with grieve. We all can act out of character in the face of a tragedy or drastic changes.

“Why do you keep pressing this? Who cares if I’ve been with other women? They meant nothing to me—”

And there I felt in my guts, I’m not gonna like what next to come.

Haider was exhibiting suicidal tendencies. Self-harming. And I got really scared. I called Warner because I knew Haider would listen to him.” She shakes her head. “Warner didn’t say a word. He just got on a plane. And he stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what he said to Haider,” she says. “I don’t know what he did or how he got him through it, but”—she looks off into the distance, shrugs—“it’s hard to forget something like that.

Oh, so Warner's words about how he never had any real interactions with anyone before Juliette were bullshit. About how he doesn’t understand people were also bullshit. About how Juliette was the first person who was not afraid to speak with him freely were also bullshit. Because all of the sudden he can help someone heavily depressed. Someone with suicide tendencies? Someone who harms himself? And now he has an ex-girlfriend who’s ready to beat the fuck out of him and calls him mean words (she clearly doesn’t fear him)?

Now his entire character in the first trilogy doesn’t make any sense. And his excuses don’t make any sense.

Bravo, Mafi! Bravo! This was the fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

She says that Lena was in love with him—really in love with him—but that Warner broke her heart, that he never treated her with any real affection and she’s hated him for it.

Oh, so he’s not only stupid and absolutely useless, he’s a fuckboy. And if there’s one thing I HATE, it’s fuckboys.

There’s a big-big-big difference between someone who has one-night-stands and THIS SHIT:

“You’re upset, I understand. But it’s not my fault you feel this way. I don’t love you. I never have. And I never led you to believe I did.”

“She and I,” he says, “it was—we were nothing. It was a relationship of convenience and basic companionship. It meant nothing to me. Truly,” he says, “you have to know—if I never said anything about her it was only because I never thought about her long enough to even consider mentioning it.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t two years of anything serious. It wasn’t even two years of continuous communication.” He sighs. “She lives in Europe, love. We saw each other briefly and infrequently. It was purely physical. It wasn’t a real relationship—”

So he despised her but used her for sex? WOW. Cool. He can go and trip over a fucking knife or fall out of the window for all I care.

“Everything in my life was different before I met you,” he says. “I was lost and all alone. I never cared for anyone. I never wanted to get close to anyone. I’ve never—you were the first person to ever—”

And how exactly he was able to help Haider with his self-harm then??? If he didn’t CaRe for anyone before Juliette?

This was the moment when Warner from original trilogy died in agony.

Okay, let’s see real quick what we have in Defy Me:

He thinks about escape but never really does anything to escape;

(anderson is the one who opens his cell;

he stands in front of a guy who murdered his mother and doesn’t even think about her, yeah I can see how important she was for him;

/again, shatter-me Warner would probably demanded answers, but not walking dildo, walking dildo cares only about Juliette. his excuse in ignite me 'i did it all for my mom' doesn't make any sense now, because he actually doesn't give a flying fuck about her/

he gets captures one minute after he “kills” Anderson;

nazeera is the one who gets him out of there;

super soldier taught his whole life how to survive, everyone. useless as fuck)

He doesn’t know anything about jewelry.

(super ooc, i know what Mafi was trying to do here: she tried ‘sherlock holmes doesn’t know that earth revolves around the sun’ thing Arthur Conan Doyle did, but the problem is WARNER IS A FASHIONISTA, or he was).

He wants to get married because…???

He sees a woman who tried to kill Juliette and he’s a-okay with staying at her place, because she said that it was actually a message (???).

Castle is still alive.

Nazeera who knew all this time about Anderson and was working for him is also alive and well.

Oh and he doesn’t care about Anderson being alive and being a real threat to Juliette (fucking her is more important for him, as usual).

His complete disregard for Juliette’s safety only makes me hate him more with every new book.

Imagine me.

First and foremost: don’t call imagine-me Warner shatter-me Warner. Don’t insult shatter-me Warner like that. With shatter-me Warner Anderson would have to try very hard to get to Juliette. It would be ‘Warner made 100 back-up plans, but Anderson knew him too well and created 101 plan and that’s how he managed to win’ kind of situations.

But walking dildo is too busy feeling sorry for himself (as usual), he just sits by her bed FOR TWO FUCKING DAYS, doing absolutely NOTHING to make sure she’ll be safe.

Nooira says that Juliette should be killed and she’s still alive for some reason.

He’s entire persona is that he’s rude to people (but not bbc’s sherlock holmes kind of rude, when he’s unbearable dick but he’s actually smart and really gets shit done, so we can tolerate him). He’s just rude.

He doesn't care about Adam or James's wellbeing (remember Ignite me Warner who really wanted a family? Yeah that's him now).

But he has gruppies now, because he’s hot and everyone in the sanctuary wants to fuck him.

Oh and he proposed to Juliette. HE PROPOSED. THEY ENGAGED! DO YOU HEAR ME??? THEY GONNA BE MARRIED! HE PROPOSED TO HER! AND SHE SAID YES! THEY GONNA MERRY!

Because god fucking forbid we forget about it.

(mafi really thinks that her readers have the mental capacity of a golden fish, huh?)

I lost count how many times walking dildo implies that he's gonna kill himself if Juliette is not with him (disgusting).

Then our walking dildo cures Juliette by the power of petting (it’s not power of love, lads and gents; you want to see love go watch defenders on netflix; mafi already copypasted elektra’s arch from that show into imagine-me Juliette, you can do yourself a favor and see how this trope can be executed without borderline on sexual assault petting scene).

18-old girl marries a fucking sociopath believing he’s actually a good person.

(we all know how shit like this ends, people like that don't change; and this 'he's different with me cuz i'm very special and i'm gonna teach him the right way' it's really harmful message considering that the audience of those books are mostly teenage girls).

Trust me, there's nothing revolutionary in this trope, it's tale as old as time.

Here's the thing, good written character always defined by connection to other people: friend, lovers, enemies, family, foes, acquaintances, even some random strangers. It's the easiest way to establish what kind of person they are.

Walking dildo doesn't have any of that because all of his "character" revolves around Juliette. He's not a person anymore. By the end of Imagine me he doesn't have friends (his relationships with Kenji or Haider non-existent), no family connections (no talks with Adam or James), even enemies or foes or even people that don't like him (because everyone wants to fuck him, because being hot is his only character trait).

His only family and friend is Juliette. And you know what? It's fucking boring, overdone and lazy as fuck. And insulting to the character he once was.

No redemption arch, no character arch at all.

Happy end.

[the-widow-sisters]

My Reason

Summary: When Natasha and Yelena are practicing knife-throwing, something goes wrong with Yelena. Natasha soon finds out that her sister is exceedingly touch-starved. What happens when Yelena finds out that Natasha craves affection just as much as Yelena?

Word Count: 2520

  “Alright, poser, move out of the way and let the master show you how it’s done,” Yelena told her older sister, raising an eyebrow as she took some knives from Natasha. Natasha stepped back, giving her younger sister some room as she proudly watched Yelena.

  The two of them had some time to themselves that day, and the two had decided to do a little bit of practice together to see if they could learn from one another. They were currently throwing knives, and Natasha had managed to land every one of them in the middle of the targets.

  Now that it was Yelena’s turn, Natasha was excited to see how her younger sister would do.

  “Aren’t you going to take the knives out of the targets?”

  “That would be too easy. Don’t you want a real challenge?” Yelena questioned, her eyes full of mirth and playfulness as she eyed Natasha. Natasha smiled a little in reply, wondering how Yelena was going to land any shots in the middle of the targets when Natasha’s knives were already lodged in the centers of them.

  Yelena stopped where Natasha had been standing. She eyed the target carefully before stepping to the side a bit and chucking her knife. She landed it perfectly in the middle, the blade squeezed in a tight fit directly next to Natasha’s knife.

  She repeated this multiple times before finally emptying her supply of knives. She smirked proudly before heading forward and collecting the knives from the targets. Natasha had an enormous grin on her face just from watching her sister’s skills in action, and as Yelena returned, the blonde faked a few bows.

  “That is how it’s done,” Yelena informed her before dumping all of the knives on the table except for one that she kept in her hand and was flipping around in a slight show. Natasha could see the way Yelena was looking at her. She had hope in her eyes, and she was looking at her with such pride, but there was also some anxiousness as she gazed at Natasha expectantly, presumably waiting on some sort of praise from the older woman.

  “Wow… Awesome job,” Natasha complimented finally, a loving smile on her face as she reached out and squeezed the joint between Yelena’s shoulder and neck with her hand fondly before running it up her neck slightly to cup just under Yelena’s jaw.

  Yelena automatically melted into the touch the moment that Natasha made contact. Natasha furrowed her brow, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the girl. Yelena immediately snapped to attention, realizing what she had done as she guiltily glanced in Natasha’s direction. She pulled away from the older woman, her walls surrounding her heart pulled back to their usual slightly more guarded position as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yeah,” Yelena cleared her throat, seemingly recollecting herself. Natasha just watched her carefully, her thoughts flitting about in an attempt to try to understand what exactly was wrong with the younger girl.

  “Going to have to step up your game if you’re going to top that,” Yelena confidently spoke and pointed at the target in front of her, her eyebrow raised as some semblance of that signature irritatingly confident smirk came back to tug at her lips. However, Natasha could easily see the nervousness in her gaze since she could not quite meet the redhead’s eyes.

  Natasha squinted just a tiny bit, trying to decipher the nervousness, and Yelena quickly caught onto the body language before stretching in a somewhat over-exaggerated manner.

  “Well… It was fun kicking your rear and all, but I’m going to go get a shower so I don’t stink as bad as you,” Yelena insulted lightly, and Natasha smiled slightly since it was such a Yelena thing to say. Yelena reached over, offering the knife left over in her hand to Natasha. The older woman took it from her, her hand brushing Yelena’s, and the blonde quickly pulled her hand away before making her way out of the practice area. Natasha watched her leave and hesitantly let her gaze drop to the knife in her hand.

  She sighed deeply, throwing the knife in the direction of the target without looking and landing it close to the middle of the target.

  Later in the evening, Natasha and Yelena were reclined in the living room on the couch, the television running. However, Natasha was not really watching it, and her mind kept wandering to the girl that was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, curled away from Natasha a bit.

  Natasha truly was not sure what was going on with the other girl. Ever since Natasha touched her earlier that day, Yelena had been keeping her distance and trying not to get too close. Natasha was really worried that she had overstepped some boundary or upset the girl by the affection.

  However, she could not understand it. Yelena always seemed to be okay with shoulder bumps and casual things like that. And when they hugged toward the end of their adventure a while back, Yelena seemed perfectly fine with that and actually seemed as if she enjoyed it. Natasha herself had been terribly uncomfortable with touch at first, but once she realized how wonderful it was and how nice it felt, she began to treasure it. But since Yelena handled it so well so fast, Natasha had decided to try to make more contact with her, knowing that everyone reacted differently.

  So why was the shoulder squeeze such an issue?

  Natasha kept thinking it over, flashing glances in Yelena’s direction, and she finally found herself extremely worried about upsetting the girl and bringing back flashbacks or some sort of trauma that Natasha did not know about.

  After a long moment, she finally reached over and grabbed the television remote, muting it quickly.

  “Natalia! What are you doing?! How am I supposed to know who gets chopped now?!” Yelena whined, looking at Natasha desperately as she waved a hand in the direction of the television, and Natasha just returned her gaze with calm concern. Yelena suddenly seemed to catch onto what was going on, and she stiffened a bit, looking much more uncomfortable.

  “I, um…. About earlier,” Natasha started, not sure how to begin the conversation. She was not too good at discussing feelings and things, and she was almost as uncomfortable as Yelena was at the moment. Yelena shook her head, shrugging her shoulders, and Natasha let her words die off as Yelena seemed to be taking initiative on speaking about it.

  “It is nothing. You don’t need to worry about it,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha could see that there was more to it than that.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, little one… Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to bring back memories or anything—”

  “No, no, no, it is not that at all,” Yelena negated, and Natasha could see the sincerity in her dark green eyes. The redhead tilted her head, confused. She now had absolutely no idea what had caused the girl to be so uncomfortable.

  “I just… In the Red Room, we had no contact. When we received it, it was a reward. The trainers and people there knew that a small touch went a long way. Many of us… We,” Yelena paused, looking away stubbornly as she settled her gaze on the television. Natasha could tell she was not really watching it and she was more just resting her eyes on a place as she thought through her words.

  “A lot of us needed that, and it was punishable to hug or touch each other… But they used it as a sort of reward as long as it was coming from them,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha quietly listened and nodded softly. She knew that was the case. She personally had to face such hardships, but it saddened her to see that they kept such a system of training alive even during Yelena’s time in the Red Room.

  “When you touched me today… It,” Yelena trailed off, obviously terribly awkward with this and quite uncomfortable as a whole. Natasha was honestly not completely at ease either, but she was trying to at least portray some semblance of it in order to coax the words from Yelena.

  “Well, it was just really nice and I accidentally…

  “I’m sorry, it’s just… This is hard to talk about,” Yelena swallowed, and Natasha just calmly eyed her.

  “When you touch me, it’s so different. It’s long and it lasts and it’s not a reward for killing someone,” Yelena admitted, and Natasha felt pain stab at her heart at her sister’s struggle.

  “And you don’t have any problem giving it so freely. It’s so different and so nice, and it was embarrassing,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha looked at her strangely, finding herself confused even after this lengthy explanation that Yelena was trying to get through and offer her.

  Yelena sighed deeply, and Natasha heard a light curse roll off of her tongue quietly before she spoke.

  “I enjoyed it too much and I was afraid that if you saw that, you wouldn’t want to,” Yelena let herself trail off, clamming up as she tried desperately to avoid looking at Natasha. The redhead just thought about this statement for a long moment, not sure what to say in response. Conversations with this many feelings involved were always hard for her.

  However, after a long moment, she moved on the couch so that she was facing her sister a bit more and she opened her arms. In response to the movement, Yelena finally brought her gaze back to look at Natasha, and she eyed her as if she had lost her mind.

  “Come here,” Natasha spoke, and Yelena looked between her open arms and her light green eyes staring the blonde down. Yelena furrowed her brow, at a loss as to precisely what the redhead meant.

  “What?”

  “Come here,” Natasha told her, moving one of her hands to wave Yelena in her direction. The blonde finally seemed to realize what she meant, and she slowly scooted forward, crawling nearer to her big sister. Natasha just nodded slightly in encouragement.

  Yelena moved a bit closer so that she was in Natasha’s space a bit more, and Natasha snagged the opportunity, taking the younger woman in her arms. She pulled her close and hugged her to her chest.

  To Natasha’s happiness, Yelena immediately let her weight settle heavily against the older woman and she wrapped her arms around her sister tightly, her cheek squished against Natasha’s shoulder and her legs stretched across the couch on top of Natasha’s. Natasha rubbed her back carefully, and she quickly noticed the happy sigh and groan combo that Yelena released as she just fully relaxed in it and even pushed herself a bit closer to the redhead.

  “I enjoy it, too. Contact is not so new for me, but having it with you is, and it just… I really would just hug you all the time if I could.”

  “Why can’t you?” Yelena questioned, her words muffled and her voice akin to a mumble from its place stuffed against Natasha. Natasha ran her hands up and down the girl’s back comfortingly, a chuckle resounding in her throat a little as she looked down at the blonde.

  “Well… I was afraid that you wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Yelena immediately responded without any hesitation whatsoever, her voice suddenly quite clear despite her position. Natasha could hear the intense disapproval in the words.

  “Would you be embarrassed?” Natasha asked somewhat worriedly.

  “Would you?” Yelena challenged, her voice now filled with way too much affection and fondness to be too serious. Natasha quickly noted that Yelena had somehow managed to worm her way further up Natasha and was now laying there with her head shoved underneath Natasha’s chin.

  “No… I haven’t really thought about it before,” Natasha admitted, and Yelena huffed a little in response. A tiny smile tugged at Natasha’s lips, the sudden puff of air feeling strange but not unpleasant against her neck.

  “I’d like to try… Y’know… To touch more,” Natasha admitted somewhat awkwardly, and Yelena froze a little, but Natasha could feel the grin breaking out across the blonde’s face as she just snuggled closer to the older woman. Natasha’s smile grew on her face, and she reveled in the contact of the person that she loved the most in the world.

  “We should be careful. We’re starting to sound like those girls on that movie Chilly.”

  “What?” Natasha asked in complete confusion, trying to understand what her sister was trying to communicate. She could tell that Yelena was trying to tease, but she could not exactly get what was so funny because she did not completely understand what Yelena was talking about.

  “You know… Chilly. That movie.”

  “Umm… No, I don’t actually.”

  “Chilly! The animated movie. The one where the sister had powers and was blonde and awesome and shot stuff out of her hands,” Yelena tried to explain, and it suddenly occurred to Natasha precisely what the younger girl was talking about.

  “Frozen?” Natasha questioned, barely holding back laughter.

  “Yes!” Yelena exclaimed, and Natasha chuckled heartily.

  “Hey! Don’t laugh! I was serious!” Yelena whined, and Natasha moved her head over to the side to press a gentle kiss to the Yelena’s forehead. Yelena stilled for a moment but sighed out of her nose in something that sounded like contentment.

  “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.”

  “I was not laughing,” Yelena told her, completely and deadly serious, and Natasha started to laugh once again, the sound heartier and fuller this time. Yelena actually started chuckling with her at this point.

  “I made you laugh,” Yelena proudly pointed out, her voice relaxed and calm as could be. Once Natasha finally got ahold of her mirth in response to her sister, Natasha smiled wider than she had in weeks as she ran her hand up to touch the back of Yelena’s hair. Yelena sighed happily, a slight shiver running through her as Natasha ran her fingers through the blonde tresses.

  “You make it sound like I never laugh,” Natasha chuckled just a bit, and Yelena shrugged sluggishly.

  “You don’t laugh much.”

  “Maybe I never had a reason to,” Natasha countered, and Yelena huffed.

  “So you’re saying I’m your reason? That’s pretty sappy,” Yelena somewhat sleepily told her, her voice slurring just a bit as she shut her eyes tightly in pure enjoyment of her sister’s attentions.

  “I learned it all from you,” Natasha teased, and Yelena just hummed, unimpressed but too comfortable to grace the statement with an articulated response.

  Yelena was slowly nestling herself even closer to Natasha, her breathing growing deeper and more spaced out as she got comfortable, and Natasha smiled lovingly, a warmth radiating through her.

  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” Natasha muttered under her breath, kissing Yelena’s head as she closed her eyes, enjoying her sister’s proximity. Yelena stirred just a little, barely coherent words on her lips as she replied.

  “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu…”

[binniedeactivated]

txt reactions. ||  👾👾

Reaction to them cheating on you...

a/n; was just in the mood to write this, purely self indulgent because this is what sam smith at 5am does to me <3

soobin;

it’s been a while since you and soobin had done anything romantic. so, while he was at work you decided to fix the house up pretty and make him a big dinner. the both of your work schedules prevented you both from even touching each other, you were much too tired. most nights you guys would come home and go straight to bed. you thought a nice dinner, some lingerie and soft sex would get you both back on your game again. you got off work a little earlier tonight and  put your plan into action, making all of his favorite foods and lighting some candles in your bedroom to make everything look as romantic as possible. you even went as far as to making the bathtub water floral and inserting scented candles in there also.

you were excited. you were finally going to do something with your boyfriend other than sleep inside the same bed as him night after night. you thought he would be really happy about it as well considering he was often moody when you two weren’t clingy like usual. you lit the last candle while you heard a bit of bustling on the side of the door and you assumed soobin could be coming in at any moment. you turned off the light and stood further away from the door, waiting to surprise him.

as soon as the keys unlocked the door you heard a body slam into the wall beside it while soobin closes the door with his foot. you heard soft moans and you could see soobin rushing to take his jacket off just to throw it on the floor beside him and lift the girl on the wall by her thighs. your blood began to boil.

“fuck soobin-- you really gonna fuck me right here? while you’re girlfriend isn’t home?”.

“we have another hour baby”. soobin groans and moves his lips to her neck. she grips his hair strands and continues letting the meek noises flow from her throat.

“you have another hour?”. you spoke up loud enough to startle them. soobin jumps and immediately puts her down to glare back at you in fear. “baby i was just--”.

“i got off work early and bought all this shit just so we can have a romantic night to ourselves. I cooked, I set up the bathroom and the bedroom. I made it all nice and pretty thinking maybe we can eat and have some fun. but now I see why you haven’t been touching me. It isn’t because we’re tired it’s because you’re too busy fucking someone else”.

the girl breathes, releasing her grip from soobin’s forearm. “maybe I should leave--”.

“yeah maybe you should. now”. 

she scoots past soobin and slips out of the door with ease. soobin could only stare at you in guilt. “It’s not even like that baby I swear”.

you blow the candles out one by one. “sure it wasn’t soobin. you were about to fuck her had I not spoke up sooner. how long has it been?”.

“what are you talking about?”.

you take a spoon from his plate and throw it at his chest. “you know what the hell I’m talking about. how long have you been fucking her?”.

he rubs himself in pain. “only a few weeks”.

“good. i hope you continue to enjoy her for the rest of your life. you’re going to need someone to keep you company because I’m not staying with you”.

“baby I just felt like we haven’t really been doing anything so I thought--”.

“so you thought--hey let me just go cheat? you’re an idiot and that’s a stupid ass excuse”

“cmon--you know I’m a man we have needs”.

“I’m a woman with needs too soobin! you think we all don’t crave sex sometimes? what did you think I was making this whole night about?! I wanted to spend time with you and have sex. but you’re getting your needs met with someone else so I’ll do the same thing. like I said enjoy her. this will be the last time you ever see me again”.

“I’m sorry--look I’m sorry I’ll cut ties with her and I won’t do again”.

“save every last apology you have. I’m not taking it. I’m find someone else”.

yeonjun;

it was all over everywhere. especially stan twitter. and quite frankly you were tired of seeing it. it was yeonjun doing his solo song at their recent concert, singing jealous by labrinth. he sung it as painfully and brutal as if someone stuck a stake through his heart with no care in the world. but he wasn’t the hurt one here. it was you. he was cheating on you repeatedly with numerous women, not giving a damn about his actions until you caught him. and now here he was, singing his heart out on stage and crying, making everyone believe you were the one that broke his heart.

his voice croaked and cracked when he sung it. and you’ll admit it he sung it beautifully. so beautiful it made you cry every time you heard it. it was sad that you both had to end a three year relationship because he didn’t know how to be with you and you only. you were sick of his games, his lies, you were sick of it all. you wanted to be completely free of him. you moved to a different city and took an acting job elsewhere. one you were proud of in fact. well, you were proud of it before you realized who was casted to play as your ex in the next episode.

you avoided yeonjun during rehearsal as much as you possibly could. but that didn’t stop him from singing about you on stage and pouring his heart out as if he missed you. you didn’t believe he missed you. you thought he just missed the fact that you gullible enough to fall for every lie he told. today was another taping day. like the script instructed you open the door and yeonjun was required to be there with a sullen expression on his face.

“what are you doing here?”.

“just give me another chance. please. I swear this time I’ll do right by you”.

you attempt to shut the door in his face but he holds it open with arm. which wasn’t in the script at all. neither was his next line.

“please. please I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I know i wasn’t the best boyfriend. I was so stupid for thinking those girls could ever make up for the endless love that you showered me with. I’m so dumb for taking you for granted in the moment I thought that having multiple partners would make me feel better about myself and boost my ego but it only hurt me in the end. It made me feel so empty. you were the only person that could ever make me feel whole”.

you cross your arms, seeing that this became real.

“yeah, you’re stupid for losing me but i’m not responsible for your wholeness yeonjun. you are. don’t ever depend on someone else to make you happy that’s selfish. the emotional trauma and stress you put me through is something I will never go through again. you broke me beyond repair. I constantly poured out for you and all you did was take. you didn’t appreciate me and I don’t deserve that. you sung about how you were jealous of anyone else I ever come across because you’re afraid of someone loving me the way you should’ve. I’m not running back to you anymore”.

tears raced down his cheeks.

“I’ll be good to you. just please let me be good to you”.

“no. I’m done with you”.

beomgyu;

the front door open and closed softly but he didn’t think you were awake. little did he know you were. in fact you were wide awake. your pregnancy hormones kept you up later than usual. you were grateful though because you were wide awake enough to see beomgyu. to see him try to discreetly throw his condom wrapper in the nearby garbage before taking his jacket off and placing it on the coat rack.

you quickly turned the kitchen light on behind him which startled him completely. he frighteningly turns around to face you, he could already tell you weren’t too pleased with how late he was coming in. his heart started to pound rapidly hoping you wouldn’t suspect anything. but you saw everything. even down to the purple hickeys on his neck that he failed to cover.

“I’m so sick and tired of this gyu. I’m so sick”.

“I had to work late tonight. me and the boys-“.

“you and the boys weren’t doing anything because I already texted yeonjun and soobin and they said you got off work two hours ago. so where the hell where you?”. you fold your arms, hating how he was getting you worked up while you were carrying his child. he swallows,

“I had some extra things to take care of”.

“like what? who were you fucking gyu? because I’m not stupid”.

“why would I cheat on you while you’re pregnant? that’s bad for baby. I think you’re just stressing yourself out at this point”.

“I’m stressing myself out?!”. you lean over as best as you could just to pluck the wrapper out the garbage can and angrily flick it at his face. “what the fuck is this then? and why are you lying about it?!”.

“babe that’s from the last time we--”.

“that’s bullshit beomgyu! when have we ever used a condom?! please tell me and then after that please tell me what the hell are those marks are your neck?!”.

he reaches his hand up to try and cover them. “mosquitos--I’ve been getting bitten by a lot of bugs lately”. you shove him backwards.

“get out! please get out until you can learn how to stop cheating and lying. go get yourself some fucking help. I’m not doing this with you! when the baby is born we can figure out some custodial situations but I don’t want to be with you if you don’t want to be with me. I’m done with this. I’m done with us”.

“don’t do this. you know what I want most is to be a dad. how are you just going to kick me out?”.

you shook your head in disbelief. “pack your shit and go beomgyu”. you hated yourself for crying. “I don’t want you here anymore”.

“I’ll admit it then i was cheating. alright? is that what you wanted to hear?”.

“it’s sad that it took me threatening to kick you out for you to come clean. you’re not even man enough to tell me straight up?”.

“I won’t do it anymore. just please let me father my son in the same household I can’t do any of that custody crap. don’t be like this”.

“you did it to yourself. had you made it clear that you wanted to love me, the mother of your son, you wouldn’t be out here cheating and lying like you are right now. I’m not stressing myself over this anymore beomgyu. get out. take all of your stuff with you”.

taehyun;

friday nights always ended like this. you and taehyun cuddled together on his living room sofa eating too many snacks to name. surrounded by complete darkness except for the movie blaring on the television screen. most would think that couples your age would love to spend their friday nights partying or drinking. however you and taehyun were a different pair.

“sweetheart can you get your elbow off my bladder that’s why I have to go pee every five seconds”.

“no you have to pee every five seconds because you’re lowkey pregnant”.

as taehyun gets up he laughs at your comment. “whatever. I’ll be back can you pause it?”.

you shove another piece of popcorn in your mouth before pressing the middle on the remote, rushing him. in the midst of waiting though you realized taehyun’s phone was getting numerous notifications, most of which you brushed off thinking it was the group chat he’s in with the boys. but an unfamiliar number popped up on his phone screen, one you haven’t saw before. in pure wonder you grab ahold of his phone, taking another peak at the bathroom door before unlocking it to see the message.

333-333-333: are you still with her? when she goes to sleep you should come over...

with a jaw clenched you angrily squeeze his phone, wanting to lock it again so you can gather your thoughts. but you couldn’t help yourself from scrolling through his message thread with whoever the number was, which you assumed was some girl because she’d been sending him nudes since a couple of weeks ago. and to make matters worse he was responding with heart eyes. once the sink in the bathroom went off taehyun closes the door behind himself and you immediately lock his phone, glaring at him with the coldest expression you could muster.

“sweetheart? what’s the matter? why do you have my phone?”.

with your heart racing you launch his phone at his chest. “fuck you taehyun!”. you remove the blankets off yourself to fetch your shoes. he winces at the sudden hit just before unlocking his phone to see that you had opened his message thread. shit.  “why are you going through my phone?”.

“that’s all you have to fucking say?! why was i going through your phone? why were you getting nudes from some other girl?! that’s the real question!”. you grab your bag and approach the door. of course taehyun was trying his best to pull you back over to him. you snatch his arms of your torso in a fit of rage. “she’s just a friend--”.

“we’ve been dating for 5 years and you do this shit?! fuck you. if you didn’t want me anymore you could’ve just said that. don’t call me, don’t text me or talk to me anymore. we’re done”.

“sweetheart please. I can’t be alone. I didn’t even mean to text her i don’t know what came over me”.

“don’t talk to me anymore. you’re a cheater. that’s what came over you”.

“so you’re just going to leave so quick like that?”.

“you think you deserve for me to stay? you’re so fucking self centered. don’t make me seem like the weak one for leaving someone who obviously doesn’t love me anymore. now move your damn hands. I’m leaving”.

and with that there was a slamming door. taehyun could feel his heart sink with every step you took down the hallway.

kai;

you were working when you got the notification. it was from your bank account, specifically the joint account you and kai shared. they were notifying you about a recent purchase from last night. one that you hadn’t remembered at all so you figured it had to be kai. he didn’t know that you opted to be notified about the spending on the account just to make sure the both of you were keeping your savings in order. but one thing that wasn’t in order was what the last purchase was on.

dinner for two and perfume shopping.

no. no way. you checked once again to make sure you weren’t seeing things. but the notification was loud and clear. you figured maybe someone had stolen your credit card and began using it. but even that wouldn’t make sense because it has a pin and only you and kai knew it. you felt your cheeks grow hot at the thought of kai with someone else. you knew he was acting a little distant these past couple of days but you couldn’t figure out why. the tears welled in your eyes but you refused to let them fall, in front of your colleagues at least. you took a step out into the bathroom to take a breath. but you couldn’t keep yourself from crying. you couldn’t understand why he’d be doing this. you loved him too much and too hard for him to even think of being with someone else.

you opened your phone deciding to call him. the phone ringed so many times you thought he wasn’t going to pick up until he finally picked up on the last ring. you didn’t even give him a chance to speak once he did.

“kai i’m only going to ask you this one time and please don’t lie to me”.

“what’s wrong baby?”.

“don’t call me that. who were you taking out on a date the other night? buying perfume for?”. you ask more calmly than you rehearsed in your head. kai’s heart dropped. he panicked. how did you know?

“no one. what are you talking about? you sound so upset. I don’t like when you’re like this baby”.

you exhale heavily. fury pooled in your chest. “you don’t like it? so why the hell were you cheating? you know what? you’re so pathetic. i can’t. I’m fucking leaving you”.

“baby for what? why are you leaving? don’t leave me I promise I wasn’t with anyone else”.

“you sound so innocent when you say that. is that what you like? huh? you like sounding innocent so you can further manipulate me?”.

“baby please”.

“don’t worry. I’ll be out the house by tonight”.