#like he loved his kids but he did neglect them and punish them

[paperuniverse]

I could def see South Ita later in life saying something like “x isn’t child abuse. My old man did that to me all the time and it wasn’t even the worst thing he did.” Then later he’d be lying awake at night and have the epiphany “oh shit wait that was abuse.”

[captain-hawks]

hi dee, merry christmas eve eve.

if you’re still taking drabble requests, i propose reuniting with famous ex-bf sae at a hometown xmas party

i don’t forgive you (but please don’t hold me to it) 🎀 itoshi sae x f!reader

4k — 18+, exes to lovers, infidelity (not sae x reader’s relationship), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, praise kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, angst with a hopeful ending, playing fast and loose with sae’s timeline, timeskip

a/n: i listened to phoebe bridgers - punisher (the album) on repeat nonstop while writing this. recommended for the vibes!

“I knew you hated me. But I didn’t realize just how much until tonight.”

A voice interrupts the silence on the back porch of the Itoshi household, its owner someone that you’ve spent the better part of the night avoiding. Your tongue caresses the back of your teeth, fingers subtly tightening their grip against the wooden railing. 

It feels like it might snow.

“Since when do you come back here for Christmas? Did you need to come sign some hometown autographs to boost your ego?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as you stare out into the dark backyard, rather than turning your gaze to the ghost now standing beside you. 

Itoshi Sae laughs, and the sound cracks against your ribcage like a whip.

It reverberates against the grooves and fissures that still linger there, ones that might as well have been carved by his own hand. It races through you like a cold wind. It makes your lungs burn. 

You find it difficult to breathe for a moment.

And it takes everything in you to appear as unbothered by it all as you wish you were. As you’d like him to believe. 

“I heard from Rin that you’re working on your master’s degree now.”

That’s not any of your goddamn business, you think to yourself. 

“Rin has a big mouth—and since when are you two on speaking terms?”

Sae shrugs, leaving you to stew for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to be annoyed that Rin neglected to share that pertinent bit of information with you.

To be fair, the nearest object usually becomes a projectile weapon by your hand whenever the mention of Rin even having a brother comes up in conversation though. 

At the very least, you’ve stayed close with one of the Itoshi brothers.

And it’s bad enough that you have to dodge Sae’s stupidly famous name like the plague any time you dare to indulge in any piece of football media for Rin’s sake. Fuck him for being so good. 

(At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself. Rather than believing the alternative—that you’re just pathetically hyper aware of Sae in his absence, of all the space he left behind in your life. That five years later, you’re still slowly bleeding out from something that shattered into so many pieces, you don’t think you’ll ever find the last sliver.)

Inhaling sharply, you finally turn to face him. 

It’s not fair, not really—what the sight of him still does to you, even now. Even after all this time. 

Sae’s hair is tousled in a purposeful way, and his eyes are still as sharp as ever. He’s wearing sleek boots and fitted, dark wash jeans, his upper half covered by a jacket that’s likely as expensive as it appears.

He looks far better than he has any right to while you’re standing out here wearing a silly, ugly Christmas sweater that’s an annual staple of Itoshi holiday parties (your parents have been neighbors with them since you were a kid, so you know the drill by now). 

You try not to think about how you fell in love for the first time with the man standing five steps away from you here, between this dark backyard and the one nestled beside it. Beneath the shade of towering oak trees, in the plush grass on warm summer days with sticky popsicle fingers and sweat-slick skin. 

About how terribly you missed him when he left for Spain.

How you didn’t fully understand what you felt until he came back to Japan after you graduated high school. 

How you fell in love with him all over again. 

How he kissed you for the first time in this very spot, with one hand on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You remember the way this very railing felt as it pressed into your back, the humid summer air and the buzz of the cicadas and the fireflies that winked in and out of sight around you. 

How you fell a little more in love with him every day over the four years that followed.

And you remember that you were standing here when Sae called you five years ago and told you that he’d cancelled his flight. That he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. 

That he didn’t think things were working anymore.

You couldn’t have disagreed more, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. 

“Why are you here, Sae?”

He looks out into the darkness beyond in the yard before turning back to you. “Rin said you’re engaged.”

Self-consciously, you tuck the hand adorned with said diamond ring into your pocket. 

Sae’s eyes track the movement. 

“And?”

“That was quick,” he says calmly. 

The anger that rears up inside of you is so quick and sudden, you hardly have a chance to reign it in. 

“We’ve been together for two years. When you know, you know,” you shrug, ignoring the raw feeling at the back of your throat as you push the words out. 

Sae’s quiet for a moment, taking the subtle jab for what it is. “Where is he tonight?”

This time, you don’t hold back. “What, were you hoping to be politely introduced as the reason why I was a fucking emotionally unstable mess when he met me?”

His facial expression flickers. “I’m not going to apologize for not letting you continue to burn yourself out juggling a long distance relationship and a university degree between time zones. For not letting you choose me over your dream internship.”

“So you broke up with me over the phone three days before Christmas and mailed me all of my shit and went radio silent for five years? To show how much you cared about me?”

Sae takes two steps forward, shortening the distance between the two of you with tangible purpose. 

“You would have tried to talk me out of it, to come up with a solution that wouldn’t have worked.”

You nod, voice bordering on a frantic laugh. “So you made the choice for both of us. Because you know best.”

“Do you think I wasn’t hurting?”

Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, the cold finally seeping in past the adrenaline pumping through your veins, sinking into your bones in a way that makes you ache. 

“The only thing that could possibly hurt you is football.”

This time, it’s Sae that laughs, but it’s less amused and more self-deprecating now. And without warning, something heavy and warm settles around your shoulders, the musky scent of cologne enveloping you. 

Sae comes to stand in front of you, leaving you wearing his jacket. 

He’s wearing the goddamn stupid, ugly Christmas sweater with a dog on it that you bought for him years ago. 

“You’re wrong,” he says quietly, breath coming out as a white, whispy cloud of condensation. 

You wish you were. 

Ripping off his jacket, you shove it back into his arms before storming back inside, heart on the verge of pounding its way out of your chest and through the slats on the deck to burrow into the dirt below. 

—

You manage to avoid Sae for the next hour or so, mingling amongst other party guests and pointedly ignoring all of the excited chatter about the footballer’s festive homecoming. 

Rin doesn’t push, not in front of everyone, but you can tell by the concerned way he keeps glancing over at you that he’s aware you and Sae have talked. 

It’s only on your way to use the upstairs bathroom, hoping to glean a moment of quiet after your time out on the porch was so spectacularly ruined, that you find yourself distracted. 

There’s a dim light on in Sae’s childhood bedroom. 

And this is where he finds you again, standing frozen in the doorway and staring at the constellations projected on the walls by the small sphere-shaped lamp sitting on the desk in the corner of his room. 

The two of you used to lie on his bedroom floor for hours staring at the stars on his ceiling. 

“Does he make you happy?”

You’re expecting it this time when you hear Sae’s voice.

“Do you feel that’s any of your business?” you ask tiredly. 

He slowly walks past you into the room, sweater and jacket both seemingly discarded downstairs. He’s stripped down to a white t-shirt now, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I made myself let you go so that you could be with someone who would make you as happy as you deserve. I don’t think I deserve your answer, but I’d like to know.”

You curl your toes against the carpet beneath your feet—just like you used to every time a silly teenage confession for him was trembling on the tip of your tongue. 

Your engagement ring feels cool and heavy on your finger. 

You hate him, hate this. Hate this effortless vice grip he still has on your weak heart. 

“You made me happy,” you tell him, voice hardly above a whisper. 

You hate that you know he made the right choice. 

Sae blinks. 

You would have left everything behind for him—school, your career, your future. 

You were content with weekends spent tangled up in hotel rooms between his games, with failed exams and missed assignments and a life spent in suitcases. 

“Aren’t you dating that model?” you blurt out, scrambling for something. Anything. 

He nods but doesn’t offer anything else. 

“Well, why didn’t you bring her here?” It’s a battle to keep your voice steady. 

“I didn’t want to.”

He—

“What, you didn’t want her to see you jealous if I brought my fiancé?” you joke. 

Sae lets out a huff of air—it might be a laugh.

“Something like that,” he responds quietly, gaze shifting to the window.

“Tell me why you’re here,” you say again.

The sound of voices climbing the stairs floats through the open door, and you step further into the room, pushing it closed and locking it behind you before crossing your arms. You’d rather not be interrupted by his drunk aunts. 

“I wanted to know how it would feel.”

You tilt your head. “How what would feel?”

He gestures to your hand, to the new diamond just hardly glinting in the low light. “Seeing a ring on your finger, knowing I didn’t put it there myself.”

The ground beneath your feet feels marginally less solid as your gut churns and your nerves sway. Your teeth sink into your cheek, pain blossoming as you bite down. 

“And?”

Sae runs a hand through his hair. 

“I hate it.” 

It’s blunt and raw, the way the words slide off of his tongue. And he stares at you when it says it, refusing to break eye contact. You take a step toward him, no reasonable explanation for the movement beyond the fucked up magnetism that still pulls you toward this false promise of true north. 

“Why, would you have gotten me something nicer?”

It’s dizzying, this conversation. The way words keep coming out of your mouth unbidden, filling the gaps in years worth of silence. Stroking a bruise, scraping a scar. 

“You hate gold,” he replies evenly, and your hand subconsciously goes to your neck. To where a silver chain sat for years before you finally tore it off and threw it in an envelope marked with Sae’s address. 

His eyes wordlessly track the movement. 

“Do I?”

He steps toward you, closing the dwindling gap further. And you swear you can feel it—a subtle charge in the air. 

Sae nods, reaching out to lightly take your hand in his. He holds it up to inspect. “And this diamond’s too big. Too square. You like small stones, something vintage.”

He’s right. 

You stare at him, all too aware of the familiar feeling of his skin against your own. 

“You sound confident.”

He knows he’s right. 

And he doesn’t falter. “There’s been a ring sitting in a small, velvet box in the back of my closet for five years. I haven’t forgotten what it looks like.”

A—

Words die feebly in your throat as you weakly croak, “—what?”

Sae sits down on the edge of his bed, looking down at his own hands. “I had it all planned out. I was so fucking nervous, it was ridiculous. And then I woke up that morning and realized that I was being selfish trying to tie you down to me permanently.”

He meets your gaze as you stare back at him, dumbfounded. Your knees feel weak.

“You were going to propose?”

Sae nods.

You move to stand in front of him, your socked feet nudging his own. “Did you fly all the way home to finally tell me that?”

He looks up at you. “I don’t know.”

You’re not sure what happens first—the brush of your knees against his own or the spreading of his thighs. But you find yourself between his legs all the same, denim resting against your sheer stockings and the fabric of your skirt.

“What am I supposed to do with this information, Sae?”

His eyes burn through you. 

“Tell me to get rid of the ring. Tell me you want nothing to do with me. Tell me you hate me.”

His words strike like flint against the raw edges of your nerves.

“I hate you,” you tell him, even as you reach out let your fingers ghost along the curve of his jaw.

Sae’s eyes fall shut, and he leans into your touch.

You let your hand slide higher, into the soft locks of his hair. 

His intake of breath is audible.

“I hate that you left me. I hate that you made the choice without me. I hate that you were right, because I never would have come this far in my career, and I never would have gone this far with my education.”

“I’m sorry—” His voice comes out hoarse, and he collapses forward, head pressed against your abdomen.

“I hate that I still love you, even now. Even after all this time.”

Sae’s arms wrap around the backs of your legs even as he mumbles, “Don’t say that.”

You feel like you could catch fire at any moment. 

“Why not?”

He shifts his head, rubbing his face against the bottom edge of your sweater, and the material rides up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. 

“I don’t deserve to hear it.”

You drag your hand to the back of his head, tugging the hair there to tilt his chin upward to meet your gaze once more. Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight before you.

“Probably not, but you decided to kick off honesty hour, so.”

Sae tips his head back downward, his breath hot where his mouth rests against the bare skin above the waist of your skirt.

“I wish you’d tell me not to touch you.”

You shiver. “Should I?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

You don’t answer him as every reasonable part of you goes quiet, drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears and the reckless desire that shamelessly shudders its way down your spine.

“And if I don’t?”

It’s pointed this time, the way Sae’s lips press to your stomach in an open-mouthed kiss. 

Logically, you know this isn’t right—standing here between your ex-boyfriend’s legs in the darkness of his childhood bedroom. Not with an engagement ring on your finger. Not when he’s got a girlfriend waiting on him somewhere. Not when this well should be dry, this bridge should be burned.

The bruise should be gone and the scar should be healed.

But—

But you’ve known him more than half of your life.

And for as much as the past five years have hurt—

For as much as you’ve missed him.

For as much as you’ve wanted to forget him.

For as much as you want to hate him.

—you’ve never regretted anything when it comes to Itoshi Sae.

Not once.

You climb onto the bed, straddling Sae’s lap. He reaches up, pointer finger curling beneath your chin as his thumb presses against the edge of your bottom lip.

“I can’t promise I’ll be a good man if you don’t tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

Your pulse quickens, and you part your lips slightly, heat flooding your gut as Sae slides his thumb into your mouth. 

This is a terrible idea.

You flick your tongue against the tip of the digit, and he holds your gaze as he slowly pulls his thumb back out.

“I want you to touch me,” you finally say.

Sae’s other hand, now resting at the base of your spine, slides up your back, stopping once he’s cupping the back of your head. He leans in, forehead resting against your own.

You’re maddeningly aware of every single spot his body is touching yours.

“Say it again.”

You let your nose brush against the side of his as you murmur, “Touch me, Sae.”

It drags all of the air from your lungs—the feeling of Sae’s lips crashing into yours.

His mouth greets you like a long-lost lover, like a dog-eared page. Like worn in soles and the perpetual creak in the step at the bottom of the stairs. 

His lips move with the purpose of car tires down a street you’ve known most of your life. With the muscle memory of feet across a childhood home in the dark. 

Tongue dancing against the seam of your mouth, your lips part for him, desire and longing cresting in equal measure as he grasps your hips and pulls you impossibly closer.

Sae kisses you like he hasn’t kissed you in five years.

He kisses you like no time has passed at all.

He kisses you like he wants to tell you something more between tongues and teeth, between slick saliva and gasping breaths. 

You don’t mean for it to come out so desperate, so needy—the way you breathe out his name when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites and sucks his way to the edge before letting go.

“Sae.”

You hardly have time to register the way the room spins when Sae’s grip on you shifts, your back softly colliding with the mattress as you find him staring down at you. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

You shake your head, and he moves backward, pushing up your skirt, spreading your legs and settling down between your thighs. In the meantime, you slip off your sweater and toss it aside. Sae watches you do it, watches the way the tight black tank top you’re wearing underneath clings to your body, the way your peaked nipples sit on display through the fabric of your thin bralette. 

The heat that licks within your abdomen flares white-hot when he drags a thumb against your mound, your stockings already damp from the arousal soaking through your underwear.

There’s a slight tug in the material, followed by a ripping sound.

“Really?”

“There was already a hole.”

“You’re lying.”

Sae shrugs, but he doesn’t look sorry about it. “Yeah.”

You don’t have a chance to give him a hard time about ripping your stockings, not when you’re suddenly met with the feeling of two of his fingers sliding through the slick, creamy folds of your bare, soaked slit. 

“Sae,” you whine.

The bed creaks when you buck your hips upward while he circles his middle finger around the outer edges of your fluttering hole.

“You have to be quiet,” he murmurs, staring at you intently as he slowly slides a finger into your tight channel. 

You try to swallow it down, the moan that dangles at the edges of your lips while the slender digit slips deeper into your cunt. But as you tightly grasp the sheets on either side of you, it’s a lost cause when he pulls it out, only to stuff it back in up to the last knuckle. 

Sae’s mouth closes over yours, tongue sliding in past your lips in a messy, spit soaked kiss. You moan into it as he slowly finger fucks you, one digit becoming two, his thumb stroking your swollen, aching clit with each stroke, with every thrust. 

“Always loved how wet you get for me,” he rasps before capturing your tongue between his lips and sucking on it, the sounds nearly as filthy as the slick, creamy squelch of your cunt around his fingers.

You gasp, spine arching, thighs spreading wider as you rock into his touch, hands stretching downward until they brush the stiff press of Sae’s erection against the zipper of his jeans.

He groans into your mouth before pulling back, murmuring against your lips. “Are you sure—”

You squeeze his cock through his pants in return, kissing him again. 

Sae’s exhale is labored as he extricates his drenched fingers from your pussy just long enough to kick off his jeans and boxer briefs, leaving both in a discarded pile on the floor as he climbs back on top of you.

Your soaked panties and stockings are a lost cause by now, not worth the battle of peeling off, not when the torn hole allows him to rub the leaking head of his cock against your slit all the same. Tears of pleasure prick at the corners of your eyes as stares down at you while he eases his shaft into the grip of your cunt inch by inch, until he’s balls deep and your legs are wrapped around his waist tugging him impossibly deeper. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, one hand splayed at the back of your head, the other sliding up your shirt and beneath your bra to palm at your breasts.

Just the sensation of his thumb stroking its way across one of your pebbled nipples alone has you twitching beneath him, cunt grinding against the base of his shaft. Your muscles tremble with pleasure as Sae pulls out of you, only to rock back in. The room echoes with the wet sounds of your pussy swallowing his cock, the accompanying little moans begging to trickle out past your lips silenced by the two fingers he slides into your mouth in turn.

Because Sae hasn’t forgotten any of the little ways to take you apart, not at all.

There’s no apprehension in the way you shamelessly suck on his fingers, a trail of drool spilling out past your lips and dripping down your chin, the arousal churning between your legs going molten. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs—if for no reason other than the fact that he knows what it’ll do to you.

And the way your pussy clenches down on his cock makes it abundantly clear.

The corner of Sae’s mouth lifts, caught somewhere between a smirk and a rueful smile. It’s the satisfaction that he still knows you, that this is more than just muscle memory. 

He knows you like the stars know the night sky.

Like the shore knows the tide.

He kisses you again, languid and deep. Like this means so much more than a quick fuck on a cold December night caught in the throes of the liminal space of his childhood bedroom.

Like this means so much more than finally ending it where it all began.

“I love you,” Sae gasps against your lips as he thrusts into you.

The coil wrapped tightly in your gut unfurls, rapid and quick, and a scorching wave of pleasure washes over you as your cunt spasms and contracts around his length.

“I love you, too,” you choke out, bordering on a sob, and Sae’s fingers brush away the tear that slips down your cheek as he fucks you through your climax.

You can feel when he’s on the verge of pulling out, and you shake your head. His lips crash back into yours with a rough groan as his cock pulses inside of you, spilling rope after rope of thick, hot cum deep in your cunt.

Sae eventually collapses beside you, rather than climbing off of the bed, and he pulls you to his chest. You lie there like that for a moment before slowly sitting up, and he watches you quietly as you raise both hands, grasping your occupied ring finger. The sound of metal clinking against wood echoes in the silence of Sae’s bedroom as you turn to the nightstand before laying back down beside him.

He takes your now-empty hand in his, pressing his lips to the heel of your palm. 

Like the shore knows the tide.

[yaoirotic]

Strilondes (or more specifically just Dave and Rose), a second gen immigrant reading.

Firstly, it’s important to note that Bro & Mom don’t hate their kids. I feel that getting this is pretty integral to getting them and getting their relationship with their children. They both are good intentioned albeit going about raising their children in bad ways. A lot of this comes from the isolation they felt arriving on earth and growing up without any guardians of their own, attempting to project traditionally western societal ideas. For Bro, it was full of violent, macho masculinity. For Mom, it was the busy house-keeping housewife.

Dave’s story of having traditional masculinity being imposed upon him by Bro is very comparable to how second gen immigrant kids experience masculinity and tough love. Bro was trying to toughen up Dave for the world albeit using violent methods that are comparable to how normalized it is to use corporal and physical methods of “discipline” as a means for punishing their children. Bro doesn’t hate him, but like some second gen immigrant parents his methods of raising Dave are extremely misguided and harmful. How he comes to terms with realizing that he did suffer from abuse is a lot more relatable when you look at him from a non-white perspective. He grew up in a household where this tough love mentality was idealized, and as a result he never really considered how bad his situation truly was until he was able to get out of it and realized him being given such extreme measures of “toughening” didn’t really help him at all in the long run.

As for Rose, her mother wanted to give her the childhood she would’ve wanted as a kid. Lots of lavish objects, giving her ponies and wizards while still inflicting child neglect on her in an alcoholic stupor. Even Mom’s tea set and extravagant bedroom imply a yearning to relive living a more lavish and feminine upbringing. It’s possible to interpret this from a transfemme perspective, and I think that’s right too. I don’t think they’re necessarily mutually exclusive by any means.

Rose’s reaction to her mother’s alcoholism and neglect is a lot more interesting from the reading of her being a second gen immigrant. She feels guilty for hating her mother in spite of her bad upbringing, for the lack of a relationship they ever really had. It’s similar to how a lot of second gen kids may feel guilt for having less than positive feelings on their parents due to them not necessarily trying to hurt them and being well intentioned, but still having faced abuse regardless. There’s an all too familiar sentiment amongst ethnic that regardless of how awful a family member may be, they’re still your family and you should be obligated to try and keep a connection or relationship with them, and reading Rose as a second gen immigrant you could very well see that she has a pretty bad case of this.

Hussie, whether intentionally or not (likely not if we’re being honest), wrote a pretty solid depiction of how children from ethnic backgrounds may realize and deal with their abusive upbringing, and I think reading it as such makes for a pretty intriguing read of their characters. In a way, Bro and Mom wanted to raise their children better than them. Bro wanted to harden Dave up for the world and raise him to an idealistic and reasonably unattainable level of masculinity. Mom wanted to give Rose a life of luxurious femininity and gifts, but in turn failed to meet her emotional needs. I feel that when you look at it from the perspective of a second gen immigrant (speaking from experience here) it’s a lot easier to sympathize with and understand their struggles and relationship with their parents. It’s a good, different depiction of abuse that breaks out of the mold of “abusive parents purely hate their children.” Because not all abuse comes from a place of hate for your children.

[dirtytransmasc]

thinking about how Spider had nothing to claim as his own again

there is nothing that Spider can call his own.

his siblings, his parents, the sully family, the forest, hellsgate, base camp, the forest, Pandora, his name, his culture, his identity, his language, his very life. he has no claim over any of it. he can barely hold any claim to himself.

he as nothing.

he cannot, in any way, claim any of these things, not without resistance or hostility.

because he is not allowed to have things. because he's human, an unwanted wild child, a stray, a reminder. because he's the demon son of Miles Quaritch, who must pay for his sins. whatever the reasons, he is denied a connection to them. he dirties it. he is undeserving of it. he is alien to it.

and while in some way or another, he does continue to partake in these things, stay within these places, and such, it's not without comment or resistance. he isn't supposed to. and just cause he's resilient enough of a kid to do so, to power through it all, it doesn't mean he should have to.

he has known nothing else, yet he is denied a place or claim to almost any aspect of his life.

Jake and Neytiri reject him, to varying degrees, not allowing him to even truly be able to claim the kids he considers his siblings, the kids he would move mountains for, as his own. he does claim them, but he can't do so openly and confidently.

same with the village and The People. Spider would lie his life down for them. for their safety. he has done so. but he, like with his siblings, is barely allowed to claim them as his people, and he isn't really given a space amongst them.

many strip him of most, if not all, of his claim to his identity. it is "odd" and "wrong" and "inappropriate" of him to act Na'vi and partake in the culture. to have a complex relationship with being human, with other humans, with Na'vi and the Sullys and their treatment of him, with both the idea of his father and the actual man himself.

he doesn't even have a true place to call home or parents for 16 years! Jake and Neytiri, Norm, other scientists, were all out adopting kids and giving them loving homes, and he…. got the McCoskers? who didn't like him and abused/neglected him? he got to be a stray?

he got to watch all the other kids with their families. he got to know they liked going home at night and felt safe and loved. but he got none of it.

and then Q rolls around, and genuinely gives 2 shits about him, but he isn't allowed to hold a shred of love for him-no matter the sea of hate and hurt it drowns in. he isn't allowed just this one thing. he couldn't even talk about him, couldn't get support, like any orphan should be able to get, prior to him coming back. but now he can't even have him. he can't even save his dad without being overly hated and punished for saving Quartich, many can't even understand the difference, cause it doesn't matter to them.

that's not fair, he's just a kid.

and the most interesting aspect of this, which was really the point of this entire post, is that it spreads to the audience, and that's actually where we see this trend most prevalently. because while it is mostly hinted at in the movie and comics, a good portion fo this movies fandom and audience are the quickest to question, deny, and even argue over what Spider holds claim to.

every aspect of his life is torn apart by the audience. his behavior and connection to Na'vi culture is inappropriate. he doesn't deserve to call the Sully's family or the forest home. he isn't allowed to like, let alone love, his dad. many don't even think he deserves to live.

when did we forget this was a child born and grown on pandora, around the na'vi, and that he is deserving of a life and a culture and a home and a family?

(this post is cross posted and extended from Twitter. so anyone who follows me on both sites might recognize this.)

[foureyedfella]

☆ I keep telling myself to leave time between posts but I get too jittery I wanna post everything all at once❗❗

☆ Here's a family photo of sorts of the Ryans!

☆ I can go on and on about headcanons but for now I'll leave this as is

☆ What I will do is sprinkle some dynamics between Aran and the rest of his family:

Alannah- seeing as she is the oldest, she is on his ass frequently 😭 when Aran was younger (12-15) he hated her, feeling that they both equally did stuff to contribute in the house but was patronized- he felt like his labor was overlooked by her and it pissed him off. By 16 his heart ripened a little bit and all it took was her helping him with a life threatening fever!! Wow awesome Aran!

Nora- closest sibling, that middle child bond runs between them HEAVY- she leeches onto him, to the pure anger of their dad, and tends to imitate him, for better or for worse 💀 while Aran is usually not even able to see his sisters all too often due to his job and his at home duties, when he can it will usually be with Nora.

Fiona- Aran is pretty protective of her, but she also gets under his skin. She is pretty much "daddy's girl" in the family, so she can and will snitch on Aran if need be. With that said, he can never truly be mad at her, she doesn't even know the true consequences that Aran gets from the snitching she just a baby. Aran will get the lights knocked out of him because of her but will still sneak her a cookie past her bedtime.

Kiera- has literally seen her like 5 times since she was born. Never has time to see her, since by 12 Aran was already given the house work and was working a job by 15. When he does see her, they just look at eachother like fish out of water.

Evelyn- despite the tough demeanor he wants to display, he is a big mama's boy. Aran was never a well behaved kid, but she always seemed to have patience with him when she was able to, and that in of itself was reassuring to Aran. Aran is only willing to help around in the way that he did because he knew it would lift a burden from his mom, who usually had to tend to her kids. He often felt himself keeping secrets from her because he didnt wanna hurt her. While he doesnt outright say it Aran loves his mom a whole lot and was pretty clingy when he was younger- when he got older, he would distance himself from her believing that the way he was would hurt her emotionally, especially when he would lash out during arguments.

Sullivan- ❗CW: verbal/ physical abuse❗ where do I begin 😭 Aran believes that his dad has a genuine grudge for him and him only, feeling that he is the only one in the house that gets punished for seemingly nothing (not that he wants his siblings to get the treatment he does, it just fuels his grudge theory). He is always at work, apparently. When he is home, it's to argue as to why Aran hadn't gotten anything done, why he is the way he is, and pretty much anything he could ramble on. There wasnt a discussion Aran had with his dad that didnt end in a screaming match, or if not, a physical altercation. He was often physically abusive too, instinctually hitting Aran with whatever was in his hands, or just his fist, when the argument occurs, usually doing field work. If it wasnt clear Aran hates this guy

☆Overall, the family became unintentionally neglectful of him, it kind of became easy to not think about someone as often when they're barely home, and with so much already happening in the house this made it even easier to forget about him

☆the reason the ages are dated so far back is because the last time Aran would see them all is when he is 17 years old, as he left the house to persue his boxing career in NY.

☆He still cares for his ma and sisters, he sends a real chunk of his paychecks to them, but cant bring himself to go back to Dublin, as he feels like he abandoned his family (Only Soda knows about this though, token drinking friend has all the knowledge)

☆sorry for the yap fest 😭 I got doodles

[maximumkillshot]

"I Can't Lose You" Part 6

Warnings: Aftermath of a miscarriage, descriptions of grief due to losing a baby, Angry Everyone, Death is mentioned, Wanting Death, Shock, Grief, PTSD Flashback, Panic, there is a parallel to a person jumping off a bridge (NOT ACTUALLY)

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Characters:  Stray Kids, Reader

A/N: Ok if you read the above, you'll notice that anger is in the warnings. This is the first half of a chapter that had me crying as I wrote it. This is something that you all need to take into consideration... I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I AM SORRY IN ADVANCE ONCE AGAIN. My asks are always open for you guys to vent about this one.

Also remember, this is a fanfic. All of the boys are so sweet IRL.

Stray Kids! Masterlist

Overall Masterlist

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE. 

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

Previously:

He was mad at himself at those thoughts, Chris was so clearly into you so he used Bin’s insecurities against him… and it had worked. He thought about how all of this wouldn’t have happened and you and him would be happy together. That’s all he ever wanted for you. That was why he let you go in the first place. He wanted you to be happy.

After about half an hour of hushed talking, while Bin kept you relaxed, a set of footsteps walked down the hall. Just hearing them, Bin’s ears perked up. They had an authority to them, almost pompous in nature. Commanding… he knows those steps.

Now:

The minute Minho saw who it was entering the room his whole body went rigid, his hands in fists at his side as he got up and used his body to block whoever it was. He motioned for the boys to get closer to the bed. All of them standing, ready to jump. 

“Just let me talk to her,” Bin’s vision started getting blurry, on the verge of blacking out with rage. He looked down to you, very unbothered by the sudden voice that assaulted the tranquility of the room. The first tranquil moment you've had in months. Months of your husband hiding and sneaking. And months of you planning and working excitedly making every detail perfect. 

Bin made a split-second decision to lightly cover your ear that wasn't to his chest. Trying to prolong the inevitable. 

Next up was Han as he said in a hushed tone, “she’s finally asleep. You are not coming in this room, Chris.” His tone was dark and that one sentence rolled off of his tongue like a warning. 

“She’s my wife. I am going to see her whether you like it or not.” He sounded annoyed. Like this was an inconvenience. Bin did everything in the book to calm his heart, which was starting to spike at just hearing his voice. 

Bin went on an internal tirade, how dare he come here? Killing your child wasn't enough? Making you so stressed out that you almost bled to death wasn't enough? Ripping your heart out and trampling it… not enough for him? NOOO let's show up when it's convenient, when no one expects it, playing the 'husband' card. When Bin knew he CLEARLY gave up that title already. 

Especially when you did everything to be available for him. When he started to pull away you came to Bin and Han in tears, not knowing what to do. You love him so much that you actively went to find out what it was. Was it your weight? Did you talk too much or not enough? Did you ask for too much? Did you seem too boring? He has already been enough of a plague on your life already. 

Minho giggled darkly, “You really want to die today, huh? Did you not hear Han, she’s resting. Now go away.” 

“Not until I see her.” His voice raised slightly. The bite in his voice made Minho want to strangle him, to be honest. He doesn’t have any entitlement to you. Especially after what he’s done. As far as what Minho thinks, Chris was never your husband. No husband neglects their wife. No husband makes their wife lay awake at night, worried about if he had eaten or not, or if she’d even see him when she woke up. 

That was enough for you to stir on Bin’s chest. Bin had to think quickly as he said "It's okay, go to sleep, Angel. I'm here," in the most delicate whisper. That was enough to knock you out again, humming against his chest. 

Chris pulled back the curtain, even though Han and Minho tried their best to get him away. At that point, I.N, who was the closest to Chan, blocked him from your bedside.

“Get away from her.” He whispered, “She’s too fragile right now.”

Chris just looked at I.N. and said, “No one is keeping me from my wife, you’re lucky I even went along with it for this long. I’m not going to wake her.”

The venom in Chan's voice made the hair on Bin’s neck and arms raise. Not out of fear, no he could snap Chris in half if he was pissed off enough. His hair raised out of anger and knowing he couldn't do anything about it. The fact that Chan had the audacity to come into that room after what he did, knowing that you are fragile. That you barely made it out, and even now, you aren’t completely out. Yet there he was trying to force himself in. Like he had a right to be there, even though he was the one that caused it. 

I.N looked at Han and Han signaled him to let it go. 

Han knew that he was right, none of them had spousal rights. So technically Chris can kick them out, especially because she is still so weak, she can’t fend for herself or be able to sternly say ‘get out’ to her husband, not without consequences. They had no other choice. 

Bin looked at Chan as he took a seat next to the bed, taking in your sleeping form. His heart was breaking at seeing how weak you looked. Your cheeks were slightly sunken in and your face was completely pale. The dark circles dominated your eyes, making your face look more like a mummy as opposed to a living breathing person. He looked at your arm with a blood bag hooked to it. When he looked up at Bin he could see that it took everything in Bin’s body not to kill him.

Bin just mouthed to him, “What the fuck are you doing here, get out.” The more that he looked at Chan the more he wanted to rip him apart. He looked well rested, smelled like he showered, hell he even did his hair. That pissed Changbin off. You’d think that he would at least look more disheveled. Given, he could see that he did look worried and sad. He didn’t look guilty. 

Chris just ignored him and kept looking at you. Chris was transfixed on you. He was even more transfixed by your hold on Changbin. You looked like you were cuddling your favorite teddy bear. He remembered the last time you held him like that. Yesterday morning, when he came home to sleep for two hours, the minute the bed dipped you subconsciously reached for him, and he slightly rolled his eyes as he succumbed to his fate, smile on his face. You sighed so happily, you mumbled, ‘Mhmm missed you, love you,’ as you kissed his bare chest, and just like you’re positioned now, you were asleep. Now seeing you holding Bin like that makes jealousy more prominent in his mind. 

It makes him sick to think about all of this as he plays with his wedding ring, thinking about not feeling you again, your hugs, your breath on his skin. The moans that’d he pull out of you, soothing his soul. The looks that’d make his heart stop. The giggle that’d be forced out even if you were mad. Not having the feeling of your skin on his, these thoughts make him want to die. He’s trying to actively ignore it. He’s trying to ignore the fact that he did something so disgusting, so unforgivable that he lost you. For him, it’s easier to be angry, angry and convinced that you’ll come back. That’s why he is doing what he is doing. That’s why he walked with bravado into that room.

He went to put some hair behind your ear just to have some contact and I.N’s hand flew out and wrapped his hand around his wrist. His jaw set. Bin wanted to do the exact same but it’d jolt you.  

I.N. growled “No.. touching… get out of the room,” his brows furrowed, his usually soft eyes looking more like a piercing gaze. 

Being the maknae, he has never challenged Chan before… At all. There’s a good reason as to why he is challenging him right now. Innah has always felt like he was awkward. He didn’t really know where he belonged in the team. Yes, he has a good voice and yes he’s good with choreography but he never really hung out with people other than Seungmin and Felix. 

You being the person you are, you figured it out. He was watching one day, just seeing all of the members interacting, some of the older ones trying to bring him into the fold but it seemed ingenuine to him. Like he was the little brother that had to be included or Dad would get mad. You truly found the things that he loved interesting, really talked to him, and made him feel safe and welcomed. 

There was one particularly hard night for him. Nothing went right that day and he was tired, frustrated, and needed to feel safe. He didn’t know where to go or who to go to. So he called you without knowing why. You picked up and the minute he heard your voice he started crying. You ran to his dorm. No one else was home, and of course, Chan was nowhere in sight. So you stood with him, talked, and cooked a midnight dinner with him. Got him to laugh, you both passed out on the couch after watching some anime.

After that night that no one knows about except the boys in the Danceracha house, I.N. was just like Hyunjin, except he’d do drive-by hugs, sometimes just falling on you giggling and looking for hugs and head scratches, like the fox he is. There were other times when he would just stand behind you, put his chin on the top of your head and say, “What are we doing here Y/N/N…. I am BORED” as he’d flop on you, “Let’s get Ramyeon.” You’d laugh and say, “How about this… you get through today… and Ramyeon’s on me.” He still smiles at those memories.

So of course, I.N. would fight King Kong if he had to if it meant protecting you. 

Now, seeing Jeongin doing this, standing up to Chan, just to protect you, his Noona,  made everyone that wasn’t Chan smile. 

Chan stood up to his full height and said, “I just want to be here for her,” with a tight lip at the challenge of the maknae of his team. Chan can’t take the disrespect anymore. Even though he knows that he more than deserves to be treated like this and worse, he is still in that limbo of trying to convince himself that this didn’t actually happen or worse, that he can fix it.

Bin felt your grip tighten on him…

You said to yourself that you didn’t just hear that voice. You squeezed your eyes shut as you wiggled up a bit to bury your face into Bin's neck. You didn’t want the boys to see you cry. 

The cologne you just smelled when you were on Bin's chest, that was Chan’s cologne. The voice you just heard, that was Chan’s voice. There was a war going on in your head. Do you talk to him? Can you talk to him? What do you say? What does HE have to say?

“Y/N?” Chan said as his body snapped to you. Seeing you now burrowed into Bin’s neck and chest. 

It made the jealousy that he had before start to boil. That’s his wife, after all. Chan was your safety. He was the one you run to, not Changbin, of all people. Why does he fit so well next to you? Why does the feeling of you slipping away elicit anger at others, not himself? Why did he see you buried in Bin’s neck and not his own? It felt to him like someone was touching his favorite toy without permission. Why did she go to Bin for comfort and not him? 

“Y/N, Baby?” He asked a little louder…

“Stop calling me that,” you responded to him, muffled by Bin’s neck as you cried in your own dark cocoon, that was what you imagined when in Bin’s neck. Surrounded by him, he’d never let anyone near close. He was your safety bubble. 

Bin just moved his hand up to pet your hair back as you fought with yourself. 

The only one who knew you were crying was Bin, who felt your tears on his neck. They felt like acid on his skin, he could feel the pain through them, the fear, the rejection, the grief. He hated seeing or feeling you cry. The fact that you were comfortable enough to trust him with your fragility was the only solace in this for him. He knew that no one could protect you more than he could. That’s exactly what he’s going to do, protect you. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered as he turned his face into you, trying to hide as much of your face as he could, to give you more shelter to cry in. He hated that you had to go through this. You would think that for even one second his bonehead bandmate would put his own ego aside for just one fucking day to give you the room you desperately needed. It’s not even like he could make the excuse of thinking that you are going through it alone. It’s clear that you aren’t, Bin always took care of you. Sometimes Chan thought that it was the perfect deal for himself. He was married to you, so obviously you wouldn’t betray him, and Bin was so in love with you that he’d move Heaven and Earth for you. So Chan being distracted was never the issue, Bin was always there. In his head Bin was like a Knight protecting the Queen in a chess game. The king doesn’t have to worry about the Queen. 

Bin’s tone with you was gentle,“You tell me to get him out and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” His face read danger, eyes never leaving Chris.

You really didn’t know what to do. You are at a loss really. You just got about half an hour in nearly 30+ hours of being awake. One thing you do know is that you are feeling your pain uptick at the thought of leaving Bin’s neck. 

“Please, let me talk to you,” Chris pleaded with you. He tried to touch you.

Jeongin stopped him again, gripping his wrist. His grip was bruising in strength this time, “She did not say you could touch her. So you are keeping your hand to yourself. Either that or I rip it off, understand?”

Bin’s jaw was tight, if Chris made one more move, Bin was going to gently switch out with Seungmin, just to murder Chris, then switch out again so you could sleep, very simple. 

“At least let me see your face, Baby,” Chris said as he yanked his hand from I.N’s grip. 

Then you spoke again… your tone now carrying an authoritative air, “I told you not to call me that fucking name. I heard it enough when you were fucking her in our bed. Take that name and shove it, Chris.” 

“As for seeing my face, you don’t deserve to see it after what you did to me. Neither of you deserve to see my face.”

“Give us the room,” Chan ordered. He was doing his best to keep his composure and to try to gauge how much control he lost of the group. He is very much aware of the fact that the power dynamic has changed. Chan knows that they don’t even respect him, let alone trust him. Another thing that he knows is that he would feel the same way.

He’s also embarrassed, not at what he’s done but at the fact that his members found out. The fact that he was caught with his pants down, both literally and figuratively. The fact that his members watched him do something so amoral was something that he was pissed off about. Not as much at the fact that he had no moral compass, but it was the fact that they reacted the way they did. They screamed at him, Chris, Bang Chan, their elder. They challenged his authority left and right. The fact that they’re rebelling only added fuel to the fire. He wanted, needed to get control back. 

As far as he was concerned, this was all something that he could come back from. You love him, right? So obviously you’ll come back. You sunk 5 years into him, of course you’ll be back. There was far too many decent memories for you to check out now. You’re hurt, demoralized, angry, yes. However, knowing the peacekeeper you are, you’ll be back, he knows it. Why can’t they see that, why can’t they fight for him just as hard as they are fighting for you. Why can’t they get their noses out of his marriage and watch some K-Drama like they always do instead of driving a wedge further in between himself and his wife. 

The frustration alone made him want to lose his composure. Everyone has their role, that is something he is an avid believer in. To you, Chan is the protector, he’s the one to chase all the bad things away, he is your husband. Changbin is your friend, nothing more. So it drove Chan crazy to see you relax in Bin’s arms. 

He felt like Bin had no business in a bed with you. It being completely lost on him that he did the same thing, but worse with his wife’s best friend. Bin is not there to sexually gratify you, he is there to hold whatever’s left of you together. 

Bin is trying desperately to reassure you, to look at all of your broken pieces and help you, to let you know that he won’t let Chris close enough to hurt you again. 

When Chris ordered everyone to give him the room, not one person moved a muscle. All they did was look at you, waiting for an answer. 

Bin whispered to you, “Do you want us to leave?” Internally he was praying that you wouldn’t want him to go. He as well as the rest of the boys don’t trust Chris as far as they can throw him. 

You shook your head, “Can’t take it.” You knew that there would be no way that you could have this conversation alone, you’d be right back to square one. If you were honest there isn’t a way you can see this going well. You are still really weak. You can’t do much of anything at all yet, even needing help shifting in your own bed. Not to mention the person who did it to you is demanding an audience with you like you didn’t just go through a near-death experience and is barking orders at your boys. You couldn’t even scream at him for that. 

Bin looked at the boys and said, “We aren’t going anywhere, Y/N’s orders.”

With that all of the boys had a seat, smiles on their faces as if to say try us, we dare you. 

Chan’s face turned hard at that. It was worse than he thought… Not only did he lose control, he handed all of it over to you on a silver platter. Chan is an A personality type. He is very particular, one of those places he’s particular about is that he is the Alpha. He is the leader, the spearhead. So for everyone to do this, made him not only mad, but scared. He isn’t used to not being in control. That made his tone harsh as he barked,“Look, I know that you are in pain and I know that you don’t even want to see me right now, but we need to talk in private.”

Immediately I.N. bristled and took a step to him, Minho getting up and claiming the bottom half of the bed, looming on the post of it, glaring at Chan.

Felix growled, “Watch your tone, you aren’t the one calling the shots, Chris.” as he bore daggers into Chris’ forehead, standing at the ready. 

You didn’t respond and Chan said something that made your blood boil,something he knew you couldn’t ignore, “It was mine too.”

It..IT?! Your heart cracked again as you left your cocoon, “IT?!” You raised your voice. You winced at the pain the movement caused. “MY child was not an IT… THEY WERE HERE CHRIS.” You grabbed your stomach, feeling your diaphragm scream at you to be quiet, your abdominals agreeing full-heartedly. “YOU gave up ANY parentage by fucking someone else when we were trying to have a baby for TWO FUCKING YEARS!”

“WHAT?!” Han exclaimed. Han started to see red, yet again… Han thought to himself, They were trying to have a baby for 2 years?!. Han looked briefly at everyone else, their faces set in the same murderous stare that resided on Han. 

Meanwhile, Bin didn’t let that sink in, he was too busy noticing you started looking slightly confused and woozy. Whatever little color you had was turning more grey by the second.

“Y/N you need to breathe,” Bin tried to remind you. He tried his best to guide you back down but you weren't having it. Your anger taking control. He had a sinking feeling as his own heartrate picked up.

You thought for a few minutes and said, “I still can’t believe it, you know? It’s like last night was a horrible nightmare but, the pain, the blood… It really happened. My baby is really gone.” A stray tear ran down your face, “I don’t want to believe it. It hurts too much. But my body knows. It feels different. I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t… I can’t…”

Bin was watching your heart rate, the last time you tried to revisit this, you had to be sedated and apparently, Han is thinking the same thing. He looked at the monitors and got a bad feeling. 

“I just wanted to surprise you, to show you how much I love you! To let you know that I am there for you and you repay me by emotionally cheating on me with my BEST FRIEND for a YEAR and physically cheating for two whole months?! NOW YOU WANT A PRIVATE CONVERSATION?! How is this for a private conversation.” You felt your body starting to fail again. The rage coursing through you is the only thing keeping you aware of your surroundings. 

Chan went to look away, he couldn’t see you hurting this much. He couldn’t come to the realization that he did this to you. You screamed with what little energy you had , “LOOK AT ME YOU FUCKING COWARD!” as you held your stomach, trying to control the new waves of pain.

When he looked at you, you said, “Here’s a little private conversation for you. I’m granting your wish. You said to her ‘I can’t wait to leave her’... Guess what?” You gritted out, “I’m leaving you!” you started spiraling back into what happened not even a full 24 hours ago at repeating his sentence back to him. Hearing those same words in your head, seeing the blood, the reality of it once again slamming into you like it did before. 

The minute that last sentence left your lips, the world slowed down for Chris. He saw everything, the wedding, the laughs you both had. Even the simple things like how whenever he got up, which was always well before you woke up; he’d stare at you, brushing your cheekbones with his knuckles. Watching your peaceful form and marveling at how effortlessly gorgeous you are. Now as he watches you, seeing the shreds of you that were left, he had a realization. He realized all at once that the person he loves and has always loved is dead. She’s dead, along with his child, because of him.

You started staring off tears freely falling, “I just want my baby… Bin, I want my baby.” 

Your heart rate started climbing fast as you stared at your lap, seeing blood that wasn’t there anymore, then blinking and it disappearing, your face began to show distress, as tears started falling, and your mouth opened letting out rapid puffs of air. Bin looked at Han and yelled at him, "Get the nurses, go!" The next second Han ran out the door as the alarms went off on the monitors. 

Bin looked at you and said, “Hey look at me, stay here with me, Angel.” Then he looked at Minho and said, “Clear the room. Get Chan out of her NOW!” Minho immediately started getting everyone up and out of the room as fast as possible. 

Chris slowly backed up until he hit the wall,everything moving in slow motion. He looked at the monitor, seeing your ungodly fast heart rate. The fact that you could die right now from a heart attack made him want to collapse to his knees and start praying. Chris was watching how Bin handled you, tears were starting to sting in his eyes. He was shaking, feeling the gold of his wedding band as he watched a man who was so much more than he could be. How delicate he was with you. Why did I do this? 

He was staring at your face, he could see it, the heartbreak. He wanted to help, to take all of it back. Flashes of memories flickered in his mind. All of the opportunities he had to be with you but chose not to. All of the times that you would try to save him from himself, even if it was as simple as reminding him to eat. He’d yell at you and tell you that he was a grown up. I’m not grown. You’d remind him to get up and stretch, to be present in the now.  You always tried to connect to him, always tried to soothe him, always tried to bridge the gap he put in between the both of you. His heart felt like lead, sinking further. His voice, his legs, his body didn’t move. It was Innah who dragged him out of the room by the collar.

Bin looked back at you, “Y/N…” He could see, you were completely dissociated. 

You weren’t responding to him at all, eyes glazed over as your heart rate kept climbing, you were glancing around, clearly confused. What he didn’t know is that you felt everything at once. You could hear him like he was underwater. Your vision was blurry, and you really couldn’t feel anything aside from the pain in your chest at the thought of anything, because you felt guilty.

“Angel, look at me, try to breathe for me. Come back to me.” 

“They should be here, not me. My baby didn’t deserve that Binnie. I want to hold my baby!” You screamed, “I want to take them a bath, feed them, I want my Baby.”

Bin realized then that it’s the reality that’s so painful. Everything that was around you reminded you of the fact that you were living and your child wasn’t. He could see the pain on your face as he gently held your face, trying to get through to you. “I know you want to hold your baby, I want that too. I want that so badly but I can’t give you your baby, that can’t happen. No one can bring your baby back, Angel.” Tears were rolling down his face at seeing you like this. Your eyes were constantly searching as more tears fell from them, he tried to wipe the tears away as fast as they rolled down your cheeks.

 Bin got behind you, caging you with his arms and chest. He pulled you flush to his chest and ran his hands up and down your arms as he slowly rocked you. He was trying to provide enough stimulation to get you back to being able to self-regulate. You were only getting worse as he watched helplessly. He tilted your head back to see you spiraling further down, “Binnie help me. I want my baby please.” You just wanted to let it consume you already. 

You quaked as you wished out loud, screaming without even knowing it, “Please, just let me die, let me go, I want my Baby.” You knew it was the pain, but at this point, not having your child was worse than death. You screamed without fighting anymore. Sometimes the seconds would stretch as you screamed till no air was left to make a noise. Those sobs made you feel like your chest was in a car crusher. You couldn’t stop them no matter how hard you tried, but in your mind, there was no point in stopping them. 

Changbin’s blood ran cold hearing you say that, feeling as if he got dunked in an ice bath. He choked on his own breath as he did his best to try to get his own voice to work. You may not want to be here right now, but he’s going to make sure that you make it. He looked into your eyes and they were completely dilated, you just lay on Bin’s chest as you made the decision. You were done fighting, the pain was too much. Bin felt it, he could feel the fight leave you as you went limp, crying. 

He knows this feeling… this was the same feeling that he felt when you were losing consciousness. His gaze snapped to your eyes, no fight, no struggle. You looked like you were calling out to Death. You wanted it so badly. What was worse was that Death was answering, he could feel it in the room. Cold, dark, and looming. 

His body went into overdrive, the shock melting into panic. He wasn’t going to let Death take you, “Han hurry up, she's slipping!” He screamed at the door. His scream didn’t sound like him. The sound akin to a bystander watching a loved one jump from a bridge. Watching the body disappear all because of one step. He couldn’t wouldn’t let you fall. He screamed as if he dove for your hand, the same hand that fits so perfectly in his, as you threatened to disappear over the ledge of that bridge.

Bin got closer to your ear, so you could hear him better, “Please don’t say that. I know it hurts, just stay with me, hold on. I’m here. Stay with me. You can’t leave me here, please.” Changbin tilted your head, so you could hear his heartbeat. Subconsciously thinking, If you go I go. He gently wrapped his arm across your breastbone, trying to provide some soothing pressure to your chest. His hand resting on your opposite arm, rubbing the meat of it in a soothing pattern. His other hand was petting your hair. The hold he had you in gave you someone to hold on to. As soon as his forearm rested you wrapped your hands around it, grabbing his hand as you dangled on the ledge.

“Binnie it hurts, pleaseee. Help me, it hurtss.” You sobbed, your voice cracking and breaking, a mirror of your soul. Bin continued to slowly rock you, “I know Angel, I know I want to take it away. Just hold on for me. Hold on to me.” He had no idea how he was able to be calm for you. A part of him knew that he needed to. He was not going to collapse so you could face all of this on your own. He refused. He needed to fight for you, and he would, for eternity if he had to.

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[loverboykirstein]

biting the bullet // kinktober pt. 4/5

sam (sdv) x afab! reader

wc: 7,574

mdni -> warnings: mentions of addiction/neglect/throwing up/mental illness, unprotected sex, breeding, possession

***“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”.***

the mismatched pattering of his heartbeat in his ears began to close his throat, chest cavity torn apart by the weight of a passing phrase. 

“can we do tomorrow? i’m taking them to the look-out on my bike tonight,”. 

what..? 

it was happening again. he let his guard down for just a moment, a fraction of a second, and his lungs and heart and every nerve ending were spilling out of his ripped apart being, invisible to all but him. 

you..seb..? of course you want seb. everyone does. we each have a role, right? just like mom? like dad? 

is there something that wrong with me? how do i atone for my sins in my past life to mediate the bullshit i’ve drug into this one? that’s the only explanation, right? 

it followed him everywhere, a sick joke that didn’t even have a punchline. in its wake, it simply stole his soul away, piece by piece, a sick treasure hunt of trying to rebuild and rebuild and rebuild. 

for what cause? to sit up and stare at his ceiling, snapping the rubber band on his wrist over and over and over again, a piss-poor attempt to calm himself down that never seemed to work. 

what was he supposed to do? he hadn’t even been handed the short end of the stick, simply tempted with it like a dumb dog and locked in a collar for the rest of time as punishment for his greed. 

the desperate, aching, bruising desire for a life. 

to be more than a secondary, to figure out who he was. 

to fall in love and not get hurt. 

to begin to trust without losing his joints in the process, left a brittle mess of grinding bones at the end of it all. 

to make the decision to live for himself, not for the need of the image of others. 

to make it out of a war-torn cage, to never follow in his fathers footsteps. 

to build a family that was wanted, unlike his. 

he wanted that with you. 

he never knew why he existed, or what the point was. 

then he heard your laugh for the first time, handing him an extra maple bar you had made and he nearly collapsed at the life that made his fingers numb and filled his lungs instantaneously. 

but now,  quiet trembles rustled through his bloodied fingers, too busy taking out anything he could on anything he could. 

near the edge of the valley, beyond leah’s quaint home lied a hidden little cave, behind bushes and trees and the occasional critter or two. 

his blood stained parts of the exposed rock, the only thing he could hit without feeling bad. far enough away, no one ever finding him out there. 

for no one to hear his violent sobs, his screams out to whoever was behind all of this, why, why, why. over and over and over, prayers for a reason as to why things had to be this way. 

but if he wasn’t home to set the table, his mother would lose her temper before the oven timer even rang. the sun finding its way back to the never-ending horizon was her queue, the so-called ‘acceptable’ time of day to numb the sorrow crawling near, pushing it onto the son she never wanted in the first place. 

which left vincent to his own devices, luckily not alone, but he knew he wasn’t doing well, penny not focused enough on teaching, more on playing, as she glued herself to the novel of the day, explicit enough to be banned from the library entirely. in front of the kids? really? 

so he would swallow his heartbeat, coughing up a stable voice through his constricted windpipe that built a facade good enough to fool just about everyone. 

he sat on his floor for hours. the hum of the washing machine was echoing through the paper thin walls. 

everything was else felt silent, felt quiet. 

except the unrelenting grave digging itself wide open in the middle of his messy bedroom. 

because things weren’t quiet. dad was fighting for god knows what, narrowly missing shrapnel with each breath. 

mom was mixing pills and booze, manic-depressive in nature and waiting until the very edge before it was too late. 

but the worst was knowing that you and seb weren’t being quiet. you weren’t asleep in your bed, cuddled up with your cat under a quilt and your childhood blanket held close. 

you were clinging onto him, body pressed against his. sharing a spot of the world that he had only seen once, seeing the city ahead of him that he could barely remember being a part of. 

the most he could remember was his childhood therapist, the only one who saw past his so-called laxidasical disposition and class-clown behavior. struggling with reading, a common case of adhd and anxiety all jumbled up inside of a first grader. 

a hint of dyslexia, and the guilt of his mothers cries he could hear against the locked doors, mourning a life without children. 

nothing a child should have to bear, tiptoeing as to not crack the paper thin ice that made up his floorboards. 

craving attention from the ones who created him, from the one who carried him in her womb. 

father rarely around, making up for the lack of stability in the form of a paycheck and health insurance. 

reprimand after reprimand, the only way to get his mother to look him in the eyes. 

acting out as a cry for help, at validation, at fucking anything. 

from the comedy covered pain,  he learned to always know how to make someone laugh. to make sure they could exhale a little bit of whatever was holding them back, even if it meant that he had to let it settle in his lungs so it wouldn’t fall back into theirs one day. 

he promised himself that he would never open up the small little lock on his exterior for anyone. ever. 

maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe you tripped the wires first, but the alarm bells never rang. no emergency protocol, no swot team to barricade his entire being shut. 

you left the door open, not even bothering to worry about the heat being on, letting all the cold air in. 

or maybe you didn’t even know, the key hidden in the corner of your room, under your bed mixed with dust and other lost memories. 

how was he supposed to face you again? he had planned on inviting you to the band’s first show, your excitement bouncing off the walls at the thought, when he mentioned the idea. 

even though they only had a few songs, rough drafts at best, poor attempts at writing lyrics in an attempt to give abi and seb the spotlight. 

also in fear, knowing someone would put the pieces together, that someone would connect the dots. that they would see the unrepairable shattered glass of his being behind it all. 

that you would figure it out, never looking at him the same way again. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

weeks flew by in aching stretches, avoiding contact with anyone,  his only bandaid over the wound. declining invitations that could maybe bring you close, making your laugh ring in his ears or the smell of your perfume that would replace his train of thought. 

all his time spent sleeping, the sun becoming his worst enemy. 

braving the light only upon vincent’s summertime pleas, just to lie and say that dad was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. 

flickering his eyes between his brother and the beach entrance, hoping, praying, you wouldn’t appear behind him, or anyone for that matter. not strong enough to explain his absence, to explain the proverbial last straw that chewed up and spit out his barricaded soul. 

you would stop by, questioning his mother on his wordless disappearance. she didn’t have an honest answer, blaming it on music school? 

weeks turned to months, watching the seasons pass by. he couldn’t figure out why it hurt so goddamn bad. 

trying to process two decades worth of grief, wrapped up in his dna as he grew inside his mothers unwanting body. 

every effort, every last ditch grasp with a mildly politically incorrect joke, another brick laid on his wall of lies. 

why did this become his downfall? the dramatic, be all end all suffocating downfall. 

what did his subconscious craft while he wasn’t fixing up the cracks? too busy lost in your stories that filled him with a mix of worry and thrill all at the same time, the small scrunch of your nose, and the way you bit your lip when you lost your train of thought. 

two weeks after the attempt harvey made to check up on him, to ‘have a talk’, a government letter arrived through the mail slot on the door. 

kent was coming home. dad is coming home. dad is coming… home..? 

arriving in a week, realizing he had a week to build the wall back up. 

to rid his eyes of the rubbed-raw corners, saltwater leaving a red hue around his lashes. 

to cover up his sullen cheeks, too fucked to get up and take care of himself beyond the minimum. 

the hole in his chest mirrored the grave he had to step around when he got the courage to move, too deep and vacant to see the bottom. 

he couldn’t figure out why you were the one to kick all of this off, you weren’t even that close? sure, friends who saw each other all the time, near habitual meetings that would worry the other when routines changed. 

but you weren’t together, did he even have the right to blame you? 

you didn’t cause every ounce of pain he had endured through the fabric of his life, you didn’t stitch pain into the pattern of his fingerprints. 

but every goddamn thought came back to you. you, you, you. 

all he fucking wanted was you. 

it was pathetic, a childlike reaction to not getting something he made no effort to get. to try and make, to try and prove himself to you. 

you were probably waiting for the next rain by now, already modifying your cabin to accommodate your soon to be husband. 

FUCK. 

the 7 letters managed to make him ill, rushing past the all consuming ending cornering him against his wall. 

knees melting the cold tile, reaching to turn on the sink and the fan so that no one could hear him try and expel the hell of that idea. 

that he would get to sleep next to you every night, he would want love songs about you, he would get the chance to see the most intimate parts of you and so much more. 

everything sam wanted, gone. stripped away. 

but it was never his to begin with, was it? 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

a blur of days meshed together, world now sideways as a version of his mother he had never seen cleaned every corner of the house, paint chips repaired, hiding every dark secret she tucked away in his absence. 

the dread made him want to hurl, want to really disappear. how was he supposed to face a version of his father he didn’t know at all? 

two bags in hand at the doorstep, his mother and vincent sobbing in unison at their reunion. but he saw it. the visions in his eyes, the forced image of being alive was like looking in a mirror. 

he didn’t know what to do. he was stripped of anything he ever knew. any hopes of his life ahead. 

except his was lost in a real war, fighting for some sort of cause that came with a paycheck and praise and thank-you’s. 

sam’s was a selfish mess, ruining himself over the idea of something that wasn’t real over a goddamn sentence. 

a look of unblinking eyes, both bloodshot and sad, a nod of mutual understanding but also complete confusion. 

kent wondering what went wrong with his eldest as he was gone, mouth running dry when he recognized the look plastered on his son. 

a hot meal, the first real one kent had eaten without the threat of an air strike in god knows how long, mixed with his favorite beer he could finally share with his eldest. 

despite the distaste, sam took the opportunity to drink, no reprimands on something that would make him feel less. 

but it seemed to do the opposite as he stepped out into the pouring rain, clouds appearing out of nowhere as the sun took its leave. 

letting the cold, wet air settle the heat of panic in his stomach, he jumped half to death when his father tapped his arm with an open beer bottle. 

“take it,” kent tipped the bottle towards him, watching the rain patter on the glass. 

he nodded, nearly losing his grip as he swung back far too heavy of a drink, not wanting to taste it anymore. it tasted like guilt, disappointment. 

“kid, spill it. i didn’t stay alive to see the same look in your eyes,” kent’s demand knocked sam’s brain around in his skull, stunting his breathing and blacking out his vision. 

“what?” he coughed, knowing it wouldn’t work worth a damn on his unhappy father, who seemed to already know what happened, yet equally clueless as he had never asked about sam’s feelings before. 

“samson, c’mon kid. i-” he sighed, eyes tracking the rain on the porch make its way to the sidewalk. “i want to help you. i want to be a father, at least a friend. i realized that, alone out there. i can smell it on you, so talk,”. 

a lingering, sulfur filled silence crushed his passageways, nearly collapsing into his father like a small child after scraping his knee on the playground. 

‘i want to be a father’. 

“look kid, if you don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” kent leaned up against the painted exterior of what felt like a new home. “just, whatever it is, you can’t run away forever. it doesn’t wor-”

“I DONT KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME, DAD,”. 

the first time he had ever spoken up to his father, that he had raised his voice. 

a cracked voice still managed to let the sorrow spill, pooling over his lash line and mixing with the rain. 

“i can’t fucking take it anymore-i-FUCK,”. 

his syllables were broken, caught between desperate gasps for air in his first cry for help. 

paper mache hands disappearing under the diluted salt, crouching down as if to save them. 

“she’s-” his words barely coherent, choking up his pathetic admittance. “she’s probably already gotten that stupid fucking pendant god damn it all,”. 

broken laughter, a mix of every feeling known to man, choked up with gravel and acid. 

“i never fucking did anything about it, either,” running his arthritic bones through his sopping wet hair, he looked up at the man who had just been through the troubles of war. 

real war. 

not the emotional one, the near psychosis-like state of a few months passed. 

“so do something about it,”. kent was cut and dry, the only way he knew how to cover up his heartache. 

his eldest, the one he held the most guilt for, the most agony for. the one he prayed for every night, the one who was his first thought every time a bullet flew past a little too close. 

he didn’t want to break, knowing that if his son watched him collapse at the sight, he would never forgive himself. 

“what?” nothing more than a scoff, but a halt of accidental waterboarding at the gasps for air. 

“go. whatever happened, whatever-“ he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “whatever happened, fix it. go-” another sigh, covering up his lack of words. “you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own,”. 

you can’t claim a broken heart that you broke on your own. 

you did break his heart, right? 

you..

a deep breath, the last swig from the bottle that had mixed with the night sky’s tears of solidarity. 

on his feet, another deep breath for the road. 

“samson, go,”. 

his fathers gruff tone, eyes sharp and stern sent his feet moving, running. 

barely able to see in the dark, pouring rain, letting nothing but his burning blood carry his body to the place you called home. 

i have to fix this i have to fix this i have to- 

over and over and over again, repeating like a broken record, the only words left engrained. 

even though you didn’t know that anything needed to be fixed, he needed to fix things for him. he couldn’t look at his father the same if he at least didn’t try. 

soaking wet, hair in his eyes and catching on his tear stained blinks, out of breath and on your front porch. 

the only shield left was your front door, metal handle illuminated from your porch light. 

do it, you already got here, do it. 

scattered shallow breaths from running turned to shaky heavy ones, raising his still-bruised hand to your wooden door. 

two knocks, two seconds, two more. the way he always did before his self-inflicted imprisonment. 

“sam..?” you rubbed your eyes, shocked awake by his unnerving knocks in the dark. “what are you-come in, you’re soaked,”. 

you looked panicked, not bothering to worry about anything other than him being soaking wet and out of breath. 

he took his sopping wet shoes off at your door, leaving them to sit on your porch next to your rain boots.  with less than a passing second, you had disappeared and returned with a towel and a change of clothes. 

“sam what the fuck-are you-” running around in your pajamas, a short pair of flannel shorts and a tshirt that nearly covered them entirely, turning the heat on and running a kettle on the stove, his drying eyes were too focused on you. 

questioning why you weren’t out as late as you used to, knowing marlon had found you passed out cold on one too many occasions. 

“y/n it’s-it’s fine, i uh-” he stood still, shaking his head as if to force himself to blink. 

“go, go change before you freeze half to death in my house,” busy standing on your tip-toes to reach the top cabinet, barely able to grab the box of tea you kept specifically for him. 

peeling his eyes from your strained calves and your ass peeking out of the bottom of your sleepwear, he hurried off the other way towards your bathroom. 

the sight of your overly exposed legs was enough for him to twitch, his mind such a goddamn mess that he couldn’t really even remember what he was going to say. 

suffocating in your perfume that had soaked into your walls, he forced his rain soaked clothes off his shivering body. the purple hue on his lips, aching joints. 

hands on either side of the counter, flushed cheeks and sunken eyes, sam caught his breath, stealing any strength he could from the hardwood holding his hands. 

i have to fix this. don’t be a fucking bitch. suck it the fuck up, you fucking moron. 

hanging his clothes over the bathtub, towel still in hand, he caught sight of you pacing back and forth in your kitchen. 

chewing on your thumbnail, something you only did when you were stressed. brows furrowed, only snapped out of your endless loop by the kettle whistling loud. 

“better?” you asked, back turned to him as you poured him a mug full, adding a bag of his favorite tea from the traveling merchant in to simmer. 

“y-yeah. thank you,” rustling his hair with the towel, worn and faded, trying to rid it of any extra sorrow carried inside. 

“sit, mister,” you pointed at your couch, eyes stern almost like a mothers. 

he did as he was told, slowly caving in on himself as he felt like a bigger burden than ever before. 

“here, i’ll be right back,”. 

gently handing him the warm blue ceramic mug, the one vincent had given you after you spent your afternoons helping him learn to read, the corners of your mouth turned up slightly at the lax in sam’s shoulders once his joints found warm relief. 

grabbing a comb from under the bathroom sink, you came back wordlessly, floorboards creaking below your hurried feet. 

in a matter of minutes, you went from fast asleep on the couch, tv paused  from lack of activity when asked, cuddled up closely to your cat and your blanket, to wide awake and flustered, worried beyond belief. 

you knew that kent had come home, and you had planned to introduce yourself in a few days, allowing him time to settle in. 

rattling your skull was the fear that something horrid had happened, so bad that sam had run in the fucking rain to your cabin of all places after the endless era of radio silence. 

“so,” you sighed standing behind him, a small shadow casting over him as your body blocked the light in your entry way. “you gonna tell me what the hell has been going on?” 

your words were harsher than you wanted them to be, but fuck man, you hadn’t seen him in months, no matter how many attempts you made. 

pulling his head back a little, you began to comb through his incredibly tangled hair, feeling him dissolve under the slightly bit of affection. 

“can-can i ask a question..first?” his eyes were closed, mindlessly rubbing his thumb into his opposite palm. 

“only, if you pinky promise to tell me everything after,”. you stuck out your pinky, and he didn’t hesitate to reach yours. locking in his fate, peeling away the plastic film that was the only bit of his shield still remaining, your fingers crossed and released as the promise was sealed. 

“how are uh, how are you and seb?” it felt like blood came up as he spoke, riddled with sorrow filled expectations of what your response would be. 

“what?” you hands stopped their attempt to comb through his tangled blonde mess, stunned at the question. “were..fine? have you not talked to him recently?” 

huh? 

“no i uh- no i haven’t. i thought you guys were like…” 

“sam, you don’t think we’re dating, do you?” 

you-

“you’re..not?” covering his face with his hands, trying to hold any bit left of him together. 

“no? sam i-”. your breaths were deep, focusing all your downright confusion into releasing the knots through his hair. 

“oh,”. 

oh. 

“alright, now that your speculations on my nonexistent sex life are over can you please explain why you are here right now?” 

a black hole, all consuming, everything everywhere all at the same time. the inside of his skull, spinning, spinning, spinning. 

“i um-fuck, im so sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry,”. leaning his head back, fully into your overworked fingertips, soaking in every ounce of touch he could. 

“why are you sorry? sam you didn’t do anything, other than give me a goddamn heart attack,”. 

how are you not mad? 

how are you so casual about this? 

“i-” 

“if this is because of seb i swear to god i’m going to beat the shit out of you samson,” he could feel you shake your head in disbelief, as if he should have known or as if there was this big sign that was supposed to be placed in front of him that he managed to look right through. 

“y/n, i-”

he couldn’t cough the words he wanted out, embarrassment flooding his entire being, shame mixing in at a searing rate. 

he felt you silently leave, pulling his airways closed the further you went. 

so pathetic, so goddamn fucking pathetic. cant even tell her, what am i doing- 

“sammy, come back from whatever planet you're on please,” you were sat on the coffee table, knees touching his. two shot glasses in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other. 

you set them both on the table, filling them each to the brim. dark amber syrup, so foolishly innocent, burning its way all the way past your lips. 

as if your voice didn’t make him dizzy enough, the liquor you kept on hand was always the strongest, outshining anything else he had ever had before. 

“each shot, we each share something. okay?” 

handing him his glass, clinking them together and kicking it back. 

he winced at the burn, the warmth bubbling in his stomach. 

he watched you drink it far too easily, better than you did the last time you drank together. your eyes, your soul looked tired, gone unnoticed in his own self-pity. 

soon the heater was shut off, both of you warm enough from the poison seeping into mutual bloodstreams. 

shot after shot, losing track in storytelling as he listened to you speak on your adventures in the newly found desert, all of the new weapons you learned to use. 

how he had tried to teach alex to skateboard, his first time getting high, struggling to find any reason to talk about himself when you were sat in front of him, inches away. 

he was simply infatuated, beyond infatuated, soaking up every breath to make up for lost time.

“oh! sammy, sammy,” you nearly whined, placing a hand on either one of his thighs. “will you pleaseee tell me where you’ve been all this time?” 

your slightly jutted lip, flushed cheeks and steadfast grip on his legs froze his surroundings, eyes locked on your pleading heart. 

just fucking bite the damn bullet. 

“i-seb canceled on me, that night he took you to the lookout. and i-” he leaned forward, heaviest sigh blowing fear out of the way. “i realized i couldn’t handle that. i couldn’t handle you being with-”

“sam-”

“i couldn’t handle seeing you with someone else when all i ever wanted was you, i just,”. 

“sam-”. 

“i knew that wasn’t fair to you and i just, i didn’t realize how much i-”

guilt ridden words cut short, your liquor stained lips shutting his. entire body pushed into him, not even enough time for him to fully register what was happening. 

is she..? 

“you’re fucking stupid,” you pulled away for a moments time to mutter that to him, pressing your forehead against his. “it has been you this whole time, idiot”. 

what? 

“what?” his eyes forced rapid blinks, unable to process what you had just said, what you had just done. 

“i-god damn it all sam LISTEN TO ME, i never went with seb that night, i wanted to do that with you,”. 

shock was the only way to think of it, the world frozen on its titled axis as it listened to your confession, to his heart that was on the brink of collapse as it beat so hard it shook the ground. 

a few short stutters, words falling flat. months of self-imposed torture, losing everything he knew, breaking his father’s heart, really was selfish, too scared to do anything. 

if he had swallowed his fear, faced the music, done something, anything. 

don’t let this get away. don’t fuck it up. don’t fuck it up. 

lifting his hands from his awkward side, roughly placed on either side of your hips. 

using a newfound strength, he pulled you from the table, right into his lap. 

falling into his wordless surrender, you let your body collapse into his, legs straddled on either side. 

your clothed cunt immediately rolled against his length, pulling all of the blood from his body to an aching throb under you. 

addicted to the sheer desperation in the air, gravity itself forced your lips back together, making up for months of time apart. 

feverish from the first touch, wildfire to a field of wilted grass, burning oxygen faster than it could be replaced. 

each heavy breath another exposed confession, his grip pushing you into him even harder another apology for leaving you for so long. 

tongues fighting for a chance at forgiveness, soaking up the words that were too hard to exhale. 

he let out a soft whine at your separation, instant drop of his stomach as you pulled away from his bruised lips. 

dropping your head to the side, he shivered under your heated breaths against the side of his neck. heartbeat nearly visible, your swollen lips pressed slow praises down, not leaving an inch untouched. 

opposite hand keeping his jaw turned, you trailed your tongue back up, a smirk hitting your lips at the twitch you felt against your spread legs. 

no permission, no hesitation, just a gasp from his aching lungs as you sucking a mark of sheer possession in the form of broken blood vessels. grazing your teeth along with your vampiric latch, leaving a bruise dark enough no amount of makeup could cover. 

your hips now indented with the lines of his fingerprints, permanently etched into your skeletal structure. 

“bedroom,” you whispered into his ear, sin coating your voice in blatant need. 

body driven by nothing but lust, he stood from the couch as you wrapped your legs around him, one hand cupping your ass while the other was itching to open the door to a new life. 

it was all happening so fucking fast. 

you wanted him. 

this whole time, you wanted him. 

letting your head hit the plush of your bedding, he loomed over you with two devilish sparkles in his eyes. 

one glistening as his broken heart glued itself back together, your touch ensuring that every piece was perfectly aligned. 

the other shimmering in primal greed, suffocating any thought other than possession. to not lose the chance to keep you all to himself. 

a needy look twitched in your jutted-lip pout, a wordless plea for him to take what was his this whole. time. 

now fluid joints, unphased by the ache in his tortured hands, hooked under your shorts, no underwear in between. 

warm fingers against exposed skin, the small bit of decency on the floor with one swift effort. 

cold air hit your already wet cunt, a small trail of your sticky pleads following your clothing to the floor. 

“can i..?” he looked up at you for a moments time, not wanting to lose sight of your glistening slit like his life depended on it. 

you nodded, not letting the small voice of insecurity speak up before your aching heart did, unprepared for intimacy to this degree. 

or intimacy at all for that matter. 

a touchy subject, too used to getting hurt. leaving your life behind in the smog coated city, one night stands back in the poorly painted walls of your studio apartment. 

you thought you knew what love was, the overwhelming panic, the world ending promises to be better, to be prettier, to be someone they wanted. 

forcing the thought out of your mind, each synapse in your aching brain going fuzzy at the first swipe of his hesitant tongue. 

it had been so long since you had been touched, too afraid to ruin a friendship in such a small town. to not overstep your place as the new addition in an already woven community. 

too exhausted to do it yourself most of the time, the thoughts only settling in when it came to him. 

a single brush of your fragile bud make your ears buzz, the sheer ache to feel it again, and again, and again. 

silent prayers answered, waters tested, sam’s tongue writing apologies and months worth of confessions in your pooling slick, feeding him the first meal of his life. 

placing your hand over your mouth, muffled whimpers replaced exhales, sharp inhales through your nose not providing nearly enough oxygen to your racing heart. 

��don’t hide, pretty girl,” his slightly slurred voice stuck like honey, pulling your hand away without a second thought. 

his plea a few octaves deeper, your walls clenching around nothing at all and with his drunken confidence. 

like he would die of hunger if he strayed away any longer, you lost sight of him between your legs, tongue teasing your pleading hole. 

“sammy please,” you couldn’t do anything but whine, a fistful of his hair in your shaking fingertips. 

pushing his flushed face deeper, nose pressed against your clit, shoving his tongue in as far as he could. 

muffled vibrations of his satisfied moans shook your core to near collapse, the slight movement of his nose making your legs quiver against the side of his head. 

thighs increasing their strength, ensuring he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, the telltale that you were already on the brink of release. 

the first of many, just the beginning to a man who would never forgive himself for leaving you for what felt like an eternity. 

no time for warning, words broken into a mess of jumbled up letters, your salty-sweet slick flooding his overworked taste buds at an alarming rate. 

nerve endings twitching, spine forced to endure repeated bolts of serenity with each spasm. all ten of his fingers bruising your thighs as he held onto them so tightly, a feeble attempt to keep you still until you rode out your first high of the night, your first in so, so long. 

finally able to breathe at the weakening of your hips, legs shakier than you would have liked them to be. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, more than enough of you on him, and he loved it. 

meeting your blown out eyes, you couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbled over, dragging his long lost smile out of the dark with each little sound. 

both hands covering your face, embarrassed, nervous. 

how a man like him, so gorgeous, so gentle, would want a single thing to do with you, you didn’t understand. 

hiding away your feelings for him for what felt like ages, heart shredded when he took his reclusive leave, without a word on why. 

weeks spent spiraling, wondering what you did wrong, how you could fix what you didn’t even know. 

“nuh-uh, no thank you,” his tsks were so thick, so heavy as he pulled both your hands away from your face, eyes softening just enough at the sight of your embarrassment. 

“do you want to keep going?” question so very gentle, not assuming like you had always known. 

and it was fucking hot. 

a quick nod, a little shy at the urgency in your reaction, but needing him anywhere was all you could think of. 

you watched him stand beside you, a better angle to strip himself of his clothes. 

nearly drooling at the sight, you could have died and gone to the highest bits of heaven, and it wouldn’t compare to the feeling of him looking down at you with his hand on his cock, thumb tracing over his pre-coated pink tip, silver bar glistening. 

oh fuck. 

each scar that covered his arms, each muscle contracting with labored breaths, made a whimper fall out of you, like a bitch in heat. 

“needy girl, aren’t you?” he climbed on top of you, urging you to sit up just a little so he could tear away the fabric hiding the rest of you. “haven’t been touched in so. very. long. huh?” 

usually, patronizing teases would have angered you to the third degree, but it had you melting into his palms like ice cream on a midsummers day. 

feeling his fingertips graze over your whole body, thumbs baaareely drawing circles around your nipples, another guilty whine for more, more of him. 

“think you can take me without stretching ya out?” his demeanor turned a little cocky, nearly pulling a bratty remark out of you, just to run his tongue against your over-sensitive chest. 

palming one tit, mouth fixed on the other, you nodded without thinking. a muffled ‘mhm’ and a handful of hair, pulling his fixated mouth away. 

“tell me if it hurts, okay?” a sliver of seriousness caught in the bubbling excitement pooling inside his blood, you knew he really did mean it. 

length in hand, he lightly traced his leaking head up and down your already swollen cunt, a small attempt at teasing you before he plunged inside your screaming walls, begging to pull him in and not let go. 

both hitching in air through gritted teeth, holding onto the last molecule you could manage as he slid inside, so. goddamn. slow. 

maybe in fear of hurting you, but really trying to gather himself at the sheer grip you had on him, regretting his own choice to not stretch you at least a little before letting his greed take over. 

so warm, so wet, better than any drug he had ever taken, or ever would. 

“s-sam, m-more, please?” you begged, batting your lashes ever so slowly to not give him a choice, but needing him so, so much deeper. 

any sense of restraint lost as your pleading eyes surrendered to him, and who was he to say no? 

he would never say no to you, not after what he did. 

an obedient dog, snapping his hips into you, flush against you. knocking the wind straight out of you, only thing you could feel was him. 

settling in, head dropping as he lost all of his strength, losing it all to restraining his urge to breed you right then and there. 

“fff-fucking hell,” his sputters were whiny, causing a slight spasm around him. the sound of struggling, barely keeping it together drove you fucking. insane. 

feeling full, feeling whole, wanting nothing more than for him to destroy you, molding your walls to the shape of him. 

“sammy, please,” you shifted your hips slightly, pushing against his hip bones, brushing the sweet, sinfully sweet spot you don’t think had ever been reached. 

his blacked out eyes, taking photos of the scene to never forget how goddamn angelic you looked under him, committing a cardinal sin. 

white-knuckle grip on your sides, bruising your bone marrow with his desperate grasp. 

jaw slacked, eyes locked on the mess of slick you coated him in, a slight clench in his jaw. 

free of his chain link leash, a feral animal let free for the first time since its previous carnation, learning to live again. 

focused on nothing else but you, your pleas for him to claim you, to mark up your insides far beyond recognition, begging for him at every breath beyond this moment in time. 

his whimpers mixed with low hums and exhales with each violating thrust, veins pulsing, a sick smirk pulling on his lips as he ruined you. 

instinctually squirming away, the urge of another trip over the edge already settling in, overstimulation hitting you like a bullet train without its lights on. 

feeling the slight quiver of your legs against his hyperactive body, a hand released your side, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder without a falter in rhythm. 

held hostage, you swore you could feel him in your chest as he fucked into you again, and again, and again. 

hypnotized by the furrow of his brow, glossy lips swollen from his hyper focused bite, holding back his own profanities as he tried to hold back his own release, never wanting the moment to end. 

if heaven existed, it was buried deep in your cunt, chest bouncing with each relentless thrust. it was the dig of your nails, grasping on to whatever they could. 

it was your fucked out eyes, watering at the corners in desperate need, in submission to his every want, his every dream. 

since that very first day, you were the thought at hand when he was fucking into it, edging himself for hours as punishment for thinking of you that way. 

but your innocent glances, and hard to read gestures every friday, the time you wore a that dress, dancing along with abi at the flower dance. 

taking the masculine role while dressed in a white skirt, a little too short for such a windy day, excusing himself to the depths of the forest. 

back against an oak tree, knowing seb would come looking for him at any moment, and god did it excite him in such a twisted way. 

he couldn’t fuck his fist hard enough to get the thought of taking you then and there out of his mind, flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side. 

making you carry his cum around all day, slowly dripping out of you as you spoke to his mother. 

but this, the real thing, was better than any fantasy he could ever imagine, the sound of your sopping wet cunt pornograohically loud, each wall of your unpainted cabin holding onto your sobs for more, more, more. 

hiccups caught in your throat, back arched and nails leaving crescent moon cuts in his arms as your second snap pulled him in harder, deeper. 

watching you fall apart was the sweetest thing, spilling out onto your bedding as he refused to let up. 

a dangerous game, knowing he was teetering on his own edge from the start. 

“m-‘ya gotta let me know if this is gonna be-”, his words cut off by the purposeful squeeze of your walls, offering a raised eyebrow and your bottom lip bitten. 

nearly knocking the wind right out of you, he flipped you onto your stomach, forcing you onto your knees. 

“you think it’s funny, huh?” leaning over you to purr in your ear, only focusing on how empty you felt, needing his pierced tip beating the life out of your cunt. 

“mm-no,” you shook your head, face red, pushing your ass into him just a smidge, hoping he would grant you your wordless wish. 

a palm to your ass, red hot and stinging, a startled gasp slipping out as he lined himself up with your dripping hole. 

without a warning, his hips were pressed against your ass, one hand forcing your arch deeper, the other holding your hip to keep you upright as he rammed into you. 

mine, mine, mine. 

over, and over, and over. 

sobs of overwhelming everything spilled out of you, moans nearly cut silent by the permanent bruising to every inch of you. 

sucking him off so well, pulling him back in with a force greater than gravity itself, his jumbled profanities mumbled under his breath only making it that much harder to hold on to reality. 

“wanna-” stuttered breathing, feeling the twitch of his cock buried inside you flash like a warning sign. “wanna fill you up- m-make you mi-mine,”. 

higher pitched, through clenched teeth, you had never heard a man so shattered, so beyond steady that his eyes blurred. 

the most you could offer was the push of your ass against him, too close to your own unraveling again  to remember a single word. 

his hand slid from your hip to your swollen, battered clit, squirming against him as the warm pad of his middle finger matched his sacrilegious pace. 

a matter of seconds is all it took, suffocating his overworked length that much tighter, too lost in your own ecstasy to feel the ropes of sin inside you, met with a loss of rhythm and short gasps for air. 

a weak attempt to catch your breath, feeling him slowly relax inside you, blood making its way back to his shaking hands and overworked core. 

releasing himself from your now relaxed grip, his fingers ran small circles on your back, delicate whispers that slowed your heart rate to normal. 

drained, all the energy stored in the form of internalized anxiety depleted, no control over your emotions anymore. 

a silent sob, tears of everything allowed to flow free at your relaxed inhibitions. 

“shhh-shhh it’s okay, it’s all okay,”. he pulled you up from your knees, gentle fingers moving you to his lap. 

head against his chest like a child, he rocked back and forth ever so slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his own tears at the sight of you upset. 

what happened ? is she okay ? what- 

“never-” your muffled words caught behind a screen of hyperventilation. “never run away like that again,”. 

your heaving body against his, his heart paralyzed at the sheer heartbreak rooted in your syllables. 

so goddamn mad at himself for bringing you to tears, but so fucking relieved that you wanted him to stay. 

“i-” a tear stained hiccup, an attempt to bury yourself inside of him completely, “i thought you left and didn’t say goodbye,”. 

she-she thought i would do that..? 

“shhhh, no no no, i’m not going anywhere,” cradling your face, letting a small stream pool over his lash line. holding his breath enough to mask the sputtering spasms thrashing around in his chest. “i would never, ever, do that to you. i promise,”. 

“pinky promise?” you pulled your face away from his chest, blurry eyes meeting his. raising your fragile hand, awaiting his interlocked promise. 

“pinky promise,”. interlocking without hesitation, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“will you stay tonight?” body running cold, the fear of him leaving settling in your stomach, overtaking the bubbling acid. 

“i will stay with you forever if you asked me to,”. gentle, soft. thumb against your cheek. 

“will you stay forever, then?” 

“anything for you,”. a gentle kiss on the nose, a sigh of relief mutually exhaled. 

tears dissolving, mending two broken hearts as they dried. 

matched breathing, hearts beating in unison. 

anything for you.

---------------------------------------------------------

long time no see! so sorry this was so delayed, i had to work an insane amount of overtime at work and had a massive lyme flare up.

i have an alex fic in the works, who else would you like to see?

lots of love to @justwolosers for being there through all this!

mwuah! ᥫ᭡。

[furiousgoldfish]

I want to talk about a situation that happened when I was a kid, and even though this particular instance did not traumatize me (that I know of), it still deals with traumatic themes, such as physical abuse, attempted murder and severe neglect, so be careful if you're reading on! I'll explain at the end why I'm talking about it, and also psychoanalyze what I think was going on.

When I was about 6-9 years old, I had a strong conviction that my father was going to kill me. He would lock me into the basement and hurt me, and even though the injuries weren't lethal, I could feel the intent, he was out of control, not watching where he was hitting, if he was going to break my bones or not, it was erratic, terrifying. I love how I prefaced this with 'oh this didn't traumatize me' and then I started with that, but it's just the context to the actual story. That first part did probably traumatize me, I remember little of it.

Since I felt that my life was in peril, I decided, logically, that I needed to kill him before he kills me. It was justified I would defend my life with all I had. So I sneaked into the basement room, and searched for something that I could use for a weapon, next time he shuts me in there. I found one, memorized where it was, and then I was ready.

It came soon after, the event of me being alone with him in the basement, him out of control, attacking me, and again, I felt like I was about to be killed. So I grabbed a metal pole hidden next to the fireplace, used my full strength and hit him on the head with it. He fell down, and stopped moving.

I panicked then. He looked dead. I let myself out of the basement (I knew where the key was) and yelled for mother, telling her that I killed him, but I had to, because he was going to kill me. When we got back to where he was lying down, blood was trickling out of his nose. But my mother wasn't panicking like I was, she could probably see him breathing. Then he sat up.

I was even more scared then, because if he wasn't dead, then he knew I just tried to kill him, and would come after me even worse. But he didn't. He didn't even look at me. He wiped his nose, seeming completely calm, rage from before completely gone, talking only to the other family members, who seemed concerned about him.

I was told, that it's good for me that I didn't kill him, because had I done that, I would have been imprisoned for murder for the rest of my life. And other than that, everyone ignored me. Nobody talked to me, or had anything to say about the entire event. Father ignored me as well. I was not punished. Nobody was even mad at me. Nothing else was done.

The 'you'll go to prison forever if you kill him' line worked on me, because I didn't know the law, I didn't know that we don't incarcerate little kids; I was underage. They lied to me. So next time when he got me close to that feeling of 'I'm about to be murdered', I had no way to defend myself. If I killed him I would go to prison. I had no choice but to just let him do whatever and not retalliate in any significant way. Sad and painful.

Thinking back later on this event, it was bewildering to me that I was not punished whatsoever for a murder attempt, despite getting punished for bullshit like 'talking back' or 'having an unpleasant face expression'. This was common; I could be severely punished for leaving a door open, but when I did something big, like hurt a sibling, or threaten someone, or hit my father with a metal pole in the head, there was no consequences whatsoever, nobody would have even talked to me about it. I wondered if this was just because they loved that shit, they loved watching me grow into the same violent, brutal and sadistic person they all were, because then they could go 'you're no different than us', and be right. But, unlike them, once I knew something I did hurt another person, I wouldn't do it again; I did horrible things just because I was a kid, and all adults around me were horrible, and I mimicked them, as kids do. They wouldn't punish me for mimicking their awful behaviour because they approved of that, and they didn't care if my siblings were hurt because they loved hurting children anyway.

This also reinforces the theory that punishment is just an excuse to hurt a child, because these were the legitimate reasons to invoke consequences, but they never did, punishments were dished out when they felt like torturing someone and at that point, any face expression could have been an excuse enough. They didn't care about raising a kid or teaching them right and wrong, it was all just self-serving acts of sadistic pleasure.

But to let a murder attempt fly? I thought about it more today, and realized that maybe, they were shocked I did that. Maybe it was an unpleasant surprise to find out, that under severe stress, I would make an attempt at their lives. Maybe finding out that I just tried to kill one of them, made them not want to immediately try and do more violence to me. Maybe they were concerned that I injured their family member, and were more preoccupied with that. Maybe the logistics of 'this child just attempted to kill someone' made them slightly less secure in their 'beating children is normal and good' culture, maybe it signaled to them that beating children could be, in fact, a little dangerous. Of course this didn't make them not wanna do it, they just needed to persuade the child to take it and not retalliate, thus 'you'll go to prison if you do that', and afterwards they felt comfortable again, sure that justice is on their side. To make things more sinister, beating children was not even illegal in my country during that time, so what they were doing to me wasn't punishable by law. But if I retalliated, I was a criminal, according to them.

Hitting children did become illegal by the time I was 9, but conveniently nobody bothered informing  me, and I would live many more years in belief that violence towards me was normal, necessary and completely legal, hell I believed that even killing me was legal, because everyone was acting like it very much was and were threatening it left and right.

So the reason I'm thinking about this event, is that I just got some great news. My father has colon cancer. He's currently hospitalized about it. I don't know what stage it is, but the mortality rate for it is high. He might die. He might die.

I am overjoyed. I am hopeful, I am thrilled, I could not be more happy about this. What I started with that pole in the basement, might get finished. If he dies I am free. If he dies, my version of what happened is the only one to exist. I would be safe.

I think my reaction is interesting. Because I know other victims of abuse feel some sort of grief, some sort of pain and guilt for their sick or dying abusers, especially when they're parents, because of the parental bond, and trauma bonding, and victims generally having a lot of empathy and humanity towards abusers. Not me! Apparently my father managed to never even develop the basic parent-child bond with me, and I was ready to kill him by the time I was 6. What kind of shitbag human do you have to be so that your small child tries to kill you with a metal pole and when they hear you're dying, it's the best news of their life? That's such inhumane stuff that all my basic child instincts of attaching to my caretakers got overwritten by the necessity of protecting my life. You did it so badly you messed with human DNA there! Biological instincts voted against your parenthood! Self defense murder was invoked against you. You are ruled out as a bad parent and a life threat by my tiny child instincts.

[cosmic-walkers]

Okay , I get that a lot of people are mad at Aemond for what he said about Alicent, and on the other hand, a lot of people are acting as if Alicent raised a monster in Aemond, and that Aemond’s mindset toward Alicent is rooted in misogyny, because apparently people have convinced themselves that he sees women as ‘less than human’ and his mother is also impacted by that.

So no, that’s not the case. Aemond calling Alicent a fool for her empathy toward Rhaenyra is due to the fact that, the Blacks would never have this type of love, empathy or hesitation toward the Greens, and from childhood he has been tormented by Viserys and the Blacks. I was close to saying that Alicent planted this idea in his mind that the Blacks were his enemies since childhood, so of course, her going back on what she had taught him is angering to him. 

The reality however is, Alicent didn’t do that. She didn’t really have to. Aemond lived a life growing up where he knew he was second to Rhaenyra and her children in every way, and where he knew his father did not have the same love and empathy for them as he did Rhaenyra and the strong kids. They bullied Aemond, took out his eye, and his father did nothing but threatened to have he and his mother (and brothers) punished/tortured for speaking up. 

This war is about the throne as much as it is about getting back at, in Aemond’s mind, his abusers, his tormentors, the people who hurt him. He NEVER had the power to do that growing up, he knew early on that Rhaenyra and her family were granted a sort of protection that he wasn’t, that his mother wasn’t. He had to watch his mother, who was a victim of abuse and grooming, navigate in a world where all they had was each other.

He doesn’t see Rhaenyra as a sister. He sees her as an extension of her son’s who bullied him, who caused him to lose an eye. He sees them as an extension of his father who neglected him, who raped his mother so he could be born, yet treated him like he was invisible and did nothing to gain justice for his missing eye.

So why would he love Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra is Viserys in his mind, and Viserys abused his mother, that family tormented him since he was a child….so yes, of course Alicent is a fool to him for having empathy for the people who abused and tormented them.

And if this AFTER Blood and Cheese--it adds insult to the wound. His nephew was killed, his niece was threatened with rape, his sister has lost her mind because of it...so why would he feel empathy for Rhaenyra, whom he probably blames for B&C?

[sniigura-archive]

Okayyy, So I Know You've Already Discussed How College Adam Would Deal With Pregnancy, But I Was Wondering How He'd Be As A Actual Dad?

Ok but not good. he’s a better husband than father for sure 😭

cw: pregnancy, children, adam being adam

he has favourites which is obvious to everyone but him. it’s not on purpose but with the children where he has a harder time connecting with/don’t share the same interests as him it can be harder for him to get in contact with

his most favourite is the girl who looks most like the reader

in general he’s an absolute girl dad, he’s more strict towards his sons and it boils down to him wanting them to be great like him. the girls are his babies who can do no wrong

compared to other fathers tho he is very competent, you can easily leave him alone with the children without having to worry anything goes wrong. he gets them to appointments on time and he make sures you get your alone time. he isn’t stupid enough to make you do everything by yourself

he loves babies i swear on that it’s his favourite stage. as soon as the kids can back talk him he’s unhappy like >:( they were as big as his hands just yesterday where did that attitude come from (it’s totally his attitude he refuses to admit that tho)

the teenage phase is his least favourite the whiplash he gets and the humbling is bad he has to like sit outside to calm down

adam is the most likely to have heavy fights with the children which can easily escalate to where both sides say things which everyone regrets in the end. so you usually have to deal with punishments etc

adam is also smart enough to not override your decisions when it comes to parenting. no matter the puppy eyes the kids make at him your word is law

so adam can be a fun dad but also an neglectful asshole it all depends on his mood for the day

he is very sweet though during your pregnancy doesn’t matter if it’s the first one or last one. he’s also in love with all the changes pregnancy brings to you so like weight gain, stretch marks, whatever he loves you even more for that

[erumai-maadu]

genin era team gai

assuming this is the reply to the previous ask about if i have headcanons, hell yeah I do!

Tenten also really Did Not like Neji when he was in his ‘fate is immutable everything sucks i’m a genius but i’m a caged bird’ era but put up with him because he was the only other one to train with when Lee and Gai were having their training together

Speaking of which, I hate when people say Gai ignored Tenten and Neji in favor of Lee because we se SO MANY scenes where Gai has the whole team training together. This is less of a headcanon but Gai knows his primary skill set is in general taijutsu techniques, so he makes all of his students drill those until they’re second nature, and then leaves Neji and Tenten to learn their respective specialties on their own with a bit of input or advice from him. Neji’s specialized Hyuuga techniques or Tenten’s weapon mastery aren’t something he has direct knowledge on, but his taijutsu mastery does allow him to be able to give them help in whatever small ways he can. he has an easier time with Lee who directly learns all of Gai’s techniques, but he does not neglect his other students’ training when he’s helping Lee.

Tenten is the first one to learn about Neji’s blind spot, through pure accident. I’ve spoken about this in a previous post but Tenten is very exacting and has a good eye for detail. She canonically loves being a “detective” of sorts, figuring things out and cracking puzzles. I think she starts noticing patterns as Neji dodges her weapon barrages; there are certain spots where he always gets nicked because he dodges late, almost as if he can’t see them in time to get out of the way. She manages to figure out he has some kind of blind spot, and knowing how blunt she is, she probably just goes right up to him and asks.

Tenten figuring out his blind spot is probably what gets Neji to open up to her about his seal, and asking her to help him train his Rotation. He knows she managed to figure out one clan secret already, and she’s been fairly helpful so far in his training, he supposes knowing one more won’t really make a huge difference

Tenten is a great secret keeper. Unless Lee is the one asking. Something about his face and her bond with him just has her spilling every secret to him whether she intended to or not

Lee started training with Gai while he was still in the Academy. They definitely wouldn’t have let him graduate if his none of his skills were good, so I think at a certain point, Gai took notice of him as an Academy student and started helping him. Lee just suddenly started getting Really Fucking Good at taijutsu and all the other Academy kids were like “what the hell” when they realized they’re suddenly losing to the class’ former dead-last

These three could not work together for shit when they first started out. Gai literally had them taking out extra D-ranks on purpose during their first year as genin simply because they couldn’t stop fighting long enough to work together effectively. Their bond that they built is due to several long LONG hours of running punishment laps for fighting.

All of them see Gai as a father figure. Of course we all know this about them but still. for Tenten, Gai is the first major male role model in her life, of course he very quickly becomes a father figure to her. For Lee, Gai is everything he wants to live up to, and they look so alike that of course Lee sees him like a father. With Neji, it’s a bit more complicated, but after losing his father, he hasn’t really had many other good familial relationships within his clan. It’s probably almost comforting to him how different Gai is from Hiashi and the Hyuuga Elders. I think he ends up confiding in Gai a lot and relying on him emotionally.

I’ve written a snippet of this too but Tenten is the first one to kill someone on a mission and Gai helps her through it. She gets through it the quickest of the three as well, but it does fuck her up for a bit because of how soon it is.

it became a tradition that whoever won the three-way sparring match that day to pick what they get for lunch. the winner also gets their food paid for. the longer this goes on the more frequent the visits to spicy curry shops get.

[serxinns]

Could you do a yandere class 1A where reader is Aizawa’s kid?

Teachers Kid

(yan! Class 1a and platonic Yan aizawa x Aizawas kid reader

Tw: Mentions of abuse, Neglect and cheating

Aizawa was very overprotective of you as a kid Ever since your mom neglecteded you, cheated on him, and left the both of you with another scumbag, he remembered the way you reached your little toddler hands towards her while the snake cling to the scum's arm while they both giggled leaving while she said her final goodbyes it wasn't any Genuine he can hear how eager she was to leave this family the door shutted and you started crying calling out to the snake to come back with ur little grabby arms his heart stung he promised to protect you and to make you don't gotta deal with it again but 1st he had to take care of that woman...

•You lived with your dad your mom wasn't present in your life your dad told you that she did something really bad and now she's getting "Punished" Aizawa homeschooled you through elementary school to middle school it was fun at 1st but you felt a little sad when other kids played with their friends brought back cool stuff like toys and candy while you were stuck in the house either training with him with or without your quirk

•at a young age you dreamed of being a hero like your father and go to UA to be just like him as much as Aizawa loved to look up to you he could never let you be a hero but always shut the topic down with a strict warning you kept pressuring him trying to convince him, bribe him anything you even did the puppy eyes he secretly loves so much but he stood his ground and said no his final answer

•Aizawa was teaching his boring lesson to the class when he heard his ringtone but it wasn't his usual ringtone "Dad pumpkin spit a hairball in your shoe" he quickly turned his phone off flushed red in embarrassment he slowly turned to see the class in shock and some of them giggling a bit "YOU HAVE A CHILD?!"

• the classrooms were in chaos they were now fixated on their teacher's kid they were all asking questions about ur description, Quirk, Personality everything they wanted to know everything about you, Aizawa quickly quieted them down "Everyone needs to quiet down! Yes that's is my kid they're the same age as you all and is are HAPPLIY homeschooled that's it now let's continue " the class tried to answer more questions but Aizawa shut it down completely which made the class groan while Aizawa looked annoyed in the outside in the inside he was panicking, his class all discovered about you and they seem eager

•Even after school they all couldn't stop thinking about you whenever someone mentioned you in their heart. started to race and started to blush they haven't even met you yet so why do they feel this way... They gather around starting to wonder what are you

•while Aizawa was driving home he was just panicking even more his class found out about you he thought he was hiding. you so well why did he have to slip up he didn't want to put you in public high school it was just too dangerous especially if villains are now spawning up more commonly and he thought of something something he didn't like but it was his only choice

•"Y/N!, Kid we need to talk" you walked downstairs to see that your father was looking really serious like this was gonna be a long talk you gulped mentally "yea Dad also did you get my voicemail?" "That's the one we're talking about," your father said his eyes narrowing at you "But another thing since villains these days are commonly targeting heroes these days and I was worried about what would happen to you when you're home alone so I decided to nezu about enrolling you to Ua High-" just when you said that you jumped in his arms hugging him so tight "YES YES THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU" Aizawa may be defeated and nervous but seeing you bleamed up like you used to as a kid made him think you'll be fine "Alright then you start tomorrow im sure my class will love you"

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

The Girl That Disappeared | Suspect #1 KTH

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

✧ Synopsis: It was a gloomy Friday evening when you felt the mists of melancholy pulse through your veins, aching body floating above the deep water. Squeezing your eyes shut, your lips trembled with fear. You didn’t want to die, but you sure as hell didn’t want to live. Not in this town. Not with the people in it. So, why don’t you just disappear? Leave them to search for the remnants of who you had been before you realised that life is more painful than death. Park Jimin. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook. Best-friend, step-brother, and an ex-lover. Although their paths had never crossed before that gloomy Friday evening, their names, printed in bold, now remained on the top of the suspect list. Stories entangled in your mystery.

✧ w/c: 3.6k ✧ taglist: @kookieandjoonberries @whoa-jo @taevestr @smoljimjim @kookxin @11thenightwemet11 @kingofbodyrolls (comment to be tagged for pts. 2+3)

You were taught that keeping quiet kept the peace. It only took 18 years to realise that the peace was never yours. Never was, and never will be. Predisposed to carry the baggage of the past, you were forced to keep everything afloat even when the murky water seeped into your lungs, stripping you of oxygen and the will to live.

Sometimes, the pain hurt so bad that you lost focus. Went nonverbal until the thoughts in your head were louder than the voices around you. But, what’s the point of explaining your pain if you still get hurt? You didn’t want to die, but you sure as hell didn’t want to live. Not in this town. Not with the people in it. But the cycle continued. Like a broken record, it made you realise that life is harder than death. So, you grew to become compliant with the silence of justice. 

While most kids cherished their childhood, melting into the warmth of their parent’s love and embrace, you mastered the role of not acting how you felt. Wiping your own tears as your father blamed you for being a girl. Unable to give him a male offspring, your mother descended into madness. Scrutinizing every cell in your body, hating herself for giving you the chance at life.

As a daughter, you felt such anger towards her and the punishments she put you through. It never made sense to you, how a mother could betray someone so close to her, someone who shared her heartbeat. But, as you grew older you learned to have empathy for her as a woman. Because, now, it was clear that her life story resembled yours almost to the smallest detail. Like a blueprint, it followed the path of abuse, neglect, and prejudice. 

Still, it never took away the pain of knowing that in their eyes, you would never be enough. Since the day you were born and your gender was revealed, a tide of misfortune was unleashed, drowning the precious laughter of an innocent child. So, it’s okay to grieve over the person you could have been. If life was fair and grass was greener on both sides of the fence.

And, although you no longer spoke to your father after he lost himself to alcohol, somewhere deep in that aching heart of yours there was a part of you that forgave him. Because, despite the pain, for a moment there was love. For a moment, you were daddy’s girl, that reached for his hands as you took your first steps. A little girl, that looked up to him, hoping to marry someone worthy of giving up his last name.

But, the more you forgive, the less you love. And, the less you love, the more you want to disappear. Do you want to disappear? Well, you already did, y/n. What happened to you? That night? 

The night, Taehyung rested his head on your shoulder as you sat in chilling silence, feet dangling off the wooden bridge. He wasn’t the affectionate type. At least not to you. But, in that moment, something felt different. He felt different. Like, the tension in his body could no longer suppress the chaos inside. So, as you gazed at the stars above, glossy eyes admiring the canvas of bright light, he envisioned EunBi in her celestial form. 

She was only 13 when the fire consumed her frail body. When Taehyung lost the only person that kept him sane. Talked him out of multiple failed attempts, yet, ended up dying before him. And, every day since then felt nothing short of torture, as he carried the burden of outliving her. His precious girl. 

One day, his dad left town for business and promised to come back before sunrise the next morning, assigning Taehyung chores to do in their family farmhouse: 

✦ Feed and water the chickens + gather their eggs ⇰ EunBi

✦ Brush the horses ⇰ Tae 

✦ Mow the lawn + rake the leaves ⇰ Tae

✦ Collect the hay ⇰ EunBi 

✦ Burn the leaves and leftover cardboard from the storage room ⇰ Tae

“Eunbi-ya!” Taehyung shouted into his cupped hands, eyes searching for his little sister. 

“Yes?” her soft voice echoed from the barn.  

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just need to get the rest of the cardboard. Please, be careful with the bonfire,” he exclaimed, brushing the dirt off his trousers before heading back into the house. But, it wasn’t the cardboard that he was after. Rather, something to take the edge off, in the form of fine powder, hushly tucked away under his mattress. He hasn't used it long enough to be labelled an addict, but enough to keep coming back for more. 

After his mother passed away during labour, Taehyung’s sadness was trapped in his chest, his trembling lips, and those hollow eyes. It was everywhere. Yet, no one noticed. His father was always too busy with work and EunBi, well, she was just a baby. So, when his world was falling apart he relied on drugs to fill the void. To help him forget. Unfortunately, grief never fully goes away. It lingers within you, tethered to the strings of your aching heart, till one day, you’re nothing but bones buried six feet under. 

So, there he was, dissociating into pure ecstasy with his head resting on the edge of the bed. Oblivious to the chaos outside, until the smell of fire seeped through the window, cracked glass reflecting the raging hues of orange flames. 

“EunBi!” Taehyung yelled, sprinting out of the house as his scattering eyes watched the fire spread over the parameter. He couldn’t believe it. He was gone for a minute. Pathetic sixty seconds that turned into half an hour. A whole lifetime of Eunbi’s cries for help that went unheard, as her trembling body hid inside the barn, eyes squeezed shut in hopes that he would come and save her - the way she did all those times.

But, the fire was vicious. Hungry for the innocent and the guilty. Unstoppable in its tracks as its flames inched up the sides of the shed. Ignoring the burning sensation in his lungs, Taehyung pushed through, covering his eyes with the back of his arm as he watched the blaze encircle his heaving body, trapping him just a few steps away from where EunBi layed. Stripped away from her oxygen. 

Yelling out her name, he dropped to his knees, helpless hallucinations naive to the lifeless state she was in. It was too late. There was nothing left of her, and soon, nothing would be left of him. 

Taehyung would lose himself completely, wandering barefoot on the side of the road in pure darkness, as the sound of incoming sirens became louder with each step he took. However, their rescue no longer served any point, because everything worth saving was already gone. EunBi was already gone.

And, as his chest heaved up from the tightness in his throat, he was blinded by the sudden headlights speeding towards him, body frozen in a state of shock. The impact was hard enough to send him rolling down the asphalt, but not enough to stop his heart from beating. So, he didn’t bother getting up, left to accept his defeat before looking up at the black Mercedes Benz that drove off into the distance. JJK977. It wasn't a local licence plate, he thought. Most likely travelling from out of town. Drunk bastard. 

But, that didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore. And, as Taehyung watched them close her casket, it hit him. That was the last time he would ever see EunBi again. Before her soul was set free into the sky, embraced by the warmth of his mother’s arms. The touch he craved so deeply. 

It didn’t take his father long to sell whatever remained of their farmhouse and move back to the big city. As if the pain of burying his loved ones didn’t affect him at all. Moving on without a trace of a single tear. But, the numbness of his father’s heart only made Taehyung more distant. Alienated from his plans of finding a new wife and starting fresh. Building a family on the wreckage of their past.

But, Taehyung could never forget, he lived on in memory of his beautiful girls, building a guard that shut out anyone who came too close. Because grief changes you. It brings out the parts that you were naive to in the light of happiness, during your chase for the freedom of oblivion. So, as his world was set on fire he made sure that you felt every spark. 

After your parent’s divorce was finalized, your mother decided that it was best for the two of you to move. Some place quiet. Away from your father and the troubles of the past. She longed to live in peace. To see you graduate and enter the world of adulthood. To finally have a chance at a normal life, without the chaos and the constant fights. 

So, there you were, standing at the gates of Mr. Kim’s house. Or palace? Acreage? Whatever it was, you knew for sure that you were now embarking on a whole different tax bracket. One that you would only dream of living in, let alone be born into. 

Everything happened kind of quickly since it wasn’t long ago when your mom gushed over her date with a man she met during her night shift at the hospital. When casual hangouts suddenly turned into romantic dinners. And, although you were happy for her, admiring the spark in her lethargic eyes, you couldn’t help but fear the consequences. 

Mr. Kim was a nice gentleman. You weren’t worried about him. It was his son that made chills run down your spine. If misery were a person, you could almost bet it would be Taehyung. Everything from his dead glare to the blood-stained shirts littered around his dimly lit room made you stray away from him. Maintaining minimal contact, you barely saw the guy in his own home. He would leave before sunrise and not return until midnight. So, it was safe to say that he didn’t want anything to do with you, your mother, or his father to be quite frank. 

Not until that night. The night his mischief sabotaged your family camping trip. 

“All set? Where’s y/n?” there was a slight raise in Mr. Kim's tone as his eyes scattered over the premises outside the van. Earning himself a break after solving an ongoing murder case, the chief officer, Beokjin Kim decided to spoil your mom with a little getaway, become one with nature if you will. Unlike your homebody, your mother was always outdoors, hiking, cycling, skiing, you name it. So, you could imagine the surge of dopamine that she was radiating as the family hit the road. 

“Oh, she's showering,” Taehyung murmured resting his head on the door frame, arms folded over his chest. 

“Showering? Why?” your mother’s gentle voice deepened as she looked up at Taehyung with a furrowed gaze. 

“She fell into bear shit,” the little rascal replied with a sly wink. 

“Taehyung! Language.” Mr. Kim scoffed, forcing the guy to straighten up before attempting another try. 

 “My sincere apologies, Mrs. Kim. Your daughter fell into bear crap and screamed at me for it.” Taehyung teased, rolling his eyes at their stunned faces. 

“Oh, gosh. She’s been acting strange the past few days. Please, don’t take it personally, Taehyung-ie,”  the woman’s fluttering eyes softened. 

“Leave the poor girl alone, she’s been through a lot,” Mr. Kim glared at his son, mouthing something under his breath. Be nice. 

“Whatever,” Taehyung whispered, moving the stray brown locks out of his face.

Sure, you've been through a lot. It seems that all that anyone cares about now is you. Especially, his father. He treated you like his own. Like a daughter, he never had. Oh, wait. He did. But, she died. Taehyung was disappointed but not surprised. He was never the favourite. But, losing to a step-sibling was quite humbling.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road then,” Mr. Kim exclaimed softly, glancing back at your mother. Admiring the smile lines on her face. The way her dimples poked out when she laughed. The way she melted into his embrace as they walked back to his truck. 

Shutting the door behind him, Taehyung tidied up your bunk bed before plopping onto the couch. What a sweet gesture. Except, you weren’t showering. Not even in the van. In fact, you would rather step in bear shit than be left alone with it. Which, thanks to your brother. Step-brother. You had a high chance of meeting. 

“Hey … Taehyung?” you whispered behind him, stumbling on a pothole of rocks.  

“What?” he snapped without a glance. 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. If I did something wrong I apologise but …” 

“But, what?” Taehyung suddenly stopped, feeling your head bump into his backpack.  

“Ouch! What the fu-” you glanced up with a furrowed gaze, rubbing the red spot on your forehead. 

“Hhmm?” he repeated with a slight head tilt, eyes flickering down to your lips. 

“I mean … if I overstepped your boundary I'm sorry …” your voice trailed off watching his gaze darken, black orbs fixating on the sparkling charm on your neck. 

“Where'd you get that?” his tone deepened, your hand now hovering over the gold chain.

“Oh, this? Mr. Kim gave it to me as an early graduation gift,” you smiled hesitantly, nibbling on your lower lip while anticipating his reaction. 

“Did he?” Taehyung whispered, lowering his glossy eyes.

That was supposed to be a gift for EunBi’s 14th birthday. One that Taehyung spent 4 months saving for. And, one that took his father a single glance at you to freely hand over with no charge. 

“Hey, actually, I forgot to tell you. They asked us to grab some more branches for the campfire. Could you start on that, I’m just going to grab my hat real quick,” he smiled, scrunching his nose. 

“Oh, sure. How many do we need?” 

“Umm … just a handful? I saw some big ones by the water,”

“Alright, I’ll meet you there then,” 

“I’ll be back in a few, just be careful, alright?” Taehyung waved you goodbye before following the trail back to the van. 

Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes passed, but, there was no sign of his return. 

“What’s taking him so long?” you thought, looking up at the clouds forming above. Although it was quite hot the whole day, a little jacket wouldn’t have hurt right about now. With a side of some assorted meat, maybe? And hot tea? 

Patting your pockets you searched for your phone, which, unfortunately, but on theme, was nowhere to be found. Add that to the list of things that went wrong. So, there you were. Stranded in the woods. Alone. No food. No water. No phone. 

“Taehyung-ah!” you screamed, eyes swelled with tears hopelessly searching for the trail you came down from. But, as the sun began to set, the woods darkened. Chilling silence consuming your cries for help, like a predator feeding on its prey. 

“Taehyung-ah, where are you? This isn’t funny.” 

“Taehyung-ah!” Mr. Kim’s voice echoed as he banged on the door, startling the guy from his innocent slumber. 

“Shit.” he sneered, running to the bathroom before turning on the shower and blasting music on your phone as if you were there all along. 

“May, I help you?” Taehyung scoffed, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes as his elbow rested on the door frame. The marks on his face from the knitted pillow and the fluffy hair definitely made his drowsiness look more believable. 

“Sorry, did we wake you? We stopped for some gas and thought maybe, you guys were hungry,” your mom explained, placing a bag of snacks on the table, noticing the lights in the bathroom. 

“Is she still showering?” she glanced back at Taehyung with a raised brow. 

“I guess? I try not to bother her too much, you know … cause she’s been through a lot,” his tone was full of sarcasm, putting extra emphasis on the last part as his dead glare burned through his father’s tense form. 

“Y/n! Kim y/n! Open up!” your mother shouted, banging on the door before stumbling over her feet as it swung open. Scanning the room, the steam was now everywhere as her eyes widened in shock. 

“Honey, is everything alright?” she could barely make out the man’s voice over the music coming from your phone. 

“Beokjin, she’s not here.” 

“Pardon?” Mr. Kim double-checked as his gaze furrowed, pushing past his son. 

“Taehyung-ah where’s y/n?” she exclaimed, frantically opening all the doors, hopeful that this was all a prank.

“Taehyung! What did you do? Where’s y/n?” his father’s eyes darkened, stomping to the quiet boy. 

“Relax, she’s fine. Acting like I killed her or something,” he chuckled, opening up a can of Coke before resting his legs on the sofa. 

“Enough with the jokes. Where’s your sister?” Mr. Kim yelled, slamming his fist on the table.

“Well, last time I checked she was still buried, but you know, anything is possible nowadays,” Taehyung faked a smile, putting out his palm before glancing at the keys in his father’s pocket. 

“What?” 

“Give me the keys and I’ll go get y/n, isn’t that what you want?”

“You left her in the woods?” your mother’s voice broke down as her back hit the wall, hands reaching for nearby support. 

“I didn’t leave her, she chose not to come. You did mention that she’s been acting strange lately,” 

“Taehyung! That’s enough.” his father snapped, pulling him out of the van by the hood of his sweatshirt.��

“Fine. Keys, please,” he teased, fluttering his eyelashes before saluting them goodbye. 

It felt like you were walking in circles. Every turn led to a dead end. No civilization in sight, just you, the trees, and the haunting silence. Not to mention it was pitch black. The only source of light you had was a pathetic little flashlight you found in your backpack. You knew you should have listened to your mother and packed more responsibly, but you weren’t planning on getting stranded. 

“Hello? Is anyone out there? Please …” you whimpered, feeling the rain blend in with tears rolling down your face. How could your mother not realise you were gone? Was it that easy to disappear and not have anyone care?  

The thoughts in your head were screaming for attention. Each one demanded an answer. But, you were just as lost. Numb to everything. Until you felt something move behind you, sending shivers down your spine as you bolted the other way. 

“Hello?” a distant voice echoed from the darkness. 

“Taehyung?” you stopped, blocking the rain from your eyes to get a better glimpse. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, fingers trembling from the nerves. 

“Mam? Are you alright?” a male voice replied, his footsteps inching closer. 

“Hello? I’m here!” you jumped, frantically waving your hands. 

“Mam? It’s okay, you’re fine now,” 

Speeding past an old welcome sign, Taehyung turned on the radio, switching through the stations as his head rested on his hand. 

“Kidnapping of an 18-year-old student reported in the outskirts of Elk Island” 

“Around 6 pm, a missing person case has been filed by a group of hikers travelling Elk Island” 

“Has another innocent soul fallen victim to the hauntings of Elk Island?” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” he growled, body tensing up before slamming on the gas pedal. The rain was viscous. Pouring like tomorrow wasn’t promised. He could barely see through the windshields but time was of the essence. Where were you, y/n? 

“Oh, thank God you’re here … I …” your voice broke as you lit the flashlight towards the incoming silhouette. He was limping, boots covered in mud. 

“Hey, hey … I can’t see, would you mind turning it off?” 

“Oh … I’m sorry,” you replied quietly, sneaking a glimpse at the blood-stained rope in his hand before you felt your back hit something hard. 

“No. I’m sorry,” a familiar voice whispered in your ear, teeth softly grazing your skin.

And, as his hand rested over your heaving chest, he covered your mouth with a cloth, turning your face towards him to admire the way your vision blurred out of focus. It was too dark to make out who it was, especially, with the mask on his face. So, you tried to fight your way out of his grasp, biting his hand and kicking his legs before his hold on your arms tightened. Then, finally, as you felt your knees buckle your eyes rolled back, silence consuming your unconscious body once the chloroform spread through your system.

“Y/n! Kim y/n!” Taehyung screamed, pulling his backpack over his shoulder before grabbing his dad’s hunting gun from the trunk. Walking down the muddy path, he stumbled upon an abandoned car. JJK977. The engine was still on, but no one was inside.

Searching through the glove compartment, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper that was tucked under a pile of Polaroids. The photos were blurry but enough to make out a silhouette. It was lying in one. Walking in another. Almost like being under constant supervision by whoever these belonged to.

Unfolding the stained note, he mouthed the words under his breath, ‘You thought I wouldn’t catch you?’

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Four

TW: NSFW, inappropriate use of handcuffs, angst

Tom picks you up from your shift, and you ride in silence. The uncomfortable, we need to talk, prickly silence that has your bones feeling weirdly placed and your teeth achy with unsaid words. His mouth and your mouth combined? Quiet between the two? Strange. You both know something’s up. Maybe even more than one something. 

When you get into your place, he goes to use the restroom, and you meander around cleaning a little bit—putting some dishes away and rearranging your coat rack and making sure your recently neglected plants aren’t dying dry deaths. 

“Sorry, guys,” you whisper, filling them up and eyeing the leaves for any browning spots, spraying the orchids’ tangled roots with water and a little plant food. You pause at the dark purple orchid from Julian, realizing there’s still a smear of your dried blood on the pot. Roses love to eat blood and bone. You’re not so sure about orchids. It’s hard not to think of Julian, when you look at the beautiful plant, but you can’t quite bring yourself to get rid of it yet. It’s not the orchid’s fault, after all.  

“You just keep getting cuter,” Tom says, smirking from the kitchen doorway. 

“They’re living things,” you reply, sticking your tongue out. 

“You know, I worked a case once where a lady had a lot of plants.”

You shoot him a raised brow. “Was she poisoning someone with one?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, that fast growing, uncut dark shag probably due for a haircut soon. Shame, you kinda like it a little longer. “See, it just makes me even more suspicious that you know that.” 

“Am I a suspect now, Officer Ludlow?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Easy, Poison Ivy, don’t make me get the cuffs.” 

“Poison Ivy, really?” 

He shrugs. “What? She’s hot. You’re hot. You both love plants. Got that fiery temper.” Wink.

“And you’re what, Batman?” You crinkle your nose at the comparison. Bruce Wayne ain’t got nothin on Tom Ludlow. Plus, you were never a big fan. Now, Punisher, he’s someone you can admire.

“No. I’m a side character. Poison Ivy’s boyfriend.” 

Do not engage. Do not interact. Do not make eye contact. Did he just call himself… You haven’t had a boyfriend in what, years? Tom Ludlow? Boyfriend? Dating? Your brain might be short circuiting, a rattling tool box of metal getting zapped with a cattle prod, and you stand there, frozen, looking dumb for a good minute until you can compartmentalize and rationalize. 

Tom Ludlow hasn’t really left since that first night you invited him in. His clothes are in your dirty laundry, his shoes are sitting next to yours on the entryway rug, making your sneakers look like kids shoes in comparison, his amazing smell is on everything, his indent is on your bed. He’s just settled himself right in here, and you didn’t even notice. 

“What’s a throw down?” You ask, stupidly, suddenly, not sure why you pick that moment to inquire about this. 

To your credit, it does take him off guard and make him forget about the whole boyfriend thing… For now. “It’s a gun dirty cops carry. Something to throw away in case they shoot someone...unlawfully.”

“Is that…what you have on your ankle?” 

His frown is like a thunderhead, and he probably would have started yelling, if not for how tiny your voice sounded, and the big-eyed bunny look on your face. “No, baby. That’s my backup. In case I lose my other gun. Which, I have. Why are you asking me this?” 

Oh fuck, this was a bad, bad decision. Maybe you should mention the dating conversation again? You turn to face him, trying to seem less suspicious and probably just ranking yourself even higher on his list of suspects. “Brixton, that guy that interviewed me, said you fired it in the store.” 

Nice save—never mind, looks like you’ve personally signed Brixton’s death certificate yourself. You jump in to appease that hostile look curtaining over his face. “It's just..I feel like there’s something up, Tom. Something you’re not telling me?”

You’re such a hypocrite. 

“What does that have to do with my backup?” He asks, great fucking detective that he is, and you’re caught like a rabbit in a metal fox trap, ready to gnaw off its own leg just to get free. And maybe, judging by that suspicious look on his face, you should start digging in sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know, Tom.” You throw your hands in the air, maybe a little too dramatically. “I’m just trying to piece this whole thing together, y'know? And if you’re not telling me anything, how can I do that? I saw his face—the man who attempted to murder a cop in cold blood—and I’m scared.” None of that was particularly a lie, but you still feel bad for freaking out on him. 

You feel even worse, when his standoffish attitude melts immediately for you. “Shit. I’m sorry, baby, come here,” he says, holding out his arms to you. 

Once upon a time, with anyone else, you would be an ornery shit and refuse the respective olive branch. But with Tom…you melt too, and before you know it you’ve crossed the tiny kitchen to fill his arms. 

“You’ve taken this whole thing like such a champ, I fucking forget you’re not used to getting shot at,” he says to the top of your head. “M’sorry, baby. I’m working on figuring this all out. I promise you. I’ve got some leads. I gotta find a guy…” He shuts himself up out of habit, not used to sharing details of an ongoing investigation with a civilian. But then he seems to think better of it, considering you’re right in the fucking middle of it too. “I gotta find this guy who might know the shooters. I’m waiting on a call. Got a lead through an inmate in County.”

“Why would an inmate help you?” you mumble into the solid plane of his chest. 

“Because I put him there, and he’s not gettin’ out unless he gets me that name.”

You blink at that, craning your neck to look up at him. “Is that legal?” 

He looks down at you with that Come on look that makes you feel more than a little foolish. 

“Oh.”

You feel the rumble of his amusement from deep in his chest, more than hear it. 

“Is that…always how you really get things done?” you ask, at risk of being made to feel even dumber. “Like, are the official channels really that useless?”

“Pretty much, sweetheart. Learned it the hard way a long time ago. Too many bureaucrats in the LAPD. Not enough people actually willing to get the job done.”

With a long sigh you nod, utterly reluctant to vacate the depression between his pecs. You’re pretty sure it was made just for your head. 

You guess you're about to embark on some back channels of your own to keep him out of trouble. The thought of what Julian might have in store for you makes a shudder of revilement run through you. Tom cranes back to study you, those hawkish eyes narrowed. He knows something’s up. He’s too smart, and you can’t fathom how you’re going to trick him, even if it is for his own good.

You suppose your best bet is distracting him–so you stand on tip toe, and press your lips to his. 

***

He just will not drop it.

He drives you absolutely wild. To the edge of your sanity. To the brink of death. 

This man’s tongue should be considered a lethal weapon. It’s an absolute menace. 

It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt, yet you can’t help but think to yourself, this is how you die.

“Tom…” you beg. “It’s too much!”

You would have even tried to get up, to get away, to flee, you’re that desperate, but he’s been holding you down with those big beautiful hands, and you are just a quivering mess of a woman at his mercy. Plus, he’s got you cuffed to the post of your bed.

“You can cum anytime you want, sweet girl,” he tells you. “You know what I want to hear.”

“This is…interrogation…under duress.”

“Oooo, someone’s been studying up.”

“Hey, I know…stuff.”

He’s changed tactics, making slow, soft circles with his tongue, just shy of where you need him most. The keening whine it tears from your hoarse throat makes him chuckle against you; a deep, bone-melting sound that you think Satan could take some notes from. 

“You know what I want to hear.”

I’m yours.

“Torturing me into saying it won’t make it true.”

“I already know it’s true, sweetheart. Just want to hear you say it.”

You whimper, your head thrown back into the pillows. So keyed up yet exhausted, too stubborn for your own good. You sense Tom looking up at you, his cheek resting on the soft pillow of your inner thigh. 

“Scare you that much, baby?”

You have to try twice before you can find your voice, suddenly feeling like you downed a fat gulp of Mojave sand. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present.”

He climbs your body, and you are relieved until he sheathes himself inside you, just like that, like this is the place where he belongs. You desperately try to grind against him, knowing you are so close to the edge, but he just pins you with his thick cock kissing your cervix and his elbows on either side of you. 

He kisses your forehead, and its all so tender you could cry.

“You know you’re safe with me?”

“I know.” You mean it, too, even if you sound pitiful.

He sweeps your hair from your face with gentle fingers, looking down at you with a little smile that wrecks your heart. It simply was not fair.

“Then tell me what’s going on.” You’re not sure if he means your neuroses in general, or your earlier almost-slip, or…who knows? Discussing any and all of it aloud terrifies you. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Finally, you just frown, and fall back on your favorite word of all time.

“No.”

Miraculously, he doesn’t get mad, like every other man you’ve ever known would have. He just seems to think you’re cute. “You know what?” He muses, tracing your collarbones and making you shiver, “I think,” he follows the dip of your skin, down between your breasts, then under, slow and soft, over your rib cage as you make little strangled gasps, attempting unsuccessfully to writhe—get him frustrated enough to move. “I think you like it when I tease all your worries away.” 

Why does that infuriate you even more? “This isn’t teasing.” Your whining delights him and humiliates you. “This is tortu-ah.” 

He has your pert right nipple tugged between two fingers, rolling the sensitive flesh against rough calluses. The sensation swells into your pussy, and she clenches, exacting her own form of vengeance on Tom, for once on the same side as you—the cum or die side. 

A breath of air hisses from between his teeth, and you grin up at him in triumph. Sure, you’re the one handcuffed to the bed being edged out of your mind, but you know underneath all that cool, collected facade this affects him just as much as it does you. 

“You haven’t seen torture yet.” He says, his smile turning malicious.

“What?” You pant. “Can’t help it that my pussy loves your cock so much, baby.”

He turns peach again, skin absolutely betraying his attitude, and you let loose a sharp giggle that turns to a groaning snarl when he pumps inside of you, slow, not enough. The rhythm he adopts after a minute or two of equally frustrating practice is made for your destruction; more frustrating than just holding him inside, unmoving. 

That languid squelching rub, the slow strokes that make your cunt flood and fatten with plentiful cum, yield to and accommodate its bulky visitor like a good little host should—all of it gets both of you gnashing your teeth and growling like beasts.

In this feral, viscous slide of your bodies, Tom takes your mouth instead of talking, teeth and tongue and spit. None of it would be pretty from an onlooker's perspective, you think, as he swallows the bottom of your face into his big jaws, but fuck, it’s just what you need from him while he works your cunt to a slow, brutal end. 

La petite mort, your brain thinks, surfacing from the sluggish black haze for a moment before you lose it entirely again to a violent, slow orgasm on just his cock. You barely feel the scratchy tickle of his stubble as he buries his face into your neck, biting and licking at your collar, and ending right along with you. 

“Trickster,” he mumbles, hips twitching in finality, length already softening and settling inside you. 

“Who me?” You giggle. 

“Minx,” he growls. 

“Never,” you tease. 

“One of these days I’m gonna get you to say it baby. Might as well just get it over with.” 

“Say what?” You ask, now just trying to piss him off. 

He nibbles the skin of your neck, and you giggle-flinch away. 

“I have to tickle you?” He asks. 

“Swear to God, Tom, I will kill you.” Then, you pout. “These cuffs are kinda uncomfy.” 

He sighs and unlocks you from your metal, cold bondage, then rubs the blood and warmth back into your wrists. “Can I ask you something?” 

You flick your head at him, curious, and push the sweaty hair from his forehead. “Yeah, of course.”

“Will you take a little vacation with me? After I’m done with this case? I’d like to take you somewhere. Just us. Anywhere you want. Beach, mountains. I know we’re already right next to the beach, but maybe one with calmer water? They have some nice little bungalows in Florida.” He’s cute, when he’s all rambling and shy and flustered. 

You lean up to kiss him, halting his nerves. “Yeah, I will.” 

“Really?” He asks, grin big and goofy and only missing a long tongue hanging from the side. 

He makes you laugh. The dichotomy of this man. God, you want to eat him. “Yeah. I have unused vacation time anyway. As long as you promise not to secretly be a serial killer.” 

He snorts, probably thinking of the same image that you are: Bull-in-a-china-shop, brutish, forceful, loud Tom trying to be sneaky and malicious in any capacity? It’s just not believable. What you see is what you get with this long, bronze man currently walking butt ass naked to the bathroom and retrieving a damp, warm towel for you to clean up with. 

***

“So, where do you wanna go?” He asks, once you're settled in his arms with the blanket wrapping you up. You think it’s just way too adorable, how he fusses over you. Pushes your hair back from your face, makes sure you’re adjusted and comfortable, makes sure your toes are covered, kisses your forehead. 

“I’ve never been to the mountains,” you suggest, nuzzling your face into his chest and inhaling, trying to memorize him—this moment. 

“Mountains it is,” he grins. “We’ll go hiking.” 

“Do you think we’ll see woodland critters?” You ask hopefully. 

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, “I’ll protect you.”

You laugh into his skin. “Tom, I want to see them. I’m not scared.” 

“What about, I dunno, bears?” 

“Bears are cute.” 

He gives you an incredulous look, as if you’ve really caught him off guard with that one. “You’re something else.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Am I gonna have to hold you back from trying to pet a 700 pound grizzly?” He asks, fingers playing with your shoulder blades. 

You pretend to think about it. “No, but maybe a raccoon….?” 

“Oh my god, go to bed,” he chuckles. “I’m rethinking the mountains.” 

“Oh c’mon!” 

It takes a good hour for you both to get tired enough to fall asleep. The witty banter keeps you awake, like you’re at a teenage slumber party with your best friend. It’s you that drifts off first, because if you don’t get your nine hours you emulate Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. 

[naavispider]

I often see people describe Spider as a neglected child. Do you think that is totally accurate? Would Norm and the other scientists have set rules and boundaries? If Lo’ak and Spider did something stupid together would Jake punish both of them? What would a scene like this look like?

This is a very big question, in my opinion, and seems to have divided a lot of people depending in their answer. I think I can see it both ways. Spider is clearly a child that has grown up without a stable parental figure, and has lived his life trying to fit in where there seems to be no natural slot for him to do so. I do think he is relatively well adjusted, he's formed strong relationships with those his own age and he clearly has strong morals, all of which are accomplishments in themselves given the circumstances. Anyone else in his position would obviously struggle to deal with so much (being displaced by war, not having a stable family, and generally being an outcast by the tribe). If you add the daddy issues on top, which have provided him with a fluctuating sense of identity ever since he was old enough to understand who is father was, it's no doubt that Spider is definitely a special kid and extremely strong to have been through what he has, and come out the other side remarkably 'unharmed'.

We also can't ignore the fact that he was outrightly mistreated throughout his childhood as well. This is more obvious in the comics from the comments made by Neytiri, but there is also all the subtle ways in which he was excluded from the People and made to feel like an outcast. The kind of social isolation he suffered from clearly had an effect on him and is obvious in the way he has a complex about trying to impress, and not let anyone down, ever.

Your question asked about whether it's valid to say that Spider was neglected. In short, I think the answer is yes, but it's harder to pin point by exactly who and for how long. Individually, most of the adults in his life treated him with kindness and respect, and often fondness. I'm sure that Norm and loves Spider, too (and probably Max). But what makes him neglected is that by itself, that kind of treatment isn't enough for an extremely young child. What everyone seemed to miss while he was growing up is the lack of a parental figure. The McCoskers clearly weren't actually interested in raising Spider like their own, so that fell short; as a result, nobody else stepped up and Spider went without paternal or maternal love.

In my mind, the McCoskers are definitely guilty of neglect. The question of the other adults is murkier, because they are not directly at fault and Spider was really not their responsibility. However, in my opinion they did not do all they could to emotionally support Spider through his identity crisis and feelings of belonging. As such, I would say they emotionally neglected him.

That was a long and winding answer and I know that others have hashed this topic over at length before, but those are my two cents! 🥰

Would Norm and the other scientists have set rules and boundaries? Yes, I reckon so. When Spider was very young it would primarily be around safety and where abouts in the compound he should be, when. The McCoskers were probably responsible for bedtime routines and ensuring his basic needs were met, and I can see them being pretty harsh with that (for example shutting Spider in his room). As he got older and the McCoskers' attention turned to their own sons, they started to care less and less about Spider and creating firm boundaries. As a result he became a much wilder spirit and then the scientists would have had to put their own boundaries in place. By this point though, Spider was a young teen and probably all they could do was tell him off (which would work for a while). I can see the other scientists begging Norm to talk to Spider when he accidentally broke a piece of lab equipment.

If Lo’ak and Spider did something stupid together would Jake punish both of them? Jake would clearly be much harsher towards Lo'ak. I can see him just sending Spider back to the shacks, aware that Spider is not his son and nit his responsibility. In fairness to Jake, he personally struggles a lot with how to be a good father and isn't confident with the two sons he already has, so mentally I think he's distancing himself from Spider on purpose, because he's afraid and doesn't want to take on even more parental responsibility than he is already having to contend with. Lo'ak and Spider would meet up after and Spider would ask Lo'ak how bad it was. Lo'ak would probably moan that Spider is lucky he doesn't have to brunt Jake's anger, and Spider would outwardly agree.

Sorry it took me literal months to respond to this ask! I'm working my way through them 💞💙💞💙

[endlessburningdarkness]

I love how people say that Shen Yuan is a better teacher than Shen Jiu.

the abuse toward Luo Binghe? we have mostly Shen Yuan's point of view (Luo Binghe number 1 defensor who would ignore it if Binghe was a bad student who wouldn't do a lot of efforts, or would blame Shen Jiu for it), or Yue Qingyuan's perception (and he imagines always the worst). The original work was from Binghe's view so maybe the perception was wrong. No mention that at the same time, Liu Qingge beat the shit of his own students. But that is not abuse when it's not Shen Jiu i guess. No mention that even with the ooc lock, Sen Yuan was authorized to give medication to Binghe, to let him go into his carriage (with a good excuse), and a simple little smile was enough for Binghe to fall in love even more. We can conclude that the abuse wasn't THAT horrible. More a normal ancien china punishment.

Shen Yuan is said to be a better teacher? And where the proof? We just see him focusing only on Binghe, favorising him, asking Liu Qingge to punish his disciple who were bulliying Luo Binghe, play house with his own student (which is not good). He's clearly neglect his other students studies, right? All he did was giving hope to Binghe, and give him a reason to be more obssessed.

I think the abuse LBH experienced was just par for the course for the time period. Ancient China was not a nice place. And if you read other danmei, being whipped is a pretty regular punishment. It's a bit strange to judge one character for it, if you don't judge other characters for the same thing. Like If Liu Qingge beat his students to teach them, who's to say Shen Qingqiu wasn't beating LBH to teach him? Like don't pick and choose when child abuse is child abuse, that's fucking hypocritical. They're all child abusers lmao.

I judge them all, personally. None of these people are morally upright by modern standards and that's fine. They don't need to be. Just stop pretending some of them are magically angels.

Shen Yuan is not a good teacher period. He attacks his own students, children, with blade-like leaves. What kind of modern person does that? And favouring one student over others is what a bad teacher would do, not a good one lol.

Also he is a NEET, an internet troll, where the fuck would he have learned to teach? Why would he suddenly be able to teach kids? The four arts? You're telling me Shen Yuan is secretly a master calligrapher, artist and musician? Where was that mentioned?

Unless he absorbed all the knowledge from Shen Qingqiu (Jiu), which means he isn't a good teacher...Shen Qingqiu is.