#there's six instances of him in act one alone

[nadvs]

home before dark (part six)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, yet he feels violently hungover this morning.

He stares up at the ceiling of your guest room, running on a few hours of broken sleep. He feels so exposed. Once he started talking to you, he couldn’t stop.

He was fine living an empty life. But then you walked back into it, completely unaware of how painful it is to be around you. But it feels so damn good, too.

Nonetheless, when he looks at you, he sees his doomed childhood, his lost happiness. He’s not sure the good will ever outweigh the bad. Especially because he’ll never be able to tell you the entire story. You’ll never completely understand why he is the way he is.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you to leave last night. You were just trying to help. After so many instances of telling himself he’d stop brushing you away, he’d stop acting like your asshole of an ex, he did it again.

But telling himself he should do something and actually doing it are two very different things. Everything in this nonsensical world is easier said than done.

You’re making breakfast in your kitchen, your temples aching from the sadness that hasn’t left you.

Rafe wasn’t awake before you for once. You don’t know how you’ll face him. You feel just as powerless as you felt when you were ten, unsure of what to say to him or how to act around him.

He was in the car. It won’t stop clanging around in your head. He was with her the last minute she was alive.

And when you tried to hold him, to be there for him, he told you to go away. You know better than to attempt to get him to talk about it again.

“Hey.” Rafe’s deep voice pulls you out of your haze. You look up to see him standing by the far counter, then return your gaze back down to the pan. For once, you’re the one avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” you reply. Your shoulders are stiff. You know he wants to leave. “Just a second.”

You pull the pan off the range and cross the kitchen, pacing to the front of the house. When you open the door and re-arm the security system, you step to the side, hand tight on the knob.

You will yourself to look up at him, meeting his blue eyes. He’s standing between you and the front step of your home, unmoving.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. “Maybe have some breakfast?”

It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, taking another risk of rejection, expecting to fall but having a shred of hope that he’ll pull you to solid ground.

“I can’t.” He walks past you, a hard push off the edge. You’re disappointed. In him for denying you again. In yourself for thinking he wouldn’t.

You’ve always felt safe with him. But right now, while he’ll protect you physically, your heart isn’t even close to feeling whole. He’ll break it every chance he gets.

You spend your morning in a haze. You wish you could carry at least some of Rafe’s pain for him, but he’ll never fully open up to you. Last night, when he told you about the accident, he pushed you away the second you tried to comfort him.

After lunch, you realize you can’t handle being alone any longer. You text a friend and accept her invitation to hang out at her house.

Talking with your friend about everything but what’s been weighing on you is a welcome distraction for a couple of hours. Rafe is always at the back of your mind, but being with someone else helps ease the pain.

After you say your goodbyes, you walk down to the street where you parked. You notice a white paper rectangle tucked under your windshield wiper.

Your stomach drops. Normally, you’d assume it’s a ticket of some sort. That maybe you parked where you’re not supposed to. But you know that’s not what this is.

You pluck the paper from under the wiper and get into your car, trembling as you lock all the doors. You look around, terrified you’ll meet Ty’s stare.

But you’re alone. Nobody is around.

You rip open the envelope. On the top inner fold, in his messy writing: I always have my eyes on you.

Fear’s razor-sharp claws squeeze your insides when you pull out what’s in the envelope. Photos of you from the past few days. At the gas station. At the mall. At the pool.

Ty’s been following you. Taking pictures.

You lock your doors again, even though you know you already did. You’re at a loss for what to do. Where to go.

Just walking up the driveway back to your friend’s house is daunting. And going home to an empty house is just as scary.

So, you go to the one person you know will take away the fear. You drive, park, and find his name in your phone.

Rafe is sitting on the balcony leading out of his bedroom when his phone starts buzzing. He sees your name on the screen and scrambles to answer as fast as possible.

“You okay?” Rafe says.

“No.” Your voice is shaky. “No. He’s been following me.”

“Where are you?” he asks, standing and rushing to find his keys.

“I’m in front of your house.”

“Good,” he says. He tucks his gun into the band of his jeans. “Good. It’s okay. I’ll be right down.”

Rafe spots your car at the end of his driveway. When his eyes find you, he’s sure he’s never seen someone look so shell-shocked. He tugs at the passenger door handle a few times before you catch on that you need to unlock it.

He settles in the seat next to you, brows furrowed in worry, watching you stare ahead at your steering wheel.

“I don’t even know how I - I drove here,” you stutter with a humorless laugh. You’re in a fog.

“What’d he do?” he asks.

Your eyes dart down to the ripped open envelope in your cup holder. Rafe grabs it and leafs through the photos. Anger climbs up his body in half a second.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.

“He left it on my car,” you say.

You can’t let Ty do this to you anymore. You’re not above wishing Rafe would beat him within an inch of his life. You want to fight back in every possible way you can. You want him to lose.

“I think this is enough to go to the police,” you breathe. “I need a restraining order or something. I can’t just watch this happen. I mean, I have enough evidence of - of stalking, right?”

Saying the word out loud is what finally breaks you. The tears you’ve been pushing down rush up without any mercy. You start to cry quietly, your chest heaving.

“Listen to me,” Rafe says softly. “He’ll pay for this.”

All he can feel is a burning urge to protect you. To make sure you never feel this way again. He’s not leaving your side for a minute.

You sense Rafe’s hand on your knee. It’s like you’re watching this happen to someone who looks and sounds like you because he can’t possibly be happening to you.

“You want me to drive?” he asks.

You nod, tears rolling down your face, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You watch Rafe’s knuckles turn white as he drives your car down the street. You ask him to stop at your house to grab the letter Ty left for you, glad you didn’t throw it out in haste, and arrive at the police station carrying the proof of your ex’s incessant hounding.

Rafe tucks his gun under the seat before going inside.

The building is dingy. You approach the front desk, locking eyes with the man sitting behind a computer, his uniform dull and washed out.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I need to file a restraining order,” you say. The words feel odd coming out of your mouth.

The officer hands you a sheet of paper on a clipboard and a pen, instructing you to come back up to the desk after you fill it out.

It’s vile. You’re scared for your life and in response, a stranger hands you a form.

The waiting room is empty. You and Rafe settle in the worn, ripped up leather seats. You look down at the words in front of you, your hands trembling.

“Here,” he says, taking the clipboard and pen from you. You’re too shaken up to focus.

You watch Rafe write your full name at the top. Your address. Your date of birth. He remembers it all.

Then, he drags the pen over every box that applies to you.

The defendant and I are persons who are in or have been in a romantic relationship. He marks it with an X.

The defendant has inflicted emotional distress on me. X.

I want the Court to order the defendant not to assault, threaten, follow or harass me. X.

I believe I am in danger of serious or immediate injury.

Rafe looks to you.

“Not when you’re around,” you say honestly. “But you can check it.”

When Rafe comes across the blank sections, he sniffs in unease before reading the instructions out loud.

“Give specific dates and describe in detail what happened,” he recites. He doesn’t want to hear this. “Just talk. I’ll write.”

You go through it all from the beginning. The aggressive text messages. The in-person threats. The email. The letter. The photos. Rafe writes it all down. His stomach turns as he listens to you recount it all.

You take the clipboard to record what’s left: Ty’s contact information.

You drop the form off at the front desk and sit back down. Rafe watches you blankly stare ahead, your knees anxiously bouncing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles. You nod, unconvinced.

“We can grant you an emergency protective order,” a police officer tells you after taking you and Rafe to a private room. “There’ll be a court hearing within ten days. You need an attorney to represent you and to help prove that the letter and photos are from him.”

“Okay,” you say. The old man across the table is speaking like he’s talking about something boring, like the weather.

“So, wait - are you saying - he can just walk around free until then?” Rafe asks.

The officer looks at Rafe, his face emotionless. Then he looks at you again.

“The defendant will be informed about the temporary order and he’ll be told not to contact you,” he responds. “If he violates the terms, you need to let us know. But a judge will determine if a permanent order should be granted. It’s up to them to decide if this person is a danger to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe shuffles in his seat, shaking his head. “Someone’s gonna tell him to stay away from her and - and that’s it? Until a judge maybe makes it official?”

“That’s the way the law works,” the officer says.

“The law is bullshit.”

“Reconsider your tone, young man,” the cop warns.

Rafe scoffs, like he’s taking it as a challenge. You’re frustrated that the man is being so cold about this, but Rafe’s hostility isn’t helping.

“Rafe,” you say, placing your hand on his forearm. “Can you wait for me outside?”

He meets your eyes. He realizes he’s stressing you out. Times like these, he hates his temper.

Rafe has been standing by the front doors of the building for five minutes when you come out, your arms crossed.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters. “He was just so goddamn casual about the whole thing-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know.”

You still feel like this is a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from. Your parents are overseas for work, totally oblivious to what’s happening. You need to call them. How the hell do you even deliver this kind of news?

“Did he say anything else?” Rafe asks as you make your way to your car.

“He just told me I should get a lawyer as soon as I can,” you say. “I found one in the area and I called her office. I have a meeting with her tomorrow.”

You’re still shaky and you’re glad Rafe is heading for the driver’s side without you having to ask him. You settle in your car, locking yourselves in silence.

He’s not starting the engine. He’s just looking at you. You meet his eyes and try not to think about last night.

“You’re scared,” he says. Your eyelids flutter. You are scared. The last twenty-four hours have been a mess.

Rafe wallows in the feelings of failure and self-pity. He’s supposed to make you feel safe and he’s fucking it up. You look terrified.

“I’m not gonna leave your side, alright?” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re never alone until he stops. And he will stop.”

Normally, you’d ask him if he can really take that on. But you have to ask yourself if you can take it on first. Being around someone who’s committed to keeping you at a distance is starting to wear on you. But this all started so he’d keep you safe. Whether you can handle it or not, you will.

Rafe grimaces when you don’t respond. Maybe he’s not enough. Maybe you need to feel like you have the power to keep yourself safe, too.

“I’m teaching you how to use a gun,” he decides.

“What?” you say. You can’t have heard him right.

“You won’t be scared if you know how to protect yourself,” he says. Then he shoves the key into the ignition and drives to his house to swap to his bike.

You cling onto Rafe as he drives his motorcycle along the coast. He approaches a clearing in an overgrown field. You can understand why he changed vehicles when you feel how choppy the terrain is. He navigates over the grass and stops under a tree.

“How do you even know about this place?” you ask once he kills the engine and you take off his helmet.

Rafe doesn’t want to admit that he passes by this barren corner of the island several times a month to pick up coke from his dealer. That he’s been here to shoot at nothing multiple times before.

“Just do,” he says. “Come on.”

You swing your leg off his motorcycle, wishing you didn’t feel the loss of his touch as deeply as you do.

When Rafe leads you deeper into the clearing under the cloudy afternoon sky, the road now out of sight, he pulls his gun out of the back of his jeans. It’s unreal watching him adjust the weapon in his hands, how casually he’s handling something that could kill a person.

You look over your shoulder, wondering if Ty is hiding somewhere. Will you always be on edge like this, worrying his eyes are on you?

You glance back at Rafe.

“Where’d… you learn?” you mumble. “To use it.”

Rafe looks up at you. Your eyes are wide. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He was being impulsive when he suggested this. He forgot how you looked at him when you noticed his gun at the party a few nights ago. He’s supposed to be making you feel safe. But you look freaked out.

“If this is a bad idea, we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I was-”

“No,” you interrupt. “You’re right. I’ll feel better knowing I can defend myself if it… if it comes to that.”

The thought sends a chill through your body. You try to shake away your fear.

“I was just wondering,” you say.

“I taught myself,” Rafe admits.

“How come?”

His jaw clenches.

“I told you, sometimes I get pissed off and…” He tries to bring down the sharpness of his tone. “This helps. It feels good. You’ll see.”

You can tell just how heavy his soul is as you watch him focus, sliding the magazine of the gun in and out. You wonder how many times he’s come out here, running towards a twisted form of solace.

You get it. You don’t know how you’d react if what happened to him happened to you, but you doubt it’d be very different from this. You’d be angry at the world, too. You’d want to take it out any way you can.

Rafe steps closer to you, opening the chamber, every column in it filled.

“It’s loaded,” he tells you. “You can see the bullets here. Safety’s on.”

He closes the chamber and offers the gun to you. It’s heavy in your hand as he rounds to stand behind you.

“You see that tree over there?” he says, his voice low. You follow his finger to see a tall, broken stump in the distance. It looks like it was hit by lightening and torn in half.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Aim at it,” he instructs you. “Use both hands. It’ll have some kick.”

You’re tense as you raise the gun towards the tree. You have one hand wrapped around the grip of the gun and tuck the other underneath the barrel.

“Like this,” he mumbles. His arms encircle you, his chest firm against your back. Your breath catches as he rests his hands over yours. He guides your left hand closer to your right, adjusting your fingers to spread wider.

“Safety’s on,” he reminds you. “Just get used to the feeling, alright?”

“Alright,” you say.

His forefinger settles over yours, pushing down on the blocked trigger.

“This is where you press down,” he says. You nod against him.

Rafe’s trying not to notice how nice your shampoo smells. The way your body feels enclosed in his. The fact that his heart started racing the second he gets close to you like this.

“You ready for me to turn off the safety?” he asks you, zeroing in on the reason he’s here. You nod and in seconds, the loaded gun in your hands is completely unguarded.

“It’ll be loud, okay?” he mumbles. You feel his warm breath against your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared. You have all the power here.”

You feel like you haven’t had any power in a long time. You take a few breaths before you pull the trigger. The bang is ear-splitting and force is hard, jolting your arm, sending the bark on the tree flying within a second. You actually hit your target.

You lose your stability, hands loosening beneath Rafe’s. He quickly pulls the gun back and turns the safety on again.

“Shit,” he says amusedly. “You did it.”

You’re in disbelief that you’re doing this and that it kind of felt good. You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s towering behind you.

Your eyes are locked as you stand together in the desolate patch of unkept greenery. You’re silent now and so is he, your breaths in unison.

“Feel better?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.”

Rafe has spent so long harboring hatred for everyone, including himself. But as he drinks in your features and the way they come together so beautifully, he’s sure he doesn’t hate you and never has. How could he when you look at him like this, like you’re expecting the best from him after all he’s done is disappoint you?

Just like last night, the words come rushing out of Rafe’s mouth. He’s getting worse at keeping them in around you. It’s still uncharted territory, so he’s struggling to find out how to say exactly what he’s thinking.

“I don’t…” he says. He starts over. “You should be… happy. I mean, you shouldn’t have to be dealing with all this.”

You chew on your lip. He’s right. Nobody should have to suffer like this, scared of a maniac who won’t leave them alone, who seems to find pleasure in inflicting fear.

Rafe hates that you’re fighting for your own comfort. You deserve to live in ease.

“Thanks,” you say. You gaze into his eyes, wishing they didn’t see what they saw when he was ten years old. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Rafe’s lids drop, his sharp jaw tightening as he grinds his teeth. He can’t cry in front of you. Not again.

“Give it another try,” he says, handing the gun back to you after turning off the safety. You take it in steady hands, aiming at the tree. He doesn’t hold you this time.

After a few seconds of concentration, you pull the trigger and miss. Then you try once more. You hit your target. You can’t imagine ever using this on a person. But if it comes down to it, to your life or Ty’s, you’re picking yours every time.

You lower the gun, realizing your breaths are faster now.

“I think that’s enough,” you say, your stare still fixed ahead. You feel Rafe slowly take the weapon out of your hands again, his fingers brushing yours.

“You wanna go home?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Without another word, you head back to your house, feeling Rafe’s heart thudding against your palm as you cling onto him on his bike.

Rafe waits in the front room while you try to call your parents. Neither of them answer, likely asleep in their timezone.

You put your phone away, looking defeated. He said he wouldn’t leave your side and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“I’ll try again in the morning,” you tell him. “You can just make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Rafe nods, his elbows on his knees as he sits forward on the couch, as if he’s ready to strike any threat that might come your way.

You stand and cross the space, then breathe out a slow exhale when you reach the end of the room, your hand on the edge of the wall.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, glancing back at him. “I know it’s hard for you to be around me. My parents will fly back after I talk to them and you won’t have to do this anymore.”

You round the corner, leaving him with his thoughts.

It’s not until after sunset that you come back downstairs, feeling trapped in your own home. Rafe is where you left him, scrolling on his phone, surely bored.

“Hey,” you say. You got a text from a friend a few minutes ago about a party at a house down the street. “You wanna get out of here?”

More people are drunk than sober when you arrive at the party, the music and chatter almost deafening. Rafe is brushing through the crowds in front of you.

You spot your friends on the other side of the room and find some relief in seeing people you know actually want to be in your company.

You tug at his shirt to get his attention. Rafe turns and leans down to hear you over the music.

“I’ll be with my friends,” you tell him. He pulls back, confusion in his stare.

“You sure you should go on your own?” he asks.

“You’ll be close, right?” you say.

Rafe shuffles in place, looking tense before he leans over to speak again.

“I’m fine being around you, okay?” he says, thinking about what you said back at your house. “If that’s what this is about.”

He’s fine. You don’t miss the coldness of his words. He’s simply fine being around you, while you ache for him when he’s gone.

“I don’t want to just be… tolerated,” you confess. “I’ll stand over there and I won’t move.”

“Aren’t we supposed to pretend we’re together?” he asks, suddenly desperate to feel you. He offers his hand. You look down at it.

For the first time, you don’t want to touch him. Because you’re so painfully aware that this is all a farce. Because you went through so much today that keeping up appearances feels ridiculous.

When you don’t take Rafe’s hand, the sting of rejection pools through him.

“I don’t care about fooling him anymore,” you say. “We don’t have to keep lying to everyone.”

You offer him a sad smile and brush past him. Your friends’ faces fall when they see you. That’s when you know you’re wearing your anguish for everyone to see.

You stand against the wall, alert and sharp-eyed in case Ty shows up. Maybe he won’t. Maybe the police scared him from even risking being in the same room as you.

He doesn’t seem to be here. But you’re drained of all hope a mere half-hour later when you suddenly see your ex in the crowd. When his gaze meets yours, his lips thin in anger.

Like an animal charging towards its prey, he rushes towards you, shoving past people. You look around and feel overwhelming relief when you see Rafe’s profile locked on Ty as he scrambles to get to him.

“You went to the fucking police?” Ty shouts, rushing towards you.

Even over the music, you can hear the sound of Rafe’s fist making contact with Ty’s jaw. The crowd quickly scatters, shouts erupting as they clear out the space.

Everyone runs away but you. You step forward, watching in disbelief as Rafe leans over, one hand on Ty’s collar, the other delivering blow after blow.

Rafe’s knuckles ache with every punch as Ty lies on the ground, absorbing every strike, slack-jawed. He sees red. Every punch is harder than the last.

“Don’t follow her, don’t talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her!” Rafe yells. “Do you hear me?”

Pure rage fills his veins as he takes everything out with his fist. Every reason he’s so painfully angry. The misery you’re going through. The loss he feels every single day. The fact that people like this get to live when his mother doesn’t.

“Rafe, that’s enough, man!” you hear. You watch two of Rafe’s friends pull him off. He scrambles to get out of their grip.

You can see Ty clearer now. His face is covered in blood, his head rocking side to side.

You turn to see Rafe is pinned against the wall, a third friend now holding him back. His jerks to get free are violent and frantic. Until he sees you.

You look shattered. He stills. You close the distance.

“Let’s go,” you say, unable to recognize your own voice. “Please.”

Rafe’s friends look at each other, never having seen him settle down so quickly. They loosen their grip off of him and he hurries to you, his body curving over yours in an effort to shield you from everything that just happened.

As you rush out of the party, Rafe’s hand is pressed at the small of your back. You’re glad it is, because you’re not sure you’d be able to handle anything without him keeping you steady right now.

When you make it home, your heart is still pounding in your ears. In the moonlight, you noticed how bloody Rafe’s knuckles were as he drove, so you impulsively lead him to the closest bathroom on the first floor of your home.

He doesn’t realize what you’re doing until you turn on the faucet, checking the temperature of the water before you take his hand in yours and wash off the evidence of the fight.

Blood starts to pool down into the sink in a spiral. It wasn’t that long ago you watched Rafe cleaning himself up like this at his house the night he agreed to pretend to date you.

You turn off the tap and take a hand towel, gently dabbing his swollen knuckles. Rafe watches you, the way your face twists in concentration, his lips parted as he breathes heavily.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

You’re not thinking straight. You’re doing this because you feel like you owe him for making Ty pay for what he’s been doing to you, but it’s better not to be touching like this. Not when you know it’s a matter of time before he goes back to being a stranger.

“I guess you can do this yourself,” you say nervously. You hold out the towel for him to take with his good hand.

Ever since Rafe fell into this destructive pattern of fighting, he did this part on his own. Cleaning himself up, dealing with the ache, breathing through the residual adrenaline. Nobody ever took care of him like this. He never let them.

Really, he never let you. Because you were the only one holding out a hand while everyone else watched him drown.

“Can you?” he mumbles. You look up at him, puzzled. He always rejects your offers to help. But not now.

“You want me to?” you say. Your voice is brittle, echoing in your small bathroom.

His eyes are soft, as soft as they were when he was a boy, and he nods.

You continue to press the towel against his knuckles. You look at his hand, thinking about the way you watched it write for you earlier today, recording every detail of the torment you’ve lived through over the past few weeks.

What would’ve Ty done if he got his hands on you tonight? And how could Rafe think so low of himself, call himself a psycho, say he fucks everything up, when he could be the only reason you’re alive right now?

“You okay?” he mumbles. You look up, realizing he’s watching you and can see the anxiety etched into your expression.

“The court order didn’t work,” you respond. “It didn’t scare him. It’s a good thing you were there. Thank you.”

Rafe has never felt sure about his place in the world. Not after his loss. But the sense of purpose that taking care of you has given him, the feeling of being told it was good he was somewhere, is unlike anything else.

He flexes his throbbing hand, your words from earlier tonight rattling in his mind. The insinuation that he tolerates you. It’s wrong. It may bring back bad memories to be around you, but it’s not like he’s merely putting up with you, like he’s eager to get rid of you.

“Should I get you ice?” you offer.

Rafe doesn’t answer. He only stares at you.

“I don’t just tolerate you,” he says after a moment, his voice rough.

Your heart aches. Tears prick your eyes. You inhale slowly, your face crumpling with sorrow.

“What is it?” he says.

“I can’t… You told me not to talk about it.”

Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can tell how much it’s been hurting you, how much you’ve been yearning to have this conversation.

“Say it.”

You look down, so overwhelmed that it hurts, accepting his invitation.

“What happened to you was… I don’t have the words. I never did,” you whisper. “It changed you but I can still see parts of who you were before. You’re a good person. Maybe you don’t think so, but you never stopped being good. You asked me why I care about you. That’s why.”

Rafe is speechless. Everything in him is urging him to walk away from you again. The closer he gets to you, the more it hurts. The more it reminds him.

He ignores the impulse to leave. He lets you keep talking.

“And I understand why you shut me out. You were grieving. I’m just so… so, so sorry.” You know it’s a risk to say, but this might be your only chance to tell him. You take a breath. “She’d be so proud of you, Rafe. I know it.”

You stare up at him through your lashes. Finally, you’ve said everything you’ve been wanting to say to him for years.

To hear someone he trusts telling him his mother would be proud of the man he’s become, even when he always feels so angry and rotten and broken, gives Rafe an overpowering sense of relief.

Then, it creeps up on him, the way he can’t bear that he survived and she didn’t. She should have stayed alive. Why did he deserve it? Why didn’t she?

You watch Rafe’s face fall, brows pinching, eyes starting to gleam with tears. Seeing him cry because of what you just said is a punch in the gut.

You should give him space. It’s what he always wants. But just in case he needs any of the comfort you can offer him, you give into your impulse to touch him. At this point, it’s senseless to fight it.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you, squeezing him into a hug. When he doesn’t return your embrace, you start to retreat, but then you feel big hands drag up your waist, pulling you back in.

Rafe digs his head into the crook of your neck. His body starts to tremble with his cries. And finally, he surrenders himself to you completely.

(part seven)

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[loonylupinblack3]

Overprotective

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, suggestions of violence occurring (nothing actually happens just very brief suggestion)

Summary: Going to the club and getting drunk without your overprotective boyfriend is never a good idea

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: posting bc of max's win in china

Max had always been protective of you. Since as long as you can remember Max had acted like your protector, stopping you from doing risky things and helping you when you did them anyway and hurt yourself.

You were childhood best friends, having known each other since you were five and he was six, brought together by a love of karting. As time passed and the two of you grew up, your relationship stayed strong, but changed. Feelings grew between the two of you, though it took until you were 21 before you two did anything about it.

So you were used to Max’s slightly overprotective tendencies. It was second nature to you, as familiar to you as breathing. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t get on your nerves from time to time, like tonight for instance. You were supposed to be going out with your girlfriends to a newly opened club, but Max was having some trouble letting you go.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw you enter the living room from his seat on the couch, eyes roaming your body. You were wearing a cliche club outfit; short black dress, heels, and bangles on your arm. You could see the appreciativeness in Max’s gaze, but also concern.

“You look nice,” he said, putting his phone down.

You smiled and gave a little spin. “Thank you. It’s the dress I got on Tuesday.”

Max stayed silent for a moment, considering what to say. “You look very beautiful, Schatz, don’t get me wrong…. But is that what you’re wearing out?”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

Max hesitated again. “It’s just… it’s not very restaurant friendly.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth. You had wondered briefly why Max had been so calm about you going clubbing, but you’d brushed it off thinking he just didn’t mind it. Now you knew it was because he didn’t actually know.

“Well, Max, that’s because we’re going clubbing, not to a restaurant,” you say slowly, waiting with baited breath for his reaction.

Max blinked, surprised. “You’re what?”

“We’re going clubbing….”

Max opened his mouth then closed it, clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You thought I knew you were going clubbing? Even though I didn’t say anything about it? Or warn you about drinking too much?”

You grimaced. “I know how it sounds but I genuinely didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

Max sighed. “I know, I trust you. I just don’t know if going clubbing is a good idea.”

“But it’s already been decided. And I got dressed up.”

You pouted slightly and Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. Me and the girls have sorted everything out.”

Max started. “You mean it’s just going to be you girls alone? What about Izzy’s boyfriend Liam? Or Kate’s boyfriend? They’re not going?”

“It’s a girls night,” you reminded him. “No boys allowed.”

“Schatz….” Max warned. “I don’t feel comfortable letting you go to the club alone.”

“I’m not going to be alone-”

“You’ll be with a group of girls, all of you vulnerable and easy to prey on,” Max said sternly. “I’m not trying to be mean, but without a man around you there are certain people who will take that as an opportunity to try and hurt you.”

You sighed. “I know Max, but we’re fine. We know one of the bartenders and he’s promised to keep an eye out for us, plus Liam will be driving us home so we have a ride. Seriously, you don’t need to worry.”

Max frowned, looking at your face for any trace of doubt. “I always worry about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max continued thinking before eventually conceding, walking up to you and wrapping you into a tight hug. “Be safe,” he murmured into your ear.

You returned the embrace. “I always am.”

You pulled back, still in Max’s arms, and he tugged down your dress with a slight scowl. “Too short.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye Max.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Max said, “and text me when you’re coming home.”

You nodded your head and hugged him goodbye once more before leaving the apartment and your boyfriend. You knew he was worried, knew he’d probably be worried for the rest of the night and wait up for you, which made you feel guilty. He hadn’t prepared for you to go out clubbing, completely different from a tame meal at some restaurant, and you knew he’d be agonising over it for the rest of the night.

All you could do was answer his texts and make sure he knew you were safe. 

Except things didn’t go to plan.

You arrived at the club and everything was fine. You looked around, taking pictures of the new place, and greeted your bartender friend. You ordered some drinks and stayed by the bar for a bit, talking and catching up, before one of your wilder friends, Lily, suggested shots and then dancing. You weren’t much of a shot person, mostly because you were a lightweight, and you hadn’t planned on getting too drunk tonight but everyone was egging you on, and you didn’t want to be left out so you agreed, the four of you slamming down tequila shots like you did in college.

Then it was off to the dance floor, you, Lily, Kate and Izzy forming your own circle, dancing and laughing with one another. And you were having fun. You were feeling happy, giddy, and the only thing that would make this night better would be to have Max by your side.

You stepped out of the dance circle, moving back to the bar as you took out your phone. Noticing the multiple texts from Max left unanswered you felt a pang of guilt, but it was distant compared to the excitement you felt.

y/n: maxieeeeeeee

maxie❤️: you okay?

y/n: im the bset y/n: i mss yoi y/n: u shoud come tothe club

maxie❤️: are you drunk??

y/n: jst a litttle bit

y/n: lily siad shots

maxie❤️: you did shots? are you okay?

y/n: im grate

y/n: u should cmoe hree

y/n: i wnna party wth yoou

maxie❤️: already on my way

If you were sober, you probably would have picked up on the annoyed/concerned tone Max’s text had, but you were not sober, so you texted him a ‘yaaaaayyyyy’ and turned your phone off, waiting for what you thought was going to be your party ready boyfriend.

Instead, after you’d had another shot with your friends and continued dancing, you found yourself face to face with your concerned and worried boyfriend.

“Maxie!” you slurred, throwing your arms around your boyfriend in a hug. “Come dance with me!”

Max chucked, trying not to show his concern, but his tight hold on your waist gave him away. You pulled back and looked at him. “You are going to dance with me, right?”

Max sighed, manoeuvring you so you were off the dance floor. You were almost too drunk to notice, just clinging onto your boyfriend. “I’m here to take you home.”

“But I don't want to go home. I’m happy here,” you whined like a child.

Max muttered under his breath, “did I or did I not tell you not to drink too much.”

You frowned at his bad attitude. “I just want to dance.”

He shot you a look. “You can dance at home where you're safe, not in a club full of strangers while drunk out of your mind.”

You pouted but your boyfriend had already made his decision, half dragging half carrying you to where he parked his car. You knew better than to fight Max when he was like this, even drunk, so you sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, glaring at the road ahead of you while silently cursing Max and his stupid overprotectiveness. 

Max glanced at you as he drove. “I can tell you’re upset with me.”

“I was having fun,” you complained, “and you took me away from it.”

Max sighed. “I’m sorry Schatz, I am, but I wasn’t comfortable letting you stay in a club full of strangers drunk without me.”

You pouted again. “So why didn’t you just stay at the club with me?”

Max laughed a bit. “Because I only enjoy clubs when I’m drunk, and the whole purpose of me being there would be watching you while you’re drunk, not the other way round.”

It made sense even to your drunk brain- sort of -so you dropped the subject, letting Max off the hook. Maybe you’d argue with him in the morning when you were sober and had a better grasp on reality, but as Max parked in your driveway and helped you out of the car, all you wanted to do was curl up with your boyfriend and go to sleep, which is exactly what you did.

Max helped you undress and got as much makeup off your face as he was able to with his limited skill set and then got you into bed, laying down beside you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest where you sighed into it, content.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.

Even drunk and half asleep, you still managed to reply, “I love you too.

[traumadumpwriter]

Relapse and a Half - Six

JJ Maybank X Pogue!Reader

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

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

Reblogging is allowed!

Masterlist - Part Seven

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

Word count: 5.8k

Part 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right now?"

"When else?"

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

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

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

That was until you saw Rafe at the Boneyard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what is he? A dog?"

"You said it, not me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped and turned around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffed, his face unamused.

"Would've been worth it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But he didn't-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your business?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it filled your body with despair.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry." You choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t do that. Not yet.

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

You both chuckled lightly at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[xxsugarbonesxx]

retired!Miguel rambling

🩷 I love domestic Miguel he is my everything

i guess this is head canons??? idk i just wrote what i thought felt right lol

mostly fluff, some smut, no gender is specified for reader,

though it doesn't go into depth, pregnancy and pregnancy sex is mentioned so read at your own risk 🩷

MINORS DO NAWT INTERACT!!!!

Miguel is naturally warm, his skin is so soft and warm. He smells like firewood and citrus, trust. In the winter you’ll lounge over his body like a seal on a rock in the sun. In the summer, you drag the kiddie pool from the back and fill it up. Dipping your feet in the cold water while you two watch the kiddos and dogs play in the sprinklers. 

He makes chunky babies. If you have the ability to get pregnant, most people will assume you’re having twins ‘cause how big your tummy is once you’re with child. But you just got one chubby little babe in there, and then they’re born with a whole head of their papa’s coffee colored curls. 

Piggy backing off the previous: once he gets out of his office in the Spider Society, leaving the Spider Man role behind, he’ll gain some weight. He’ll get that daddy pooch/dad bod going down, his pubes thick and curly. A whole forest is growing under his pudgy tummy. He doesn’t think shaving is that important once he’s settled down and has his kids but is willing to shave if that’s what you prefer. 

He did do the thing where he shaved his face completely to show the baby when they were around five months old. Popping out from behind the corner to show the babe his clean shaven face with you filming it. It all ended with all three of you crying and snuggling with the baby once they started sobbing and screeching since all they’re tiny life they’ve seen their daddy with a neat, salt and peppery beard.

And if you CAN’T get pregnant, (whether you’re amab or infertile) bro will be going at it with you like an ANIMAL. He’s got fat breeder balls, full of hot, sticky cum to pump into your needy hole. Once he’s cum, he’ll give one last thrust, nice and deep into your gummy walls. Plugging his semen deep inside you, keeping it there. After care in this instance is nonexistent, since he falls asleep on top of you, still deep in your guts.

He just likes touching you, if you’re alone in the car, waiting at the red light. His palm travels up and down your thigh absentmindedly as his eyes bore into the stop light. (He wears those glasses that turn into sunglasses when he goes outside, argue with the wall) Maybe he’ll get brave enough or the light still hasn’t changed for awhile, his hand will dip under your shirt, his thumb pad playing with your soft nipple until it hardens.

As long as you’re alone, he’ll have his hands on you. Six times out of ten it leads to actual sex.

I don’t think of him as a god in bed really, he’s just a guy. He’s gonna do what he thinks you and him are gonna like (what you want will always be top priority for him I know it) Acting on lizard brain, he’s gonna do what he’s gonna do without much thought beforehand. He couldn’t edge you to save his life, if you’re whining or crying, he’s just gonna let you cum, he just can’t say no to you. :(

Foreplay is always important to him though, mainly just because I want him to rub my back, I think he’d go for the whole massage thing. Spending a good amount of time rubbing and massaging your shoulders, back and cunny/cock. His hand is so big, he’d be able to grip the space between your thighs with one hand no issue. Rubbing back and forth until you cum from his hands alone. He likes to have you cum at least once before he’s actually inside you. He’s a gentleman after all. :))) His favorite positions are full nelson, side fucking, doggy style (I will die on the hill he’s more of an ass then a titties man I don’t care!!!) and face sitting.

If you can get pregnant, pregnant sex is even more tender and loving. Usually taking brakes to pepper your body and face with little kisses. 

@cupcakeinat0r wrote a tasty yummy fic about growing old with Miguel, and I’ve had that stuck in my brain since then. Around his forties, Miguel’s really mellowed out. He’s not as a perfectionist or cold and irritable as he used to be. Having kids has helped him calm more, having a more relaxed approach to problems now. Then his quick to anger, slow to calm back down personality when he was acting as spider man. Getting married and having kids has helped him realize that he doesn’t have to be the tough guy in the room. Though his kids are just as stubborn as him now. 

I love the domestic potential of Retired!Miguel, you two having a song, that’s your song as a couple. Cooking dinner together for your little babies. Having a show you two watch an episode or two of after putting kids to bed. Sitting on the couch, your legs over his lap, drinking wine with a kids movie on as your makeshift date night. 🩷

[motherfuckinglanguages]

Truco in The Eternaut

I made a post about the dialogue about the storm in the first episode

I don't presume I'm going to explain truco here, but I think there's something beautiful here.

Truco is a card game where you bluff and attempt to make others believe and raise their stakes, just like in poker. These four men are playing in pairs here.

The man in the blue shirt is Lucas. He's playing with Favalli (el Tano, sitting opposite him), against Juan and Polsky (el Ruso), the other pair.

Finding this frame I thought it was interesting that Omar, the man in the red t-shirt, is there with them but is not part of the game, for now.

Each part of the pair is sitting across one another (if it was six people, the aim is that the companions are never sitting next to one another).

Like in poker, you may or may not have the cards to win, and the idea is to make the other believe your bluff.

In truco, there's two instances: the envido and the truco. You play in rounds, but you can rely on your companion across the table, except you don't know what cards they have. WHICH IS WHY YOU CAN SIGNAL.

There are a set of signals you can use when you have to play with strangers. The joke is signalling to your partner, without the others catching it. Of course there are partners who have their own secret code. These four men have known one another for decades. Only Omar (in the red shirt) is a stranger.

In this scene they play, Juan is rather rude to Omar who chips in the conversation asking if they are playing with Flor (flower, if you wish, is another instance of this game, played before envido, which you may choose not to include). Juan answers with a phrase about how he's an outsider and he should not speak at all.

They have the whole convo about the storm, and the power goes out, and the adventure starts.

Fast forward to the next time they are sitting at a table playing truco.

Spoilers below:

It's episode six. These men have been through A LOT.

Polsky is dead. Omar has been estranged from the group, and has been welcomed back. Lucas was missing for a while after getting drunk, and met the group again on their way to join the military in Campo de Mayo. They are now together killing time before going back after succeeding to send a radio message, and finding a lot of fucking weird stuff about this situation.

What we are about to find out, is that Lucas is not himself anymore. And he's been managing it quite sucessfully until now-

We don't see the beginning of the game. Omar is not where Polsky used to be. Omar is smiling in the middle of the game, and Lucas loses his temper. Juan congratulates his team mate over a good start.

The losing pair are upset. Lucas is about to serve the next round and Favalli asks him to show him what cards Lucas had in the lost game.

And this happens.

"You're not being a good team player," says Favalli. "I get mad, you know me"

Juan tries to remind them that they are there trying to take their minds off other problems, and this is not worth fighting over.

And Lucas goes

This means he had a good hand, he HAD to call envido. And he goes into detail. This is..... something's off here. Favalli is angry that Lucas is playing alone, Lucas is annoyed.

Omar, the only one who's there for the first time, asks are they always like this. Juan explains that he doesn't know what's happeneing, because these two have always been each other's soul mates.

The game goes on with Lucas pushing it, while Favalli looks on annoyed as fuck.

I'd say he's also seeing something that he doesn't quite get.

Omar has 28 points, and Lucas asks Favalli how much he has. Favalli hasn't got anything. Lucas goes, you made the signal.

And the argument explodes. Lucas wants Juan to say Favalli made the signal. Juan of course doesn't say a word. Favalli is upset. Omar laughs because he doesn't see that Lucas is acting very much out of character. By all means, they are still strangers.

Favalli, still talking about the game, pushes Lucas until Lucas snaps and declares he's not playing anymore.

And the moment Omar approaches him, Lucas stabbs Omar with a letter opener.

What happens after this is Lucas runs out of the apartment, Juan runs after him. He finds him on the roof, Favalli joins them, they see some more weird shit in the distance, and Lucas speaks some seemingly nonsense and jumps.

Next thing we find out is apparently the enemy has been taking over some people's minds and will. The suspicion is that Lucas was taken over when he went missing at the mall. And he's been playing along effectively until he was required to use a very intimate code. Since he was not himself anymore, he failed. And that made him snap and stab Omar, and ultimately commit suicide.

I think there's something beautiful here regarding The Eternaut's message that there's no salvation on our own, and that the only salvation is a collective one, that relies on the true bond between individuals.

GO WATCH THE ETERNAUT. It's on Netflix. GO!

[adore-laur]

DAD HARRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about. 

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception. 

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. Both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it. 

Having been together for six years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He told you that if it meant he had more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences. 

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief. 

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely. 

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss. 

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent, just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is. 

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with. 

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime. 

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter. 

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pictures of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe. 

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home. 

—— 

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, which is a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food. 

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face. 

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes. 

But that's beside the point. 

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then types out a response. Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much. 

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they are both now feeling the after-effects. 

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip. 

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge. 

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl." 

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes that working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes. 

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service were excellent." 

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here." 

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time." 

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the SoCal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years. 

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special. 

Well, he had lied. 

They were just regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked—at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate. 

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices. 

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice raspy from work. 

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you. 

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers. 

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to Mama, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight." 

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb. 

"I love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible. 

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice. 

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend. 

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

—— 

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter, just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry. 

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beach grass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you." 

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby, who is sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun." 

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together." 

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years." 

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does. 

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest, as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones, his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach...

You're getting carried away. 

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through, I adore all of your soft parts." 

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place. 

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?" 

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress." 

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks." 

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide." 

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you." 

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living." 

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles. 

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice," "you say in a scolding tone. 

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind." 

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot." 

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of." 

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion that you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates. 

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner." 

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says, infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me." 

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed." 

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glances down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations. 

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight. 

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move. 

Harry saunters through the doorway while looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs. 

He casually leans against the jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face. 

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game. 

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there—a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky. 

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?" 

"I'd like you to not be in there alone." 

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?" 

"Of course, baby. You know I always am." 

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers, just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry. 

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom. 

Oh. 

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed, see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He has already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin. 

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own. 

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down. 

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here." 

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering. 

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together. 

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall, while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch. 

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view. 

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert. 

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle. 

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk. 

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long." 

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries." 

So, he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit. 

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good." 

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices. 

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale. 

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angelic eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch." 

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?" 

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time." 

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench--both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on it. 

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity. 

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming the position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall is closest to you, with his other hand gripping his cock. 

This is going to be torture.

——

[nxuvillette]

thoughts on best friends brother!hanma? how he’d act with the sneaking around to avoid your best friend? 🥺

❥- note : hi nonnie <3 this made me go kinda crazy because i love something secretive with shuji :> !! i hope you enjoyed this tehe.

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, reader is best friends with hanma’s sister, mentions of hookups, brief car sex mention, teasing, secret relationship, use of pet names (babydoll , doll), praising, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, multiple orgasms.

hanma never imagined that he’d end up messing around with his little sister’s best friend.

you and hanma had met after your best friend took you over to her house. she mentioned him many times before, but you weren’t expecting him to be so fucking hot. hanma was six foot four with these delicious tattoos on his hands that made him seem intimidating from the naked eye. he was charming, too. he had this sultry tone in his voice that would make it difficult for you to even look at him and his honey eyes.

there would be lingering glances between you two, and there were even a few instances where you would both end up alone with each other. there was always something in the air whenever you two were in the same room. thankfully, your best friend never noticed. you would hate for her to get the wrong idea about your friendship. 

hanma eventually caved into his desires for you and messaged you one night. despite it being almost two in the morning, you decided to go and see him. you both ended up hooking up in the backseat of his car. it was some of the best sex you had ever had. it was like hanma knew your body already. he touched, fucked, licked, all of the right places that made you melt in his fingers. it was clear that this wouldn’t be a one time thing, judging by hanma’s behavior towards you after your first initial hookup.

it was difficult to hide your secret from your best friend. that was her older brother. it would mean lots of betrayal if she were to discover what was going on. 

but, you just couldn’t stop.

whenever she was working, hanma would have you come over and you would both fuck for hours. he would put you in all kinds of positions and leave your cunt stuffed with his cum. it was just the way he liked it. 

sometimes, he’d play a dangerous game and touch you whenever she was in the room. he’d brush his fingertips along your waist or get a little too close to your ass whenever he was walking by. he’d just smirk and give you that look that said it all. he loved to see how much he could work you up until you were a needy slut for him in bed the next time you met up.

it was risky, but that’s why he loved it so damn much. 

it was later in the night. your best friend had gone to some frat party that was about an hour away, and you were lying in hanma’s sheets with your legs on his shoulders. his cock was drilling into your pussy, creating sloppy noises with every rut of his hips. your cunt was always crying for him. he loved to see how wet it could get. 

“like that, babydoll? fuck.. look at you.. taking me so fucking well..” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip, revealing some of your teeth. 

you whined when hanma’s cock reached your g-spot. the tip was relentlessly pressing against that button, making your vision become hazy. you were so lost in bliss. any stress you had could be taken away by him. “yes, h-hanma! i love it so much!” you cried, your eyes becoming glassy from the tears that formed at your lash line.

he changed his angle so he was now reaching further into your hole. hanma caught your lips and began to kiss you slowly. god, his kisses were just too fucking good. your fingernails then threaded through the strands of his dual colored hair, bringing him closer to you. you were already on your third orgasm, and your body was reaching its limit. hanma didn’t show any signs of halting, though. he needed you so badly. he hated that he couldn’t see you as often as he wanted.

the kiss was broken between you as hanma pressed his forehead against yours. his golden eyes that were like the sun stared into your own. “can’t get enough of you, doll.” he mumbled against your puffy lips. “i’m gonna fuck you till you’re pregnant.. with my baby..” 

the thought alone made your pussy squeeze his cock, which hanma gladly took note of. you were a bit surprised to hear such a proposal, but nonetheless did it turn you on. “yes.. please!” you put your arms around his neck, leaving sloppy kisses on his lips.

he smirked, then began fucking you at a brutal pace. his balls smacked against your clit from how quick his thrusts were. hanma could only think about fucking his cum into you. he wouldn’t care if his sister was pissed. he wanted you.

sin wrapped around your throat. hanma clenched his teeth as he finally released into you. thick ropes of cum filled your womb. he practically emptied his balls inside of you, and he fucking loved it. he loved how great it felt. no other guy would ever dare to do such a thing to you, so he felt proud of himself for doing so. you deserved it all from him. 

he leaned forward to kiss you passionately. you felt so full. there was a mess, but neither of you cared at all. “what do you say.. round four?” he chuckled.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[emilynyaesmp]

Ok so heres my idea for the “does everyone remember the life series or is it just the winners?” Debate/theory

Everyone remembers small bits of the seasons but only the winners and the canary remembers the seasons in their entirety (unless they didn’t die first in a season).

Why does the canary remember it? Well, the watchers feed off of negativity, right? So they’d want the canary to remember that they’ve died first again and again and again, over and over and over again and that this time is no different. So Jimmy remembers past seasons, all except Secret Life because Lizzie was out first.

Speaking of Lizzie, let’s explain her. In her newest episode she mentions “when I invite people to things, they don’t show up”, she mentions Secret Life, she actually talks about her failed birthday party but since neither Scar nor Jimmy even went to it (or heard of it, i think??? Idk I don’t watch their POV’s) they don’t really react, Jimmy, because he wasn’t the canary that season and he CERTAINLY wasn’t a winner and because his seabling’s birthday party was so insignificant to his POV, he doesn’t remember it, Scar, although he remembers SL since he’s a winner now, didn’t even hear of it (if he had I think he’d have gone but idk, correct me if I’m wrong) so he doesn’t react. As for Last Life, Lizzie remembers just as much as a loser would, since she’s not a winner or a canary in Last Life.

Basically, if ur a loser but not the canary, you only remember small glimpses of the past life games. like Lizzie for instance would only remember her teammates in LL, what happened when she was the boogie, the Big-b betrayal, Cleo leaving, basically any big event in her POV, but nothing more. Which is why she says “I feel safe with you guys” around Cleo, because she doesn’t properly remember what Cleo did, she remembers the fire, just vaguely. (Though I think she’d say that anyway, but that might just be my shadowrot shipping mind talking).

This even explains the Flower Husband stuff. Scott’s a winner, the first season, the last one before he won, was 3rd life, the season Jimmy was his husband. He’s attached to that (Jimmy is too guys TRUST 🙏🙏), he knows Jimmy remembers and he wants him to at least acknowledge that they loved eachother, that they were married, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because it hurts to much to remember, because he’s worried of dying first again, because if he dies first, he’d leave Scott alone again and he doesn’t want that. (Flower husbands is canon guys!! Please!! I’m desperate!!)

Jimmy acts a bit careless this season, dying to a creeper even though like five seconds before he was laughing about how close he was to dying, he didn’t take it seriously, not until then I don’t think. For the rest of that session Jimmy is terrified that he’ll die, he’s paranoid and worries any time anything remotely dangerous comes near him. Before that session, before episode 3, i think Jimmy was completely convinced that the canary curse was gone, he believed it with his whole heart, because, well, last season he came third! Third! That’s the best he’s ever done! And what’s this new season? Wild life, where anything can happen, and they all have six lives, so it’s not like Last Life were he was given 2 lives, this time he has a chance!

Uh, yeah that’s basically my theory/idea. Also, for Cleo, since RL wasn’t a season and just one episode she only remembers the entirety of RL but the other seasons is just what a loser would remember.

[twoheadedson]

On Peter and grief, prompted by the impacts of Dino, Peter’s mother, and Nino’s deaths being largely overlooked on Peter’s character.

These are probably the most obvious and circular analyses anyone has ever made, but I like to indulge myself. Forgive me if the quotes are a bit off, I'm going from memory.

“I think Peter’s mind has snapped, he’s talking to his father as if Nino were still alive”

Peter is unable to accept his rape and his families death at the same time, so, incapable of coping with both traumas, his psyche tricks him into believing his family is alive. Showing that only when he can process his familial grief can he process his rape, this is why he hallucinates his father. Whilst he briefly seems to have somewhat processed both (early s5) he never fully processes either, or his progress at least reverts after he is attacked by the aryans. Leading to the evil eye stuff, which (whilst poorly written) serves as a metaphor for grief/Peter’s inability to accept his reality. He looks to a symbol of protection, the evil eye, as he has not been protected in Oz.

“I’m gonna put a curse on everyone you love, and when you can’t stand the grief no more, I’m gonna put it on you”

As much as I dislike how the ‘evil-eye arc’ was written, it’s integral to Peter’s character that he wanted to draw out Ryan’s suffering, he wanted him to grieve. Grief is intrinsic to Peter’s character and orchestrates everything he does.

“With you and Father Meehan’s help” to “that fat fuck [Meehan] was dead within hours”

This shift happens within the span of about an episode, both are genuine, and again show his inability to process death/rape at the same time. Meehan is referred to (in the first quote) as having helped off-camera with Peter’s therapy in some way, but has to die as revenge for Peter’s grief. This shows how his mind completely separates the traumas to the extent that each ‘part’ of him (trying to rebuild himself versus grieving son) has a separate reaction to the same person.

A similar pattern is shown when Peter initially avoids conflict with the aryans (in the gym) but goes after the aryans alone an episode later. This because in the second instance, his want to avenge Pancamo stems from the same want to avenge his father, grief again is intertwined with his rash actions. Whilst he is logical with the fight in the gym, when grief/revenge becomes involved, his thinking becomes illogical.

Although the evil-eye usage appears to be his most planned out idea, it’s the last resort of a shattered mind (with shattered referring to the split in and large contradictions of his behaviour). Furthermore, I think the religious undertones in Peter’s character culminate in s6 (obviously… he culminates in s6), his ties to both Catholicism and Stregheria also represent a split. Obviously Catholicism and Stregheria can and do co-exist, but Peter’s warped version of Stregheria (fueled by grief) causes him to lose sight of some Christian values (such as not claiming one’s cursed a priest…) and this again can be seen through the divided way he talks about Meehan. We see this continued ‘split’ between rational and irrational thinking boil into an increasingly frustrated Peter, whose mind won’t allow him to process his grief or rape. He is stuck, and sees Stregheria as a potential escape from this.

“That was it. That was the only time I saw my pop cry”

There is also an added layer of him trying to prove a bruised masculinity, with the only emotion he - as a man - can permit being anger, so his acts of revenge are unthought-through and reactive. If he thinks for too long he will be paralysed by grief, but if he acts it will be poorly executed. Hence he is stuck in a limbo of sorts.

This limbo can also be seen when Peter is described as a revengeful spirit: “The wronged (...) who avenge themselves”. He is described as dead before he actually is, again showing his inability to progress past being a grieving son.

Saw a comment which said “Peter in season six is so tragic (...) he starts healing (...) sadly his trauma gets set off by other inmates, though, and he follows his family's conditioning to go down the unwise road of vendetta.” I think that pretty much sums this up.

+ a side tangent in response to Peter being called stupid: he is not stupid, nothing in his manner of speech characterises him as stupid. His metaphor of Ryan as a “rat [who] wants to desert a sinking ship” is not something a stupid person would say, albeit it’s not the most complex metaphor, he reads through Ryan’s bullshit immediately. What he is is brash & reactive. Which is due to both grief (as above) and being thrust into a too-senior position.

Tom Fontana reading all this: ok man it’s not that deep

[wheredostarsgowhenyoudie]

Once upon a time when employees are being interviewed at SI:

.

.

Interviewer: So what is it like working for Iron Man?

Employee A: Oh! Easy question. I like that. It is an honor, you know. It's what I thought when I joined, and it still is now. But also, I did not expect that SI is a place where we are allowed to prioritize things like family. Like last time, I left my phone on silent at my desk cause I had to go to a meeting. My kid at home was having an emergency and I couldn't be reached. But apparently, Friday, Mr. Stark's AI, keeps track of phone vibrations so she made the report and someone came to notify me. I didn't even know there was a protocol for that. Turns out my daughter was having her period for the first time! And I'm a single father so I had no idea what to do and I was panicking. Next thing I know, an SI nurse came and apparently she was sent by Mr. Stark to walk me through how to help. Apparently, Fri also caught my panic rumblings and triggered 'YOU ARE NOT ALONE PROTOCOL' or something. (*laughing*) The next week, we received an official email introducing a new department called Human Care. They encourage everyone to reach out if we ever find ourselves out of our depths on non company emergency matters.

.

.

Interviewer: How long have you been working here?

Employee B: Eight years, two months, six days and counting.

Interviewer: What's the weirdest thing you've witnessed here?

Employee B: (blanks out)

Employee B (struggling to think): Ahm. Really? Just one? Er- That's a tough one. Maybe that one time they set up a room for everyone to try lifting Thor's hammer? Or wait, no, maybe that time there when flying roombas were everywhere following Mr. Stark and reminding him to eat? Or when a villain came via the vents but before he could come down, Hawkeye accidentally hit him with pepper spray? I don't know, man. Weird things happen a lot. We're used to it by now.

.

.

Interviewer: Do you feel safe working here?

Employee C: Yeah. The avengers live here. But to tell you the truth, I think Happy Hogan and his black tux team of agents scare all the potential bad guys away. I heard rumors that Black Widow personally trains them. Like, I know two of them. Jake, for instance. He's like a giant, and he is intimidating but I saw him crying one time and when I asked him why, he just said Mr. Hogan.

.

.

Interviewer: Which avenger have you met?

Employee D: Oh, I've met two of them. Captain America and Thor. It was odd but one time, they were in the cafeteria and carrying trays of food and I do not mean just one each. Nope. Like, a ton! Like they're feeding an army. But it makes sense. Can you imagine the workout? With bodies like theirs? And the battles they go to? Man, if I have to save the world from aliens, I'll probably need the same nutrition.

.

.

Interviewer: Which avenger is the kindest?

Employee E: Ahm...We all know they're all badass. But kindest, I think Spider-Man. Last Thursday, it was raining, and then Spidey suddenly came all wet and holding a box and I'm gonna quote him now. He said, "Friday, can you please ask Mr. Sam Wilson Falcon sir to come down? The shelter is close and I have a box of puppies and I really, really want to bring them up but Mr. Stark is gonna ban me from the lab again."

Interviewer: Aww. So what happened next? What did they do with the puppies?

Employee E (grinning): Falcon came down, alright. But he came with Iron Man who zoomed past everyone to drag Spidey to the penthouse. I am not sure what I heard but he was muttering about oven toasters and frozen spiderlings? In the end, aome employees volunteered to take care of them. But I believe two of them are at the avengers' floor. We saw Mr. Stark ranting about puppy paw paint marks on his armani.

Interviewer (gasps): Oh my. Was he mad?

Employee E (ends up laughing): Mad? Try grunting fondly? Peter really likes those puppies. Mr. Stark tried to act like he hates them but really, he adores everything about the kid, puppies included. He even had custom made collars with avengers logo made for them.

.

.

Interviewer: I'm sorry? The Winter Soldier was asking directions to where?

Employee F: The Lego Store.

.

.

Interviewer: How would you describe the workload? Do you still get work life balance?

Employee G: I guess it depends. I work in R&D and we're all nerds there. So like, we're typically busy but it's play for us. Some days, we're really cramped with work, mostly when deadlines are nearing or sometimes, we're just really in the zone, we do not want to stop. Peter activated 'NIGHT NIGHT PROTOCOL' for that. Had Fri lock us out of the lab and we had no choice but to go home or nap at the sleep wing. And would you believe? After the product launch, we got emails on mandatory vacation leaves with bonus to spend! Like, who does that? So yeah, it's cool working here.

.

.

And then, there was this:

Interviewer: How does it feel to be the heir of a multibillion dollar top green tech company?

Peter (stares quizzically, dumb-founded): Uhhh-....Look, sorry, I think I'm in the wrong room. I'm not- Maybe you got the wrong questionnaire? I'm just an intern-

Interviewer: Oh. Wait. Is it top secret then? Sorry, I was told of your identity as Mr. Stark's kid so I thought I could ask. But if you're not comfortable-

Peter: WHAT!?? Who said that? They're probably just joking.

Interviewer (chuckles nervously): Ms. Potts did actually.

Peter (freezes): Oh.

Suddenly the door opens and Tony walks in.

Tony: Hey kid, and Ms. Carrenland. How's the interview going? Thought I'd drop by for moral support, you know.

Peter (looks torn, but excuses himself to go to Tony): Uhm, Mr. Stark, can I talk to you for a second? Look, sir, ahm, I think there's been a misunderstanding. The interviewer asks me how it feels to be your heir. Like that's real. I don't-

Tony (has his brows rising to his hairline): Kid. Peter. Breathe.

Peter (groans and sighs embarrassingly): I just didn't want to lie! They mistook me for someone else. It was a misunderstanding!

Tony (smirking): It's really not.

Peter: What?

Tony: Kiddo, I was the one who gave Pep the approval to sign the questions. And really, you've been managing the R&D department and shadowing Pep at management for a year now. You never wondered why I make you do that?

Peter: Oh.

Tony: Yup. Genius child here.

Peter: I just wanted to help. You seem stressed out with the Avengers' work and dealing with the government. I thought I could lend a hand. I didn't- I don't expect you to- I'm not worth that, Mr. Stark.

Tony (scoffs): I beg to differ. Look, I'll be honest with you. Even if you aren't interested in the company, it's still gonna be yours. Look around you, kid. Do you think I let just anyone go around with a free pass at my tower? You have a room at my home. This place is your home, as where as everywhere else that I own. Plus, it's another motivation for you to take care of yourself when you go out as Spidey. Imagine all our employees. They need you, kiddo.

Peter (mumbling softly): I'm just Peter Parker.

Tony (smiles and pats his shoulder): And that is why I chose you.

[heqvenlymoons]

I Gave You Immortality, I Can Take It Back Anytime

Daminette One Shot | Soulmate AU | AO3

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always known she was immortal. Maybe not always. 

But there had been multiple instances in her life that proved she was. 

Like when she was four, she and Nino had been playing catch when the ball he threw at her bounced and rolled onto the road. Seeing no cars in sight, Marinette had rushed onto the street to grab the ball when a car seemed to have spawned out of nowhere and sped towards her. 

She had frozen in fear, not able to move when the car miraculously broke down just as it was about to hit her. Her parents hadn’t let her out of their sight for a while after that incident. 

That night, she remembered seeing a boy about the same age as her with green eyes, tanned skin and a permanent scowl on his face as he crossed his arms and looked at her with an air full of superiority as he snapped, “Be more careful.” 

She had thought the dream was weird and never saw the boy again until when she was six. She somehow contracted pneumonia and was sent to the ER for a life-threatening emergency. 

She slept at the hospital that night, afraid and alone, her parents weren’t allowed in the room as the sickness was contagious. 

She saw the green-eyed boy again, this time looking older than he was when she last saw him. His scowl was the same, looking down at her with disapproval as if she had sought out the sickness on her own and gotten sick on purpose. 

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” She snapped, unhappy with his disapproving expression. 

He looked surprised but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared, the scowling expression slipping back like it never left in the first place as he spat, “It is your fault! If you never went near that sick person in the first place, you would not have contracted the disease.” 

Marinette stomped her foot, unwilling to let the boy talk to him like that. “It’s not my fault I’m sick! Everything hurts! I’m scared and alone, I don’t need to add you yelling at me to the mix.”

By the end of her rant, she was struggling to contain her tears, the frustration of everything she had been holding back while she had been awake came tumbling out.

The boy’s face softened slightly and he shifted, looking uncomfortable at the girl looking so close to tears. He gave a hesitant gentle pat to her head as he said, “Get better soon.” 

The following morning when she woke up, her pneumonia had been cured. 

Since that night, the mysterious boy appeared more often on days when she got hurt or injured, and with her clumsy nature, she saw the boy every few days.  

“I just realized I don’t know your name,” Marinette asked one day as they hung out in the dreamscape. 

They were both doing their own thing, with the boy focused on his sketchbook and Marinette working on some colouring book. 

He grunted, not happy with the interruption. “That is not important.” 

She closed her colouring book and got up to snatch the sketchbook from his hands. 

“Hey!” he glared at her, hoping to intimidate her but she was stubborn, not giving in. 

“It’s important to me. I want to know who my friend is,” she said, referring to his earlier statement. 

“We are not friends,” he grumbled, looking away. 

She stuck out her tongue. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me, you always appear when I sleep.” 

The boy stubbornly avoided her gaze, focusing on some shelves behind her instead. 

“Just tell me your name. Please?” She whined, putting on her best puppy doll eyes, his scowling expression faltering as he all but melted at the adorable expression she was making. 

He huffed, trying to act like he was unaffected by the look but Marinette knew better. She had come to figure out his weakness as her puppy doll eyes and she used it to her full advantage. 

“Damian. Damian Al Ghul,” he said, glaring at her. 

Her smile was bright, his glaring eyes softening immediately and she was happy she had finally got him to tell her his name! He was going to be her best friend, it would be the last thing she did even if he continued to be stubborn. 

At 13 years old, she was given the ladybug earrings and became Ladybug, the heroine of Paris. 

That came with a price. She was injured more often, her meetings with Damian in the dreamscape every few days turned to every day. 

He had somehow known her identity as Ladybug as soon as she saw her the night after the first Akuma and he had thrown a fit about it. 

At 16, the akumas had escalated. Before, when the Akumas avoided killing and only stuck to injuries now weren’t afraid of taking more ruthless measures.

Multiple times when Marinette thought she was about to die, something miraculous happens to change it like the universe was being warped to make sure she doesn’t die and in a way, avenges her while it was at it. 

About to get lava sprayed and incinerated from an Akuma? The lava gun runs out of lava fuel, allowing her and Chat Noir to catch him off guard to break the akumatized object.

A car getting thrown at her by an Akuma and about to crush her? It missed, somehow ricocheting off a building and hitting the Akuma square in the face. 

That one battle where Hawkmoth himself shows up and has her cornered, about to grab her earrings? He gets attacked by his own Akuma. 

An Akuma that absorbs the powers of miraculous holders and cataclysms her? Oh would you look at that, the Akuma gets sidetracked at the last second— courtesy of Chat Noir— and the wall behind her disintegrates to dust instead of her. 

She could go on. It was absurd and a bit (utterly) ridiculous if she was being honest but at least her life never really seems to be in any real danger. 

She had thought maybe it had something to do with her donning the ladybug miraculous and it was giving her insane luck, she even consulted her kwami about it. 

Tikki had debunked that theory, looking confused as she did. “I’m not sure what’s happening to you, Marinette, but the ladybug miraculous isn’t the reason. The ladybug miraculous can give you a little luck at times but there must be balance, which means you would also have bad luck days. All those circumstances weren’t the outcome of lady luck and not to mention, you never seem to have any bad luck days. Even when you do, the event always somehow gets altered at the last second.”

Marinette had brought up her theories to Damian but he always looked uninterested and avoided the subject so she stopped bringing them up in the dreamscape. 

She had a hunch on why this was happening but she denied it and pushed the possibility out of her mind. Damian never said anything about it, so she wouldn’t either. She was good at denying things, it was how she never figured out Chat Noir’s identity. 

Now at the age of 17, Marinette was still contemplating if she was somehow immortal when Scarecrow broke in while her class was given a tour of Wayne Enterprises.

“So this is the famed Akuma Class, you people are the perfect test subjects for my new and evolved fear toxin! I wonder what fears you all have… Oh well, I’m about to find out.” Scarecrow announced, looking around in excitement like a kid in a toyshop for the first time. He pointed to Lila. “You! You look the most scared… Wonder what you’re afraid of, hmm?”

He looked to his henchmen. “Bring her here!” 

Marinette rubbed her temples. She might not be Lila’s biggest fan— an understatement— but her hero complex won’t let her stand by and do nothing. 

Even when it was completely Lila’s fault that Scarecrow had taken an interest in them— you can’t go around saying how you knew the Waynes and not expect any kidnapping attempts for ransom. 

No matter, Marinette can take Scarecrow’s attention off Lila and make him focus on her instead. Marinette knew death avoided her like the plague at this point and if she wasn’t immortal, then maybe she was just insanely lucky. 

“Let her go,” She said in a tired voice, not putting much energy into shouting but her voice rang clear in the quiet room as everyone looked fearful. 

Scarecrow looked delighted by the prospect of someone volunteering. “Oh, a volunteer I see?”

He waved his henchmen off and they dropped Lila, causing her to tumble to the ground with a gasp, the henchmen moving to grab Marinette instead. 

Marinette let herself get manhandled towards Scarecrow as he grabbed his syringe, the pointy tip of the needle gleaming in the light. 

The fashionista in her wanted to protest at the sack-like mask he was wearing and she bit her lip to keep from saying anything to anger him. It’s not like she’s seen worse, Hawkmoth has a worse fashion sense if she was being honest. 

Of course, her mouth didn’t stay shut for long and spat the words out without her permission, the need to critique his fashion overpowering her self-preservation. 

“Nice mask,” She quipped, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm off her tone even when her very life was on the line. “Are you participating in the next potato sack race or are you trying to start a new fashion trend with that?”

Scarecrow’s eyes flashed with anger at her remark and he moved forward, pushing his henchmen out of the way, about to stab the syringe into her bloodstream when she acted on her instincts as Ladybug and sent a roundhouse kick to his face, catching the mad scientist off-guard as he lost his grip on the syringe and fell backwards. 

The syringe seemed to have flown in the air in slow motion, the tip of the needle stabbing into the arm of the fallen villain and injecting the fear toxin into his bloodstream, making him get a taste of his own medicine. 

Marinette allowed her lips to twitch upwards at the sight, her guardian angel had struck once again. Her slight smile faded away at the thought, not wanting to come to terms with the facts. 

She turned to see that Batman, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing had arrived, looking dumbfounded at the scene. 

Red Robin stepped forward, looking cautiously at the screaming Scarecrow before addressing her. “Miss? How did this happen?”

Marinette hummed, looking nonchalant. “You can say he got a taste of his own medicine… literally.” 

The Batboys burst out laughing at her pun while Batman looked unimpressed. 

“What you’re saying is, Scarecrow was hit by his own syringe?” Batman asked, looking suspicious. 

She shrugged, looking towards her class to see they were being ushered out by Ms. Bustier. 

“I did a roundhouse kick to his face,” She admitted, making eye contact with Ms. Bustier who waited for her at the exit. “It caught him off guard and the syringe was knocked out of his hand before the pointy tip landed on his arm.” 

The suspicion in his eyes didn’t clear as he responded, “You must have been extremely lucky. This happened too conveniently, don’t you think?”

Batman was prodding for something but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the interrogation or to quell his suspicions. “Mr. Batman, I was just in a traumatic situation and now have PTSD. If you don’t mind, I would like to join my class and spend the rest of the day at the hotel to get my mind off of the traumatic experience,” 

She could see Red Hood trying not to laugh at her reply as his shoulders shook and she turned away without waiting for how the Dark Knight would respond. 

She walked away to join the rest of her class as she heard Batman tell Red Robin to get the cure for Scarecrow.

──────────

As she went to sleep that night, she pushed the day’s events from her mind, and the fading laugh of Scarecrow dissolved into the quiet stillness of the dreamscape. 

Damian was already in the dreamscape like usual and was glaring at her with his arms crossed and looking annoyed. 

Marinette sent him her brightest smile, hoping to soften his annoyed look at her recklessness. 

It worked, his eyes softening, although he didn’t uncross his arms as he pinned her with the look he had on every time she did something that injured or almost killed her.

“I know you did that on purpose. What theory did you think you were trying to prove?” Damian asked, unhappy with her lack of self-preservation. 

Her eyes were wide, looking the epitome of innocence. “Did what?” 

He scowled, the soft look in his green eyes gone as it glittered with annoyance. “Tt. Don’t you take that tone with me. You know exactly what you did, don’t make me say it. It is getting increasingly harder for me to save you every time.”

To his horror, tears were glistening in her eyes and he tried to backtrack but the damage was done. 

“You died, didn’t you? Before we met? You were so young,” Marinette whispered, the tears falling as he didn’t respond. His silence was enough to confirm she had been right all this time. 

She looked away, unable to look at him as she came to terms with the facts she had been deadset on denying since young. 

Damian reached out a hand and looking hesitant, he moved forward to hug her from behind, his arms going around her waist and causing her to freeze at how he was initiating physical contact.

“Angel, I was never sure how to break the news to you… but it seems like you’ve always accepted the fact, albeit subconsciously. I did not mean to keep that fact away from you.” he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. 

He was right, even if she was actively denying the fact that he was dead, her subconscious had long already accepted. 

Since Damian had died before they met, their soul bond activated upon his death, the universe gifting them with the dreamscape and making it so that they would never be apart, even in death.   

There was a catch— she could only meet Damian in the dreamscape if she was injured or came close to death and he warped the universe to ensure she would avoid death. 

It was why she had always been clumsy, her heart knew he would be waiting for her in the dreamscape and wouldn’t be able to see her unless she was hurt in some way even if her mind hadn’t accepted it. 

Marinette voiced her thoughts out loud and he tugged her to face him, his green eyes meeting her blue ones with an intensity that made her breath hitch. 

“I don’t wish to see you hurt, Angel. I do everything I can to make sure you don’t die by saving your life at every turn. You need to stop with your recklessness,” he said, trying to look stern, although he didn’t look very convinced he was going to get through to her. 

She was stubborn and he knew it. 

He reached out to wipe her tears away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Thank you, Damian, for everything,” she whispered, the weight of her unspoken emotions palpable in the air between them.

With a trembling smile, she tried to lighten up the mood even as her heart felt heavy. “You know I won’t. How else will I see you every night to make sure you aren’t feeling lonely without my company? Besides, I know you will always watch over me.” 

Marinette knew her response held some truth to it, she didn’t like the thought of Damian feeling lonely in the dreamscape. She wouldn’t stop being clumsy, if only so she could see him every night in the dreamscape. 

He softened at her words, though he still didn’t look happy. “I gave you immortality, I can take it back anytime.”

She went quiet at that, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you?”

His brows furrowed, a rare show of his confusion. “What?”

She elaborated. “Why don’t you? Take away my immortality that is.” 

His brows deepened, not understanding why she was asking him such a thing. “You deserve to be happy.” 

Marinette shook her head, stepping closer to him. “What if my happiness is with you? Why do you save me every time when you could’ve let me die to be with you?”

Damian’s eyes held sadness but no signs of regret at his repeated decision to save her. “You deserve to live the life I could not. You have dreams to fulfill and many things to discover in life. It is not your time yet.”

At her shocked silence, he continued. “You don’t know how hard it is to let you go every time. I am afraid that one of these days I will no longer be able to find it in me to let you go and bind your life to mine in the afterlife forever.” 

The tears she had managed to keep away started to come back at his heartfelt confession. 

“Please, I beg of you, don’t try to die anymore. Live your life, the life that I did not have the chance to live. If not for yourself, then do it for me,” he looked desperate, his stoic mask cracking, allowing her to see every emotion he was feeling. 

Her lips quivered, the tears flowing from her eyes and dropping to the white smokey ground, the droplets absorbing into the void like it was never there. “Will I ever see you again?”

Damian allowed himself to smile if only for her sake, the muscles feeling strange at the unfamiliar expression. He could see her eyes dropping to his soft smile and how her eyes were tracing his features, committing it to memory. 

“When the time is right. I will always be here when you need me, mon ange. This is not goodbye,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Marinette closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in his presence before it was time for her to wake up. 

She would live her life and fulfill her dreams. 

For him. 

[idontplaytrack]

✧ Bad Rep

Olivia Benson x teen daughter reader au(sans Noah)

Warnings: typical svu episode-type of content, mentions of violence, homophobia.

In which, the squad meets reader, Captain Benson’s daughter under less than ideal circumstances.

“Benson.” With her phone held between her shoulder and ear, Olivia was looking through a case file and looking up information on her laptop. However, what she heard on the other end of the phone caused her to stop all her work.

“I’m on my way. Thank you for calling me.”

Fin was standing by her door, about to knock. “Everything okay, Liv?”

“Uh, no. I just got off the phone with y/n’s school. She got into a fight with someone.”

“Your daughter. Who’s never acted out before.” Fin stated.

“I know that, Fin.” Olivia hurriedly grabbed her coat, “It’s more than that. The school said it was because a student called her names and…hit her.”

“You want me to come with?”

“We might actually have a case.”

“We?” He asked.

“We’ll talk as we move.” Olivia sighs, rushing out of her office and hastily telling Rollins to hold down the fort for a couple hours.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you guys more when I get back.”

Fin held the elevator door open for her. She gets in, shoving her phone into her coat pocket.

Fin offers to drive and Olivia let him, knowing that she was upset so he wouldn’t let her drive anyway. “Okay, you wanna fill me in?”

“I’m betting that it’s a…hate crime.”

Took Fin a few seconds, but he got it. “Okay. y/n’s gay?”

“She came out to me a few months ago. Though she didn’t need to- I always kinda knew and I just didn’t really care. As long as she was happy, and healthy. Safe…which she isn’t, now.”

“I won’t say anything until she brings it up while we take her statement. Though, officially…”

“All clear on that, Fin. We both know how that works.” Liv exhales, leaning her head back in her seat.

————

“The guy punched me first.” You said, holding your cheek in your hand.

“I’ll need names, y/n.” Fin says.

“Names? This isn’t a police matter.”

“Ms. Allen.” Liv put her hands together as she spoke, “My daughter has never been violent with anyone. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten injured on school grounds.”

“So you’re pushing the blame on my other students?” Ms. Allen retorted.

“No one’s blindly blaming anyone. y/n who punched you?” Olivia asked.

“Jamie Morrison.” You revealed. “Today, and last month. Six weeks ago, he vandalised my locker and called me a ‘motherfucking sinner’.”

Fin was appalled, Olivia was simply at a loss for words. She had no clue what exactly went down during the previous instances, but knew that you’d gotten hurt at school.

“Did he say why?”

“What do you mean?” You bit back a scoff, “He said to leave his sister alone. All I did was go on a lunch date with his older sister Vanessa one Saturday- which she asked me out for.”

“Vanessa? The senior in your AP History class?”

“Yes, Ms. Allen. That’s her.”

“Alright.” Ms Allen nodded, “You may go, but if he does try to attack you again, report it to a teacher immediately.”

“No, no, Ms. Allen- we need to talk to the boy now.” Fin stopped her, “His sister as well.”

“Very well, then.” She sighs, calling for a staff member to get Jamie and Vanessa to the office.

“y/n, come on. I’m signing you out early.” Olivia took you by the hand to the front desk while Fin stayed behind to talk to Jamie and Vanessa Morrison. Your Mom tells you she was taking you to the doctor but you refused. But of course, she insisted and you knew she’d win. After getting checked out by a doctor and your mother learning that nothing was broken, she finally quiets down and let you drift off.

————

“Mom, please. You can go back to work, I’ll be fine.” You dropped your backpack down by the TV console after kicking your shoes off.

“I’m going to, just- wanted make sure you were settled.”

“I think I am, so please just-”

Liv got the hint, throwing her hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, I’m gonna head back to the precinct. If you want anything to eat, either call for delivery or if you want to cook - please be careful.”

“I’m alright, just have a swollen eye and cheek. I’m not dying.” You shooed her away.

She nodded, “Okay. Alright, I’m leaving. Love you, sweet girl. Get some rest.” You forced a smile and she turned to leave. The front door shut with a significant thud sound and you waited several seconds until she was out of earshot before you let the waterworks begin and curled up on the couch.

“Captain, you’re back.” Holiday noticed. Rollins looked up from the paperwork pile on her desk, “Liv. Where’s Fin?”

“Talking to a couple students at y/n’s school. She got punched earlier today and we just found out there’d been other incidents. Same student involved.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Holiday replied.

“What happened? It’s our case?” Amanda questioned.

“Yeah, and officially, I’ve got to recuse myself so let’s just wait for Fin to get back so he can fill you guys in properly because I didn’t talk to the kids- he did.”

An hour later, Fin returns to the precinct. And he immediately gave the whole squad- Liv included, everything. “y/n’s the tip of the iceberg. Vanessa’s a good kid, really likes y/n. But Jamie, the younger brother who’s in y/n homeroom, he’s had a history of violence. He’d been expelled from his old public high school in freshman year, then again the next year. Last year, he got enrolled at Willow Academy.”

“What’s his sister gotta do with this?”

“He’s been after y/n after he found out Vanessa went out on a date with her.”

“And what’s wrong with that? His sister should be able to do whatever she wants. How’s that his business.”

“Probably can’t accept his sister’s gay and likes girls. A homophobe, really.”

“Did you talk to any other students, Fin?” Liv glances at him.

“Talked to his classmates, his basketball team. All of them only had praises for him, girls said they found him cute.” Fin informed the squad, “We need to talk to his girlfriend— Nadine Skinner.”

“She wasn’t in school?”

“Don’t know. She doesn’t go to Willow Acad.” Fin shrugged, “Kid coughed up her address. Lives in midtown.”

“He’s in the system.” Holiday spoke up, “Shoplifting, assault and battery.”

“Okay, Rollins. You’re going to talk to Nadine, find out how he’s like. Then we’ll see where to go with this. “From the looks of it, its a misdemeanour.”

————

“No way he’d do that.” Nadine shook her head.

“Well, see…but he did. Multiple times over the course of the last five years. He’s violent and angry.” Rollins said.

“I’m sorry that happened to y/n but he’s never done anything to hurt me.”

Rollins was about to say something but someone came home. “Jamie.” Nadine’s eyes widened. “Hey.” He greeted, “Who’s this, babe?”

“Detective from SVU.” Nadine told him, “I can’t believe you would do something like that to that girl, Jamie.”

“It’s not worth it.”

“So you really did that?” Nadine’s mouth was agape.

“Does that matter?”

“Yeah, actually.” Nadine scoffs. “You need to go. I don’t want to be with someone like that- hurting someone innocent and claiming to be protecting your sister? Get things clear- your sister’s life isn’t your business. Who she likes doesn’t concern you as much as it does her.”

His jaw clenched as he left without saying a word.

“Do you have anymore questions, detective?”

“No, thank you for your time. If he ever comes back to bother you, call me.” Rollins handed Nadine a name card before leaving.

When Olivia returned home that evening, the house was quiet. You were asleep in your room and there was box containing half a pizza on the dining table. She’d bought your favourite banana pudding on the way home, in an attempt to lift your spirits, but she put that into the fridge and got changed before tidying up the place some.

Helping herself to a glass of red wine, she found herself in front of the TV, but it wasn’t long before you woke up. “Mom, you’re home.” You saw her sitting on the couch when you walked out from your bedroom. “Hi, baby.” She had her hand on the low of your back, “How’s the pain?”

“Bad, but I’m managing.”

Liv nodded emphatically, “I assume you already ate? I bought you banana pudding.”

“Yeah, thanks Mom.” You sat down beside her, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table. You turned it on, subsequently squinting at the brightness of it after being in a dark room for the past…three hours. “Did you eat yet?”

“Uh, no.” She says, “I’m gonna go heat up some of that pizza you bought.”

“Mom, can I tell you something?” You interjected.

“Of course, honey.” Olivia responded as she laid out a small sheet of foil and placed two slices of the pizza on it. Sprinkling some water onto the slices, she popped them into the air fryer.

“Vanessa came by earlier to check on me. She brought the pizza, though I was about to order the same thing.”

“That’s okay. Very nice of her to do that.”

“I really like her, Mom. Jamie’s making it so difficult for us.” You fought pack the urge to sigh.

“We have a case against him, he has history- but it’s a misdemeanour according to the ADA.”

“I know- people at school know he has a history of violence and stuff. It’s not hard to find out when he’s the most popular guy in school having his name Googled every other day.” You revealed. “But what? Because Vanessa’s the ‘queen bee’, she can’t like someone who isn’t in her social circle?”

“Important thing is, Vanessa likes you. And you like her. And let me do my job to go after Jamie- it’s our job to make sure he takes responsibility for what he does.”

“He’s hit Vanessa before. Did she tell Fin that?”

“No…” Olivia bit her cheek, searching for her phone, “I’m text him.”

“She showed up to with scratches on her cheek and her jaw…it was bruised. She didn’t want to tell me, but eventually, she did. It happened after we went on our first date- he saw that I gave her a card and this cheap bracelet I made.” You explained, “Sorry, I didn’t mention this. It- I was out of it.”

“It’s okay, I get that.” Olivia assured right as the air fryer went off. “Babe, do you want the banana pudding now?”

“Sure.”

You spent the rest of the evening watching sitcom reruns with your Mom, something you absolutely cherished. It wasn’t very often she was home this early. “You wanna take tomorrow off?” She asked casually.

“Would be nice.” You shrugged.

————

“He’s given all the people he attacked, bad reps.” Liv says.

“We figured.” Holiday crosses her arms.

Carisi walks into the precinct, “We can charge him with simple assault. He faces up to a year of jail time, or if he takes a deal- community service and mandated anger management classes, therapy.”

“Did he take the deal?”

“Of course. He agreed to it before his attorney could say anything.”

Liv scoffs, “Okay, well. That’s the best we can do.”

“How’s y/n, Liv?” Rollins asked.

“She’s…fine? Had her stay home today.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Fin glances at her, “Alright, I’m gonna go get lunch- who wants what?” While squad chattered away, discussing about what to eat, you enter the precinct. Unannounced. “y/n.” Fin noticed, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s lunch so I came to see if I could join mom.”

“Of course.” Liv saw you, “Hi, sweetie.”

The rest of the squad took care of you like you were their own. You were really grateful for them, and that your Mom had such great company at work. “Hi, y/n.” Rollins, Carisi and Holiday echoed one another.

“Hi, guys.”

“Okay, last call, y’all- lunch orders. Otherwise text them to me.” Fin announced. Carisi offered to tag along. And, off they went. Rollins suggested Chinese food, which the rest of you agreed on.

“So…Vanessa, huh?”

“Amanda.” Olivia chided.

“Yep.” You laughed lightly, “Anyway, Mom? Vanessa asked me out for lunch and a movie this weekend.”

“Go ahead. Have fun.”

“God, I miss being young.” Rollins sighs.

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

What I have figured out for Guardian Alternates so far(Thanks to a friend for one of these things! <3)

The Guardian Alternates function HEAVILY Off of belief(Example, Peter had Stanley manifest as his guardian alternate because he always believed that there was a better dad for him out there, Mark's Intruder manifested because he always believed that there was something out in the darkness), so if their human ever stops believing in them, they'll slowly fade away/revert to normal alternates!

If a Guardian Alternate loses their person, they have a timeframe in which to find a new person before they fade away.(Friend helped me out here!)

A case in which an Alternate is considered a Guardian Alternate, albeit rare, could be when an Alternate gains a close connection to specific person. This is a merely spiritual transition for them, nothing physical changes, they just gain a "protective" instinct towards their person. For instance, say an Alternate found a child all alone and they felt the right amount of pity/love for it. That Alternate is now a Guardian Alternate for that child. This is a rare case, but still a case nonetheless.

A Guardian Alternate MUST care about their person. If they don't it could be bad for both parties involved, in that the Guardian Alternate could revert to a regular Alternate and end up causing severe issues for the person later down the line. They are Guardians, after all.

Guardian Alternates are low-ish on the importance-chain of Alternates, as regular Alternates see them as weaker for caring about humans.

One weakness of Guardian Alternates is that they're HEAVILY IN-TUNE WITH THEIR PERSON'S EMOTIONS. They feel almost every emotion their person so and feel overly emotional when it comes to their person.(IMAGINE HOW FUCKING PISS-POOR SIX WAS FEELING WHEN MARK WAS GOING THROUGH HIS SHIT. MY GOD, THE POOR BASTARD.)

Extra thing post-posting, Guardian Alternates have barely visible wings, they don't do anything aside from act as a visual "tag" to tell them apart from regular Alternates.

Some of these can/will be edited as required as I work out the AU more, but this is what I have so far! <3

[5and3nevermind]

Have you heard about the recent hate directed towards jm’s dad from solos and delusional taekookers? It was so bad to the point that the cafe’s instagram had to turn off their comments.

The hate towards jm seems to be endless and is so frustrating especially when it comes from shippers who hate him based on their own made up fantasies.

Hi anon. Yes, I have. I’ve been thinking about what to say about it. In fact, I have a post sitting in my drafts that I saved so that I could think it over. I edited it and toned it way down, but then I wondered what the point would even be of posting in its current milder form.

Not to make this about me, but when someone says something that hurts me, my instinct is to back away and not argue about it. I know that’s not ideal.

I really care about Jm, and when I see everything that’s going on lately, I end up reporting/blocking people and logging off. I’m not sure if the people who are harassing him and his family can be reasoned with. So what’s the point? I don’t know what the answer is.

Anyway, regarding this situation…

I want to preface this by saying that we shouldn’t make blanket statements about people. There are kind, reasonable taekookers and there there are cruel, unreasonable ones. Same with jikookers, solos, ot7, etc.

That said, I think the situation with the cafe is out of control and a lot of it is born out of information being taken out of context.

There is no “jkk shrine” at the cafe. The table that we often see in pictures is filled with items, the vast majority of which have to do with Jm and only Jm. These items were gifts from fans. They were not hand-picked by Jm’s dad or anyone else at the cafe. A friend of mine visited the cafe about six months ago, and sent me pics because she knew I’d be curious. (They aren’t my pics to post, so I can’t share them here, unfortunately.) I spotted maybe two “jikook” items in her pics and they weren’t even shippy. It was, like, a pic of Jm and Jk standing next to each other. Not a big deal and totally platonic if you ask me.

There have been other little things: bt21 characters and whatnot, for instance on the Christmas tree, but this is not some grand declaration that “jkk is real” like some people want to believe. So, taekookers and solos need to calm the hell down. He can display whatever he wants in his own cafe. If it bothered jm or jk or anyone else in the group, or the company, I’m pretty damn sure they’d just approach his dad and discuss it. People act as if the guys lack the ability to handle things themselves.

In this situation, there is plenty of blame to go around: the jikooker who sent the “jikook is real” card or whatever that was needs to have some class. I talk about shipping here in my weird little corner of tumblr, but sending something to the cafe? That’s not right. Meanwhile, other shippers, solos, etc need to leave Jm and his family alone. Why do they assume the worst intentions of others? Maybe he read the note and didn’t think it was a big deal? Maybe he didn’t translate the note from Spanish to Korean and wasn’t aware of what it said? Maybe his dad didn’t even see it himself and it was placed there by cafe staff? Either way, WHO CARES.

And then of course, after all of this mess there was retaliation toward Jk via Bam’s account. Which is equally unhinged. What on earth does that accomplish?

I’m Jm biased and often can’t stand the way some people in this fandom talk about him. I have loads of theories about why this is, why he is assigned attributes that aren’t in-line with reality. But I don’t want to discuss that and put those negative thoughts out into the universe.

I’ll just finish by saying that I understand a lot of people lump all of us shippers into one category. But I think for the most part yoonminers do a good job of staying in our lane and not causing drama. There have been plenty of rumors of yoonmin sightings, a paparazzi video, etc and we never say a word about it thank you very much! Because we know our place, and we understand that the guys’ safety and privacy is way more important than winning some online argument. I’ve written about…I don’t know…70% of my yoonmin thoughts/opinions on this blog because the other 30% is none of our business and I don’t need to be shouting it from the rooftops.

(I tried to take Jm’s name out of this post so it wouldn’t be searchable in that way, but I probably missed at least one. I’m happy to discuss this a little more but otherwise I think it’s best to move on to more positive matters. 💜)

[dull-c]

okay i watched season six part one of three last night. unserious thoughts under the cut

johnny working at larusso auto and the larussos letting him AND him wearing the shirt (😮‍💨) was so fanfic coded and I can't say I'm against that

related- why was johnny's description of daniel's butthole so vivid. can we go one! season!

and why was chozen's departure so abrupt??? wasn't he going to help with the sekai taikai stuff????? one line and he just disappeared and it was so anticlimactic that I didn't even realise he'd fully left until the end

i did note a lot of clunky stuff like this where maybe they needed to focus less on including everything and everyone and more on the storyline cohesiveness. for instance- robby not following tory after she ran away in distress 'cause her mom literally just died. the way he was just like oh Bye i'm just gonna stay here and get my headband~~ 🤔

can't believe they fridged tory’s mom just to rehash her antagonist storyline btw. so much of this is just rehash though (peep daniel acting like he's never seen johnny train before) so why am I acting like they haven't always done this??? and that I wasn't always kind of into it?? couldn't tell ya

I was genuinely entertained by the kyler stuff, but godddd. not him and miguel laughing about him bullying and beating the shit out of him. I got daniel and johnny flashbacks 🤡

loved the sam and tory stuff though <3 of COURSE they're the only ones who did it right

go away kreese!!!!!!!!! stop tryna make your redemption happen it's not going to happen (for me. alas I fear it will happen for everyone else)

(him breaking johnny's neck in his trip dreams was so dark like what the fuck)

i'm trusting it's going to go somewhere because I don't think RM would have been down with retconning miyagi's history otherwise but (grits teeth) leave him alone get a job

liiiiike I get where they were ~trying~ to go with johnny supporting tory to fight it out, however was he literally just planning on standing there while she beat the shit out of sam or???

not johnny crying when he broke up with daniel!!!!!!!!!!!!! he will never beat the down bad allegations

[unknown-writez]

The Traveler and The Jester

Chapter Three: The Summer Court

Part six

With a warning glare to grimalkin puck turned into a raven and flew beyond the trees. As soon as he left I plopped down next to the cat starting to pick the blue flowers from the grass to make a necklace. Trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t linger on the argument my anger simmered then slowly dissipated “you know despite how annoyingly hateful I find robin sometimes I must admit he has good intentions. you should not stay mad at him.” Grimm said walking in front of me. “I know it’s just so frustrating being helpless here. I hate not being able to do anything.” I said, trying to explain my feelings “That’s understandable. humans do tend to get messy when they are not in control.” girmm said with a soft tone “but you must push aside your pride. although it doesn’t seem this way goodfellow is putting a lot on the line trying to help you and he doesn’t tend to defy Oberon for just anyone. The last time he did something like this it was for someone he loved. Unfortunately for him the feeling was not mutual. she was in love with his ex best friend. He lost them both and he has been alone ever since.” Gimm continued trying to enlighten me on pucks past. “That sounds like a bad ending to a story.” I responded feeling bad for puck “yes. That’s why he is so protective over you.” grim explained convincingly and I felt a prang of guilt for being so mean. “You know for being a cat you don’t act like it very much.” I teased a little prompting the cat to say “if I have learned anything over time it’s that no one is who they appear to be. take goodfellow for instance in the stories he is just a troublemaker who only cares for himself but in reality he has complex emotions that drive him to be good.” “your right.” I responded having learned that lesson many times in the past.