#which means that they vow that they won't fall in love again even after the other one dies

[candyeager]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART ONE 4.9k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano once promised you forever. He'd said it so easily back then, like it was a given, something as natural as breathing. You were fifteen, standing by the riverbank after another reckless night, his blonde hair glowing under the streetlights. He had to tilt his head up to meet your eyes then, his expression so open, so sure.

"It's you and me, always."

Now, nearly ten years later, that memory feels like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. You hold onto it so tightly that your knuckles turn white. It's the only thing keeping you grounded as you stand in the shadowed corner of a chapel, watching him slip a ring onto another woman's finger.

The bride is stunning, of course. Her white gown flows around her like something out of a dream, her face set in a serene mask of duty. And Manjiro—Mikey—he looks... distant. Like he's not even there, going through the motions, his face unreadable, hollow. It's a mask you've seen him wear too many times now, a defense mechanism, something to protect the broken parts of him he never lets anyone see.

You sip your wine slowly, the bitter taste doing little to mask the bile rising in your throat. A strange mixture of dark satisfaction and aching sadness twists inside you, an uncomfortable knot of emotions you can't quite unravel. 

He doesn't love her, you remind yourself. He's still yours. He promised.

But the truth is, the wine does little to dull the sharp edge of betrayal. The ceremony feels like a bad dream, one you can't wake up from. 

It's a sham. Just a business arrangement, nothing more. A duty to his late brother Shinichiro, who made a deal with her family long ago, a deal Mikey feels bound to honor. You respect that, you always have. His loyalty is part of what made you fall for him all those years ago.

But it still feels like a knife in your chest, twisted with every vow spoken. You won't question it though. You can't. Because questioning it would mean questioning Shin's memory, and that's something you'll never do. Still, the pain lingers, like a bruise you can't stop pressing on.

As the ceremony ends and the couple walks down the aisle, Mikey's eyes meet yours, even from across the room. For a brief moment, his lips curve into that familiar soft smile, the one that's always been just for you, full of unspoken words and old promises. It's enough to settle your nerves, if only slightly. 

He's still yours, you remind yourself again. This doesn't change anything.

The guests start to shuffle toward the reception hall, but you hang back, feeling the taste of the wine and the weight of the day pressing down on you. The laughter and chatter fades as you step into a quieter hallway, seeking a moment of solitude, a reprieve from the overwhelming noise of celebration.

But you're not alone. A figure leans against the far wall, tall and lean, with faded pink hair that you'd recognize anywhere.

Haruchiyo Sanzu.

Of course, he'd be here. Even though no one from Bonten was supposed to attend, you should've known Sanzu would show up, disregarding protocol like he always does. He's dressed in one of his garish purple suits, the cigarette in his hand burning slowly as he takes a long drag, his katana resting lazily against the wall next to him. The sight of it makes you roll your eyes despite the situation. How he manages to carry that damn thing everywhere without someone calling the cops on him is beyond you.

He doesn't even look at you as you approach, though you know he's aware of your presence. Sanzu's always like that—aloof, unreadable, like he's waiting for something but never telling you what.

Your heels click against the marble floor, the sound too loud in the silence, as you stop in front of him. You cross your arms, defensive. 

You've never liked him. Not since the beginning. And he's never made an effort to hide the fact that he feels the same way about you. His disdain has been obvious for years now—cutting comments, backhanded remarks. Always just subtle enough to avoid Mikey's wrath.

"You shouldn't be here, Number Two," you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the haze of tension.

Sanzu exhales a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to meet your gaze as he taps the ash onto the floor, a flick of his wrist that seems deliberate in its carelessness. 

"Neither should you," he replies, voice lazy, eyes flickering toward you briefly before he adds, with a smirk, "Mistress."

The word lands like a punch to the gut. You stiffen, your chest tightening as anger flares hot and fast inside you. You want to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, but you hold it in, forcing yourself to stay composed.

Sanzu's teal eyes slide back to you, and there's a gleam in them that you hate—a predatory gleam, like he's enjoying this far too much. He tilts his head, studying you like you're something amusing, something to poke and prod until it breaks.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" His voice is smooth, laced with mockery. "You know, it's almost cute. The way you're still holding out hope. Like he's going to drop everything and come running back to you."

Your jaw clenches, but you don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You've dealt with Sanzu long enough to know better than to let him get under your skin. He feeds off that kind of thing, turns it into a weapon.

"Shut up," you bite out, your voice low, controlled. "You don't know a damn thing about us."

That earns you a smirk, his scarred lips curling into something cold and twisted. "Don't I?" He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as if savoring the moment. 

"I know enough. I know he's up there, at the altar, with his wife, while you're out here clinging to whatever scraps he throws you."

You feel your fists tighten at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The urge to slap that smug look off his face is overwhelming, but you know better. You've learned that lesson the hard way. Sanzu isn't just annoying—he's dangerous. And he wouldn't hesitate to turn this entire ceremony into a disaster just to prove a point.

"Fuck you," you snap, barely keeping your voice steady.

Sanzu's smile fades, replaced by something colder, something far more dangerous. His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you've pushed him too far. But then he chuckles, low and dark, like he's enjoying the tension between you.

"Feisty today, huh?" His voice is almost amused, but there's an edge to it, a warning. "You're out here sulking while your beloved plays house. Maybe that fairy tale you're clinging to doesn't mean shit anymore."

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of anger and something you can't quite place. It's the truth in his words that stings the most, the haunting possibility that he could be be right.

"At least I'm not the one standing out here with a stupid katana looking like a fucking fool," you shoot back, your voice sharp.

Sanzu's eyes flash, but instead of responding, he steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence is suffocating, too close, too intense. You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you crackled with unspoken danger.

"Maybe," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. "But you're not untouchable. Sooner or later, even Mikey won't be able to protect you. Then what?"

His words hang in the air like a threat, and for the first time, a shiver of uncertainty runs through you. You meet his gaze, refusing to show fear, but something about the way he's looking at you now—cold, calculating—makes your stomach churn.

You don't answer. Instead, you turn and walk away, your heels echoing in the empty hallway. But Sanzu's words linger, like a dark cloud that follows you, heavy and inescapable. You push them down, focusing on the only thing that matters: Mikey's promise.

But deep down, you wonder if Sanzu's right. And that thought, more than anything, terrifies you.

Manjiro Sano keeps his promises. At least, that's what you've always believed. He said it with conviction when you were fifteen, when his bright blonde hair caught the sunlight and his eyes reflected an unwavering certainty. His promises became your lifeline, a thread that tethered you to him, through the chaos of Tokyo Manji, through Bonten, through all the things that should have torn you apart. You never doubted him.

But now, with a ring on another woman's finger, that belief feels less like truth and more like denial. 

You lie beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around you, his breath steady against your skin. In the quiet darkness, you try to convince yourself that this—you—is still his reality. Not the woman he married out of obligation. Not the business empire he's running. But you, the one he promised forever. The one he swore to love no matter what. 

But there's something cold in his touch tonight. Not the soft warmth you used to know, but a distant, mechanical tenderness. His fingers trace absent patterns on your skin, but they feel foreign now, like they're just going through the motions. He's here, physically, but his mind is far away, lost in a place you can't reach.

"Did something happen?" you ask, keeping your voice light, even as anxiety twists in your stomach. 

He's staring at the ceiling, eyes vacant, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on his chest. The silence is thick, heavy, a barrier between you that wasn't there before. You wish he'd tell you. You wish he'd break through that wall and let you in, but he never does. Not anymore.

He shifts slightly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second. "What do you mean, love?" His voice is soft, casual, but there's something missing. Something that used to be there—a spark, a fire that you could always count on. Now, it's just... hollow.

"You seem distracted," you murmur, choosing your words carefully, even though your heart is screaming to ask more.

Mikey sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He pulls you closer, but the embrace feels almost... polite. Like he's afraid to hold on too tightly. You want to shake him, to tell him to stop being so careful. To hold you like he used to—like he was afraid of losing you. But instead, he just holds you the way someone holds a fragile thing.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter now, as though he's confessing something he doesn't want to. "It's just Bonten stuff."

And that's it. The conversation ends. Your heart clenches at the emptiness of his explanation, at how easily he can sweep your concerns under the rug. 

You know Bonten is complicated—dangerous even—but you've always been kept at a distance from that side of his world. He's never let you close enough to see the true depth of what he's carrying. You've respected his boundaries, trusted him, but now you wonder if that distance is starting to destroy you.

"Oh." The word leaves your lips, but it feels small, insignificant.

The silence returns, thicker than before, wrapping itself around both of you like a suffocating shroud. You stare at him, at the man you once thought you knew so completely, and wonder when he became a stranger.

You want to reach out, to bridge the gap, but fear holds you back. There's a fragility in the air tonight, something that makes you hesitate. If you push too hard, if you ask for too much, you're afraid the entire thing will shatter. Maybe it already has. Maybe that's why his touch feels different now, why his kisses lack the urgency they once had.

You long for the Mikey who would stay up with you until dawn, laughing, his arms tight around you as if you were his whole world. You miss the nights when he couldn't keep his hands off you, when his love felt raw and reckless, a fire that burned brighter than anything else. Now, it's all ashes.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," you whisper, hoping that your words might reach him, might bring him back from wherever he's gone. "I can help. You don't always have to protect me from it."

He doesn't respond right away. For a long moment, there's only the sound of his breathing, deep and rhythmic. When he finally speaks, his voice is distant, almost resigned.

"I know."

But he doesn't mean it. You can hear it in the way he says it—like it's just something he's supposed to say, not something he believes. His walls are still up, and you're on the outside, no matter how close you are in this bed, no matter how many nights you spend together.

You press your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Once, that sound would have comforted you. Now, it only makes you feel more alone. Even when he's with you, he's somewhere else. And the space between you grows wider every day.

"Mikey..." you try again, but your voice falters. 

You want to tell him you're scared. That you're afraid you're losing him, that this marriage is pulling him further away from you than you can bear. But the words won't come.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but it feels like a goodbye more than a reassurance. And that scares you most of all.

You close your eyes, trying to drown out the doubts, the fear, the aching emptiness. But it lingers, like a shadow that won't go away. You tell yourself he still loves you. He promised you forever. He's just... distracted. It's Bonten. It's the marriage. It's everything else.

But deep down, you know. You know that the Mikey who promised you forever is slipping further and further away. And no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to pull him back.

Manjiro Sano never lies to you. He never has before, and you never thought he could. You know he keeps secrets sometimes, but it's always to protect you—or so you've convinced yourself. You've clung to this justification, repeating it like a prayer when things feel too uncertain. 

When there's a question he doesn't want to answer, he'll give you a vague response, the kind that leaves you in a haze of ambiguity, and you never push him further. You know better than to force the issue. Sometimes, he'll be blunt and tell you outright that it's none of your concern. But a lie? Never.

At least, he never did until now.

Sitting across from him, in the dim light of your shared apartment, the shadows cast across his face, you notice the subtle shift in his expression. His gaze remains low, unfocused, like he's avoiding you. The way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—once steady, now restless—betrays him. The quiet cadence of the room, punctuated by the tension building between you, only makes his discomfort more pronounced. 

You know he's lying, even though the words are barely out of his mouth. It feels like a crack splintering through the foundation of your entire relationship.

It's not that you're good at detecting lies; you've never needed to be, not with him. His cold distance has always been paired with an odd, unwavering honesty, no matter how painful it could be. But this time? This time, he's hiding something. His body language is too off, too tense, like he's barely holding onto his own façade.

You asked a simple question: "Where were you?"

He hasn't been home in a week. It's not unusual—Mikey has never been the type to stick around. You've long since accepted the lonely nights, the excuses of 'business meetings' and 'late-night operations' with Bonten. You'd even accepted the wife. 

But something feels different now, a gnawing unease that claws at the back of your mind. You thought he'd say he was dealing with Bonten's usual mayhem, or perhaps, reluctantly admit that he'd been spending time with her. Anything would've been better than the silence hanging in the air now, thick with unspoken truths.

But you never expected him to lie.

Instead of the rage you thought would surge, an icy dread curls through your chest. Fear. A raw, unsettling fear that digs its nails into you as you realize just how far away he feels. As if he's not just sitting across from you, but miles away, unreachable. The distance between you stretches and stretches, suffocating in its vastness. It's like watching him drift out to sea while you stand, helpless, on the shore.

You need answers. The kind you know Mikey won't give you. So you turn to the only other person who might know what's going on: Haruchiyo Sanzu.

God, you hate him. There's not a day that passes where you don't fantasize about knocking that arrogant smirk off his face. Sanzu embodies everything that repels you—his cruelty, his recklessness, his toxic devotion to Mikey. But one thing you can count on is that Sanzu never spares your feelings. If anything, he takes sadistic pleasure in tearing you down with his cold truths. 

And that's why you're standing here, in front of his door, hand trembling slightly as you press the doorbell. The silence stretches, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You press the button again, your anxiety spiking with each passing second. 

Finally, the door creaks open, and there he is—Sanzu. He leans lazily against the doorframe, like your presence is a personal offense. His disheveled appearance surprises you—hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned at the top. There's a faint scent of soap, but he looks like he's been in a rush, as if your arrival interrupted something.

His eyes narrow, flashing with irritation. "The fuck are you doing here?" His voice is cold, almost bored, like he can't be bothered to care.

"I need to talk to you." You're surprised your voice comes out steady when everything inside you feels like it's spiraling out of control.

Sanzu doesn't even give you the courtesy of a full response. He turns, slamming the door behind him, heading toward the elevator without a second glance. You follow, your pulse quickening. His long strides make it difficult to keep up.

"Where are you going?" you ask, slightly breathless. You hate how small you feel next to him, like you're always scrambling to catch up.

"To work. Where else?" He doesn't even look back as he taps the elevator button impatiently. His eyes flick to you briefly, condescending, before he adds, "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of doing nothing all day."

The dismissiveness in his tone grates on your nerves. You swallow back the retort, knowing it's not worth the fight. You're not here to argue with Sanzu—you're here for something much more important.

The elevator ride is thick with tension, the air suffocating between you. He stares at the floor numbers as they change, clearly eager to get away from you. You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to say what you came here for.

"I need to ask you about Bonten." Your words feel heavy in the silence.

Sanzu's head snaps toward you, eyes sharp and piercing. There's a moment of silence, and you feel the weight of his stare, like he's assessing how much to toy with you before answering.

"I warned you," he says, voice dangerously low. "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Just because you're Mikey's little sidepiece doesn't mean you're part of this world."

Sidepiece. The word hits like a slap, stinging far more than you'd care to admit. But you hold your ground, your voice sharper now as you bite back, "I was asking nicely, wasn't I?"

He lets out a cruel chuckle, his amusement laced with mockery. "And you should've known better than to come to me."

When the elevator doors open, Sanzu strides out, leaving you to catch up once again. You hurry behind him, the cold concrete of the basement parking lot biting through your shoes as you watch him head toward the row of parked bikes.

"Just tell me where Mikey's been," you call out, your voice cracking slightly. The desperation seeps through despite your best efforts to keep it buried. 

Sanzu doesn't even slow down. He throws a leg over his black superbike, adjusting the helmet in his hands. 

His tone is icy as he responds, "Why the hell would I tell you?"

You feel the panic rising, the gnawing insecurity clawing at your chest. You can't let this go. 

"It's his wife, isn't it? Something's going on between them?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, but you know it's true.

Sanzu finally turns to face you, his expression dark, a twisted glint in his eyes. "You really wanna know?" His voice is like a knife, cold and cutting. 

"Married couples fuck and have kids. You didn't think they'd just sit around holding hands, did you?"

Your world tilts. Pregnant. Mikey's wife is pregnant. The words hang in the air, crushing you. Sanzu's bike roars to life, drowning out everything as he speeds away, leaving you standing there, reeling.

Manjiro Sano says he still loves you. He says it so many times, even when you confront him about her pregnancy. You have tears in your eyes, your voice quivering as the words left your lips. His hands, warm and gentle, hold you close—just like always. The softness in his embrace feels too familiar, almost comforting, like you could convince yourself, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. That you could still believe him.

He'd whispers that she might be his wife, but you are the one who had his heart. That his feelings for you haven't shifted, not even after this new life he is bringing into the world. That you still matter.

But something about it never sits right after that day.

It isn't the sex that bothers you. You've made peace with that. He is married, after all, and while it stings, you tell yourself it's just physical. Something they have to do. Something that won't affect your place in his life. Mikey's quiet assurances of love are enough to quell the hurt, at least for a while. He always knows exactly what to say, how to soothe your insecurities without letting them fester.

Until they do.

Each time he doesn't come home, doesn't call, doesn't text—each time he leaves you waiting, that old promise of his love grows weaker. It starts to feel like a distant echo, hollow and fragile. The uncertainty eats you away, the creeping doubt filling the space between your conversations. And then comes the guilt. You couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't shove it to the back of your mind. She is pregnant with his child. 

And you? 

You are the other woman now. The mistress. The sidepiece. 

You tell yourself to be patient, to wait it out, to trust him. But those same reassurances you cling to begin unraveling with every unanswered phone call. Mikey's silences cut deeper than his words ever could, a painful reminder that you are no longer the center of his world. You are becoming the afterthought.

And today is your ninth anniversary. Nine years.

Nine years since the day the two of you had become inseparable, since the day you thought you'd be each other's forever. And as you get ready, as you slip on your favorite dress and touch up your makeup, you're hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia—memories flooding back of how you used to be. How easy it was back then, how natural everything felt when there were no lies between you. 

It takes everything in you to keep your spirits up as you head to his office, imagining the look on his face when you surprise him. Maybe that's what you need—a face-to-face reminder of who you are to him. That spark between you will rekindle, and the distance will melt away.

You hope.

The lobby feels colder than usual, and as you step inside, something feels off. The receptionist greets you with a stiff smile. You've seen her enough times to know that she's never this tense. She doesn't say much, but there's an awkwardness in the air, like she knows something you don't.

Your nerves tighten as you enter the elevator. The ride to the top floor feels longer than usual, the anticipation in your chest growing with each passing second. When the doors open, you step out into the executive lounge, the familiar sight of Bonten's most trusted members lounging around.

Ran is the first to notice you, his lazy smirk never quite reaching his eyes. Kakucho is next, nearly spilling his drink when he spots you.

"You okay there?" you ask with a light laugh, trying to ignore the unease in the pit of your stomach.

Kakucho straightens up, but his eyes dart nervously toward the hallway that leads to Mikey's office. "You here to see Mikey?" he asks, his voice strained.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "Yeah. I thought I'd surprise him." 

Ran's smirk doesn't falter, but there's something about the way he's watching you that makes your skin prickle. 

"Surprise, huh?" he says, his voice cool and detached.

Kakucho shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and the hallway again. "Maybe now isn't the best time..." he starts, his voice trailing off as if he doesn't want to finish the thought.

But you brush off the strange tension between them. Kakucho's always been awkward with you, right? 

You make your way down the hall, your heels clicking against the marble floors in rhythm with your racing heart. This is supposed to be a happy moment—your anniversary. You don't want to ruin it by reading too much into their strange behavior.

But then you hear it.

A voice. Her voice.

You freeze mid-step, the sound of her moaning his name sending a violent shock through your system. The world around you blurs, your body moving on autopilot as you edge closer to the door, your hand trembling as you press it against the wood. The crack in the door is just wide enough for you to see.

Mikey is there, his wife's legs draped over his shoulders, his hands on her thighs, his face pressed between her legs.

You can't breathe. 

This is different.

Not the act itself—but the intimacy, the tenderness in how he touches her. He's doing something for her that he's never done for you. Not once, in all your time together, had he ever gone down on you. But here he is, giving her something more, something deeper. And you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

You can't stay here.

Your feet carry you backward, your movements slow, cautious. You shut the door as softly as you can, careful not to make a sound. Your entire body feels numb, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach as you stand there, staring at the ground, trying to process what you've just seen. 

Why did he never do that for you?

A rush of shame washes over you, mingling with the rage bubbling in your chest. You'd always told yourself you were enough for him. But now you wonder—were you? Was it all a lie, just something to keep you hanging on, while he gave her all the things you thought were reserved for you?

The world feels like it's tilting around you, the walls closing in as you stand there, numb. The sound of footsteps snaps you back to reality.

"You're here to see Mikey too?" Kakucho's voice filters through the haze.

"Yeah, yeah," comes the lazy reply. 

It's Sanzu, his voice slurred and casual, as if nothing in the world could touch him. He's closer now, and you barely register it, lost in the whirlwind of your own thoughts.

Ran's voice follows, a teasing edge to his tone. "Dude, you're tripping balls."

Sanzu laughs, a sound so careless it makes your skin crawl. "Friday night, what'd you expect?"

Before you can fully process the situation, a rough hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you back. You stumble, whirling around to face him.

Sanzu.

His teal eyes are wild, bloodshot and blown wide from whatever cocktail of drugs he's taken today. You know he's high, as the smell of drugs clinging to him, intoxicating the air around you.

"What the fuck are you up to this time?" he sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging painfully into your arm. "S-Sanzu, I—"

He cuts you off, his face uncomfortably close to yours now. "Scared?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. The sick amusement in his voice makes your stomach turn. He's enjoying this—enjoying your fear, your vulnerability.

You try to twist free, but he pulls you closer, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You should be," he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart races, panic clawing at your chest. Sanzu when he's like this—high, unpredictable—is a beast you've learned to fear. He's always been unstable, but now, he's downright terrifying.

Yet, as you stand there, trembling in his grasp, all you can think about is Mikey. The lie he told you. The image of him with her, of how easily he discarded you, flashes through your mind again and again.

I still love you.

The words are poison now, burning through you as Sanzu's grip tightens.

< part one ends >

author's notes. heyy sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so excited to finally share the first part of 'bonten's number two'!! this idea has been brewing in my head for two years lol and i cant wait to see what you think ;) if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving notes! i'd love to hear your thoughts!! thanks for reading guys! you're awesome (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[baldurs-simp]

Heyy! I love the way you write and I wanted to request smth! I imagined Zevlor meeting someone from his past as a Hellrider again, maybe someone he worked with or smth and back then they both were having feelings for each other but never said anything as they didn't think the other would feel the same, but now that they meet again their feelings just hit them again.

Thank youu! <3

My Masterlist

Summary: You reunite with Zevlor after escaping the Hells, finding him after a goblin tells you of a group of tiefling sheltered in a druid grove. It's a reunion that stirs up past feelings that you thought you had forgotten.

Warnings: mentions of the Bloor War, fluff, not much

A goblin you captured revealed the plans to raid a nearby grove housing survivors from Elturel. He told you how they plan to raid the grove in the name of their new God, the Absolute. After losing so much when Elturel descended into the Hells, you vowed to save as many as possible as a Hellrider, even after you got out. And now, you promise to save those who lost as much as you have from the heartache of yet another fight.

Venturing in the direction of where this goblin has told you the gove is, you spot its gates over the bushes, hearing people shouting commands at one another, preparing for something. Perhaps they know of the possible raid heading their way. You're sure that the death of one Goblin won't stop anything. It's best that you warn these people of the fight heading their way.

As you make your way to step out from behind the bushes, you see him. The red-skinned Tiefling, aged with many battles on his face but still a sense of hope in his eyes. A man you have not seen since the fall of Elturel.

"Zevlor," you whisper to yourself, a hand resting on top of the bramble bush in front of you.

You remember the years you spent fighting side-by-side as Hellriders, the armed forces of Elturel before its descent into Avernus. You remember fighting alongside him in the Hells, trying to protect those from fiends and devils taking part in Zariel's Blood War. You remember the sweet moments you had with him, whenever you could, laughing in a time when laughter seemed to have died.

You remember the last time you saw him.

Slowly, you step out of your little hiding spot, your heart racing in your chest, and your hands resting at your sides. Your eyes remain on Zevlor, hoping that he sees you before anyone else sees you, hoping that he will let you in without asking questions. Hoping that he will want to see you again.

He is not the first to see you. Some guard alerts everyone of your appearance, crossbows being armed and aimed right at you. You know it's because of your anonymity with your cloak's hood covering your face. Raising your hands in defense, you show that you mean no harm, before pushing down your hood.

When Zevlor spots you, recognizing your face, a breath catches in his throat. "Open the gate!"

His order makes you smile and you laugh lightly as he rushes away from his post to meet you at the gate.

You have never thought about what you might say if you were to see him again. Hells, you never even thought that you would. Seeing him again ignites something deep inside of you, the feelings you felt in those times when it was just you and him, sitting close together under the moonlight on watch. Sometimes it was just silent, but you were comfortable.

You think you had grown to love him, before Zariel got her claws into you and dragged you away.

"(Y/n)," Zevlor whispers as he reaches you, wanting to reach out and touch you to make sure that you are not some illusion set before him. He hesitates, pulling his hand back as he shifts on his feet.

No doubt you look different with new scars on your face and body, a sign that you still had a part to play in the Blood Wars. Which part, he cannot be sure of, but a part all the same.

"Glad to see that you made it out of the Hells before I did, Hellrider," you say, a small laugh in your voice as you take a step closer to him.

He scoffs, shaking his head as he averts his gaze from you. "Not a Hellrider anymore. And yet, I go from one war into another."

"The goblins?" you ask, causing him to nod at you before he frowns, unsure of how you know that. "One of them told me that I might find survivors of Elturel here. Never thought that you'd be included in the group."

"And now? Which side do you stand on?"

"Alway on your righthand side."

He smiles, knowing that your words are true. And you can tell that he's recounting the moments you two spent together. His body relaxes and he puts his crossbow away to welcome you with open arms.

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 255 (spoilers)

Fun chapter with many interesting parts.

People have wondered if Larue would also appear mostly because he had been working with Yuki at some point. That they're called Team Geto is really funny.

We get a flashback of the timeskip with Yuta and Larue recruiting Miguel to their cause. He isn't convinced at first until Larue changes his mind. Nanako and Mimiko we know were killed by Sukuna but their conversation makes it seem like the other two who had that encounter with Kusakabe and Panda also died.

Miguel says that Gojo should've come himself to get him on board. This makes it the first time that Gojo's absence from the timeskip flashbacks is acknowledged in a meta fashion. This is significant imo because this throws the doors wide open to Gojo having done sth else than train with his students for the last month.

That could be some kind of preparation or getting more allies to their side. It could even be specialized training for Nobara or something else entirely but it will come back at some point.

Sukuna: 😩

Recap to remind us that Sukuna is injured right now and that he can't use RCT. This makes it seem like the Geto Duo was somewhere else than the monitor room where the other are/were.

I also wanted to point out that Larue is the most stereotypically coded gay character in JJK. He's the kind of character that is overly masculine physically but has some over-the-top feminine characteristics like his eyes, lips and the pink hearts over his tits.

Can't wait to see Miguel breakdancing his way out of cleave animated.

Sukuna has more interest in Miguel's CT than Larue's, showing us that he still to this moment loves analyzing and optimizing Jujutsu

We get a flashback that has Gojo in it BUT that flashback is pre-Shibuya and happens after the end of the movie (a scene that wasn't in the original manga).

And Gojo was racist? Interestingly, he applied real world physical built of the average Japanese person to that of an unspecified African country saying that a physical buff for Miguel's people works better because they're physically stronger (apparently but who really knows). Except of course that thinking falls apart (in multiple ways) when we consider that we're in a battle shonen and all sorcerers are either decently or highly muscular (except the women)

We see that Miguel is, as Gege has once said, strong and he gets a few good blows against Sukuna. Choso also reappears.

We get an explanation on how Sukuna's World Cutting Slash works. He needs to use his domain seal to activate it and I'm curious what exactly that means in regards to what domain seals even are.

Against Gojo, Sukuna had lost his left hand in the Hollow Purple attack, so he shouldn't have been able to perform the WCS but he made a vow instead that stipulated that for all future uses of that cut he needs to use his palm to specify the trajectory of it.

He could've activated his transformation then instead of making the vow but he probably saw it as more important that Gojo thought that he had been defeated.

Maki came back like most people in my poll voted for. Now I'm... anxious on how Gege will write her from then on. From her chapter we got the sense that she will have a bigger role in confronting one specific aspect of Sukuna but now we're in a group battle again.

Larue got a BF though so the group will shrink really fast which should get Maki back into the spotlight.

She cuts off Sukuna's left hand making it seemingly impossible for him to use his super cut except we the audience know of course that that won't hinder him too much.

Yuji, you're so full hope that it was inevitable that it would be crushed immediately. Sukuna uses a second BF which will restore his CE output meaning he'll heal his limbs just like Gojo did at that point in their fight.

He still has his fire arrow and the corresponding technique of it in his Arsenal as well, so like Uraume said, he still hasn't gotten all out on them

I feel like the fight is going to get into its third phase in the upcoming chapters. Prepare for another 3-5 chapter mini-arc (probably the Uraume/Hakari fight) to interrupt it after something shocking will happen.

[allycat75]

So are you sick of yourself with all the behind the scenes footage of "The Materialists", Boston Dumb Fuck?

Yep, so are we!

So, if I guess the plot, can I get a free trip to NYC where I can slap you and your team for wasting our time and taking Pedro and Celine down with you?  Don't care about Dakota- she dug her own acting grave:

Two people fall in love, let's say in the mid to late aughts.  They meet at a wedding- maybe she is the lonely but stunningly beautiful bridesmaid and he is the working class caterer with the heart of gold.  They chat on the loading dock while having a cigarette. They go everywhere together- Cental Park, the halal just outside of Central Park, her stoop in Brooklyn, random streets in the city, often in the dead of night and many times in his teal Volvo.  They decide to take their first weekend trip away, maybe to Montauk.  He used to spend a week there with his grandmother every summer and it means so much to him (I know what you are saying, "isn't he working class?"  Well, see that was his dad's side; his mom's side was rich-ish but she died when he was young; wouldn't help his dad, but still wanted a lifeline to her grandson- hence the summer visits).  They go and fall more in love with each other, but on the way back to the city a truck crosses the center divider and they are hit head on.  She survives, he doesn't, which is a shame because Volvos are supposed to be so safe.  She vows to become cold and never love again (although it is hard to tell when she is happy, sad, serious or sarcastic, but trust me, she went from warm to cold).

Years later, she has kept her promise even though her friends beg her to open up again.  She won't budge, until one day she is forced, under some contrived circumstance, to return to the venue where her dead boyfriend and she first met, only to meet a handsome rich guy who sweeps her off her feet and breaks through all those walls she has built up for so many, many years.  Like a sign from the universe that her first dude wanted her to meet and fall in love with the second dude and have a great rest of her life, happily ever after.

(Alternate tragedy- the first love of her life has terminal cancer- maybe from all the smoking?- or some other terminal illness to explain his obvious weight loss and pale sickliness)

Am I in the ballpark?  I hope not because I absolutely hate it! But see what happens- as humans we can't deal well with missing pieces so we will fill in the blanks ourselves, doing a major disservice to the actual plot. We already feel like we have seen the movie, so whatever the the finished product, it will feel stale and played out.

[friends-to-lovers-tournament]

Friends to Lovers Tournament: Round 3, Side A, Match 2

propaganda under the cut!

Polyneed:

Okay so they were childhood friends who wanted to form a band together, but slowly drifted apart after Saki fell ill and was admitted. They formed their band again after Saki joined the school. Originally, Shiho was the only one who wanted to go professional out of all of them and was offered to play with another band who was going pro, but she hesitated because she wanted to continue playing with her friends. HER DREAM WAS RIGHT IN HER GRASP BUT SHE STILL REFUSED. The rest of Leo/Need also decided to go pro with her even though they had no previous experience, just because they wanted to be with their friends. They're constantly encouraging each other and take really good care of each other. They mean sm to me fr 💙💙 Also, some gay ass lyrics from their songs:

Please don't think you don't matter, love won't end this easily- NeedLe

Even if I smile so that I don’t cry Even if I walk so that I don’t fall The words we hide will never be conveyed There’s only one future that we can envision, So let’s see it with our own eyes-  1 For your sake, I shall sing my weaknesses For your sake, I shall realize my hopes For your sake, I'm laughing today May these feelings of ours will resonate with someone's- Order Made Overflowing in my voice, in my thoughts The yearning that I entrusted to you- Voices It's painful and lonely to sing, but If it's with you, then I want to sing for the world- the WALL

They sing an awful lot abt feelings if you know what i mean

Fuyupoly:

Submission 1:

they're from the winter troupe of the mankai company, and unlike the other troupes they're all adults. that said, they all have varying degrees of trauma and emotional stuntedness. it takes them some time to fully open up to each other bc they're all very cautious of each other's boundaries and don't want to cross any lines which initially led to some issues in the group's formation. over time they've learned to bridge the gap while still being mindful of hard boundaries. at one point they have a discussion about what exactly their relationship is (gay) cuz they were talking about how the other troupes have clearly defined dynamics (spring=family, summer=besties, autumn=rivals & teammates) but they don't,, and homare deadass says they're "people bound by a common destiny" which in and of itself sounds very Gay (like why are you as a man bound to other men by a common destiny), but it goes even further because homare starts spouting WEDDING VOWS: "In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, we shall share our laughter and our tears as those with an intertwined fate... How beautiful we are!" THIS IS A DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE GAME AND THE MC EVEN REMARKS "i can already hear wedding bells in the distance..." 

gradually they become closer, in individual sub-units based on who's paired up as co-leads for a play, and as a troupe overall. also two of its members are childhood friends who had a messy 'divorce' in their young adulthood and it took the game breaking its genre to introduce a timeloop for them to finally make up if that means anything to you. one of their troupe songs "precious to us ~bokura no kisetsu" has some pretty beautiful and fruity lines: "The many kindnesses born in me here / Never fail to breathe life into my chest / Even all the pain and bitterness / Have now become dear to me (Ah…Stay with me)", "No matter how many times our season passes / Let us keep living together / Holding our hands, without ever letting go / Let us open up the curtain of tomorrow", "There is no need for words, because once our gazes meet / Joy sparks a light in your eyes", "Our journey, may it be a brilliant one / As our breaths overlap as one"

a lot of their plays has a LOT of homoerotic tension between the two leads too. their first play has tsumugi and tasuku play angels, and it's heavily implied that tasuku's character has an unrequited crush on tsumugi's character. their third play has azuma play a vampire and tasuku play Just Some Guy and it's generally agreed in the fandom to be one of the gayest, if not THE gayest, play A3 has ever written. obviously the vampire thing is very fruity, but there's also how the vampire was longing to bite the human but was holding himself back, and when the vampire left the human in the end, the human was absolutely HEARTBROKEN over it and was swearing they would reunite one day. the stage play of this takes it even further by having the vampire embrace the human from behind and BITE his neck. the fourth play is a watered-down adaptation of Phantom of the Opera where they genderbend Christine into Chris among other things and change the relationship between Chris and the Phantom to one of friendship.... ostensibly so, because there's still a lot of homoerotic undertones in their interactions. i could go on but this should be enough of a sampling taste 

Submission 2:

the writers rlly said "let's take 2 normal guys who are childhood friends and have been into theatre since their school days and have them go through a pre-canon messy divorce, an eccentric poet with a potentially controversial haircut, an amnesiac sleepyhead who can only be awoken with marshmallows but is also somehow extremely athletic despite doing nothing but sleeping and eating marshmallows all day, a man who is so beautiful and mysterious he breaks gender, and a supposed android from a fictional south asian country, and throw them into a blender, oh and for good measure let's throw in some theatre and angst and gay and angst and gay" and the end result was marriage. i mean it took them a lot of awkward fumbling around and conflicts to get there but they got there and thats what matters. ok *technically* in-text they're all rlly good friends and kinda found family BUT they are found family via marriage papers i do not make the rules chief

Submission 3:

The reason why they are so friends-to-lovers to me is because their relationship is founded on quiet and unconditional acceptance of each other—regardless of how flawed they may be or how heavy their burdens and trauma may be. When the troupe first formed (sans Guy who was in another country at the time), they didn’t have any major clashing personalities at the very beginning and generally they were mindful of each other’s boundaries, unlike the other troupes that came before them. However, it’s BECAUSE they were too mindful of said boundaries that it was difficult for them to break down their walls and bond as a team—and there were a LOT of walls to break down, as all of them had varying degrees of emotional baggage and trauma.

In fact, it’s only three plays in that they finally truly start opening up to each other, with Azuma getting the ball rolling by opening up about the deep loneliness that haunted him ever since his childhood. It’s during this conversation that they also discuss what their relationship as a troupe is, because the other troupes have defined their relationship as a team (Spring is family, Summer is best friends, Autumn is rivals & teammates), and Homare goes on to declare that they’re “people bound by a common destiny” and goes on to spew wedding vows: "In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, we shall share our laughter and our tears as those with an intertwined fate... How beautiful we are!" I mean… it can’t get any more obvious than this, really. They are married.

But anyway, Tsumugi says he wants their relationship to be one where while they respect each other’s need for space, they’ll also be there for each other and share their pains and burdens—or in his words: “supporting each other when our burdens become too heavy to bear on our own”—which I think is really sweet because it carries this idea of quiet, unconditional acceptance; they don’t push each other to share more than they’re comfortable with sharing, but with whatever they ARE comfortable with sharing everyone carries the load and pain because pain is easier to bear when you’re not bearing it alone <3 

A later part of the story focuses on Hisoka, a mysterious amnesiac, being terrified of regaining his memories and facing some “sin” from his past that has led to another character, Chikage, trying to take revenge on him. When he confesses this to the rest of the Winter troupe, Homare asks, “How heavy is this sin you bear?” and Azuma suggests, “Perhaps it’s just heavy enough for the five of us to carry together.” (at this point Guy hasn’t joined yet). The stage play adapts this scene into a song called Key to Memory. The key (pun unintended) part is 1:27 where there’s a back-and-forth between Hisoka and the other Winter troupe members (sans Tasuku because he wasn’t in that particular play)

Hisoka: “I’m scared…”

Tsumugi, Homare, Azuma: “It’s okay.”

Hisoka: “My unforgivable sin…”

Tsumugi, Homare, Azuma: “Let’s carry it together.”

Hisoka: “I might not be me anymore.”

Tsumugi, Homare, Azuma: “It’s all right. We understand and we accept you, so let’s go together.”

And it ends with Hisoka singing: “I was afraid to open the door of my locked memories. But if everyone is here, I believe I can do it.”  In both the game and stage play, Hisoka fully regains his memories and reconciles with Chikage (long story). He tells Fuyupoly he can’t go into detail about his past with Chikage because it’s dangerous but he’ll tell them when the time is right, and they accept this saying that no matter what his past is, they know and love him as their Hisoka which obviously is a very sweet thing for friends to say, but it’s also very Marriage-coded to me.

Later, Guy is introduced as an android from Zahra (a fictional South Asian country) and joins the Winter troupe as a temporary member—because he’s stuck in Japan for the foreseeable future—until they find a permanent member to replace him. The other Winter members have a conversation among themselves and agree that regardless of whether he’s really an android or a human they’ll accept Guy for who he is and help him improve his acting, which again harkens back to the idea of ‘unconditional acceptance’. Eventually it’s revealed that Guy is in fact a human who has forgotten his memories of the past and his emotions. He recovers his memories all at once which shocks his system and causes him to pass out. When he wakes up in his room, he finds the rest of the Winter Troupe asleep around the room—which I believe is symbolic of their whole theme of “quiet acceptance”: they don’t want to push Guy to share beyond what he’s comfortable with, but they’re always there to listen to him and share his load if that’s what he wants. He opens up about the memories he recovered, and they don’t treat him with pity like he’s a lost child, but still extend gentle empathy and understanding. They also emphasise that it genuinely doesn’t matter to them whether he’s human or android because he’s Guy first and foremost. It’s at this point that Guy truly lets himself become part of the Winter troupe/Fuyupoly and not just as a temporary stand-in member, because he’s found a place where he’s found himself again and people who will accept who this “himself” is, whether that be an android devoid of emotions or a human brimming with vivid beautiful emotions.

[Mod note: There’s a LOT more but we’re afraid of crashing the post. I (Deli) summarised it the best I can since I’m familiar with A3, but if you want to read the full thing you can check it out on this google doc)

[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 7: Conviction

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You and Miles secure a guilty verdict for the first time together and get a few moments to learn more about each other. You vow to be better about staying professional at work, but that's easier said than done.

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

"There are two possible explanations here," Nora begins, "either you're cheating on your secret boyfriend with Miles Edgeworth, which would be so unlike you I hesitate to even include it in my theory, or he is your secret boyfriend." She narrows her eyes and stares directly at you. "I'm going to go with the latter because given the overachiever that you are, of course that's who you'd go for."

You drop your head and nod.

"So, it was him the whole time!" Nora declares. "Miles Edgeworth is your secret boyfriend!"

"Can you lower your voice!?" You beg. You walk over to her bed and sit next to her.

Nora smirks at you, but obliges and speaks quietly, yet still emphatically. "I can't believe it! Miles Edgeworth punched your V-card!" She gushes, nudging your shoulder.

You grab her hands and hold them together right under your chin. "You can't tell anyone! Please, Nora! It would ruin everything!" You plead.

"Oh, of course I won't. I'm just impressed, is all. You really swing for the fence, don't you?" Nora teases.

You sigh with relief and shrug, releasing her hands.

"How the fuck did that happen?!" Nora asks.

A guilty sigh escapes your lips. "It just kind of happened. I mean we spend almost every minute of every day together and, well, we just sort of...clicked," you explain, not wanting to share every detail.

"So, were you not actually as busy as you said you were today?" Nora asks.

"No, we were definitely swamped," you answer.

"When did you have time to get a hickey on your neck?" Nora questions.

"Well, I guess there was a little bit of down time," you admit through gritted teeth, wincing. "...in his office."

"You..." Nora stops and covers her mouth with her hand once she realizes what you're implying, eyes glaring wide open at you, her gasp still audible behind her hand. You nod in confirmation. "You had sex with the chief prosecutor in his office!?" Nora concludes in complete disbelief, hands flying to her cheeks.

You squeeze your eyes shut and confess, holding up two fingers, "twice."

"Oh my God!" Nora exclaims and falls back onto her bed.

You drop your head into your hands, mortified and whimper.

Nora pulls herself back up and draws you into a hug. "I love you so much more now!" She exclaims.

You roll your eyes. "Thanks, Nora. I'm so glad I have your approval," you reply, sarcastically.

"I'm never going to look at him the same way again," Nora says. She pauses for a moment, lost in thought. She looks at you, seriously. "Have…you told your dad, yet?"

You bite your lip, feeling guilty your parents are still in the dark even about your mentorship with Miles. "...no," you confess.

"You're going to have to tell him and your mom sooner or later. Do they even know you're working with him?"

You shake your head, more guilt spreading across your face. "You know how my dad is. As soon as I talk a little too much about Miles, Dad is going to figure out what's going on. He can't turn off the detective in him," you explain, justifying your withholding of the truth from your parents.

"Well, he's going to find out eventually. Especially, if you don't move home after law school like he's expecting," Nora reminds you of your parents' ongoing hope that you'll move back to Colorado Springs once you've graduated. Your dad even told you at the start of the summer that he'd talk to the chief prosecutor there, who's a friend of his, to secure a job for you. The chief prosecutor back home is a very talented attorney; you've known him since you were a kid. You might even end up chief prosecutor there, yourself, after working under him for a time.

But no one could replace Miles. Part of what makes this internship so exciting, besides the obvious, is his passion for the practice. His dedication is unwavering and it pushes you to be better yourself and strive for perfection. You've never met anyone else like that. You highly suspect that when your father does find out about everything going on between you two, he'll greatly disapprove, but it won't be for a legitimate reason such as any kind of deficit in Miles' ability to care for you, provide for you, or make you happy; all of which he does, marvelously. Your father simply never found anyone worthy of his precious daughter. NPR is more lively than your dating life was back home.

"Yeah, I know. I just…don't want to deal with Dad telling me Miles isn't good enough. I know he'll find some reason to say it," you lament.

"How could he?" Nora asks. "Who could be better than Miles Edgeworth?"

"I don't know, Nora. Dad's just unreasonably picky," you explain.

"Do you plan to stay with Miles or not?" Nora asks.

"Yes," you answer without hesitation. You can hardly picture your life without him anymore. When you think of returning to school, graduating, getting your first job, you think of Miles being right there with you. He's turned your life upside down since you met him. Everything has happened so fast and yet, it all feels like it's gone exactly how it's supposed to…

"You might want to consider at least telling him you're working with Miles," Nora advises.

"Yeah, I will. Just let me deal with one headache at a time. I have to be in court tomorrow and Miles is going to expect me to participate during the trial," you reply and stand up to walk over to your bed and crawl in under the sheets.

Nora closes her laptop and turns off the lights. "So, he's still going to be your mentor? Even though you're sleeping with him?"

You groan. "Yes, why?"

"Just clarifying," she replies.

"I can hear you smirking at me!" You scold.

"I hope so 'cause I'm smirking pretty loud," Nora snaps back sarcastically.

"Goodnight, Nora!" You roll over in your bed.

You drift off quickly but wake early. Unable to return to sleep, you opt to leave and get a head start on the day instead of wasting time tossing and turning in bed. You decide to park yourself in the library and squeeze in a bit of bar exam prep before you and Miles need to leave for court. It's barely past six AM and you're sitting down in one of the library chairs, cracking the bar exam textbook you've found. You're wearing a gray, fitted business dress and a pretty, silk scarf with Van Gogh's Starry Night printed on it…to cover the hickey on your neck. You're pretty sure Nora would have laughed at you as you tied it on if she had been awake.

You realize, as you sit in the office library, you finally have a quiet moment to yourself. Between your internship and your growing relationship with Miles, you haven't had any time to sit and organize your thoughts. It feels as though you've been running since the start of the summer and all the dust that's been kicked up hasn't been able to settle. Granted, you can now look behind you and see the distance you've gone; the progress you've made. Still, to be able to take a moment to compartmentalize your thoughts and feelings is a welcome thing.

You close your eyes, listening to the ambient hum of the office building and the soft chirps of the birds just waking up outside. The librarian is the only other one here and she's behind the circulation desk, presumably getting ready for her day. You continue reading through the book, writing down a few notes in a notebook you carry with you.

"You look like you could use some of this," a pleasant voice says as a paper cup of coffee is set next to your book. You look up to see the librarian smiling down at you, holding her own cup in her other hand. She's a middle aged woman with blonde hair tied in a bun behind her head.

You give her a relaxed smile. "Thank you! This is perfect!" You take a sip of the fresh coffee. It feels like a warm hug for your soul.

"You must be a student," she surmises.

You chuckle and smile sheepishly. "What gave it away?"

"Well, for starters, you're reading a bar exam prep book. I don't know any licensed attorneys who even touch those. And it's kind of written all over your face," she explains.

I hope you're not able to glean anything else from looking at my face. "You hit the nail on the head…and I definitely needed some coffee," you reply kindly. "Thank you, again."

"No problem, hon," the librarian cheerfully replies and returns to her desk.

You return to your reading and enjoy the peaceful downtime before your phone buzzes with a text. You sigh. I can barely get even five minutes to myself.

It's from Nora. "See you left early. Do I even want to know what you and Edgeworth are doing in his office right now?"

You reply, "hey! I'm studying for the bar right now, thank you very much!"

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes again with Nora's response, "yeah, sure, okay. Is that the cover story you two are going with? 'bar review'?"

That would be a good cover story, you think to yourself. You tuck that one away for the next time you need to convince Mrs. Brekkie to let you spend excess time with Miles. Perhaps you'll leave out the fact that the 'bar review' will be at Miles' personal residence. You shake your thoughts back to the present and type your answer back to her, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I am actually studying for the bar. I'm in the library with a review book and everything!"

"Uh huh. Sure you are. You enjoy your 'bar review'." Nora responds.

You roll your eyes but set your phone back down and return to your reading. When you've finished your coffee, you check your watch. Miles should be here by now, so you put the review book away and head upstairs. The excitement to see him in the morning never fades from day to day.

As you push the ajar door open to step inside, you're greeted with a gorgeous smile from him as he wraps up a phone call. "Thank you, Detective," he says into the phone and hangs up the receiver. "Good morning," he says to you.

"Morning," you return with a smile. You close the door behind you. Miles takes note but says nothing. You force yourself to stay on the other side of his desk from him, the tension in the room quickly rising. If you could just have one kiss…

But your colossal failure to restrain yourselves yesterday has pushed you to do better. Why does he look so handsome today? Your mouth is watering.

"How are you?" Miles asks. He remains standing behind his desk as if he's fully aware of how wound you both are right now

Desperately wishing I could kiss you right now, you think to yourself.

"Well, then, why don't you?" He asks, smirk on full display.

Your eyes widen and a gasp escapes your lips. "Oh, God, I said that out loud?" You reply, face burning with embarrassment. Your hands rush to your cheeks.

Miles nods with a chuckle.

"I want to. I just…I thought I should be better than I was yesterday," you admit.

"I'd say a kiss would still be widely better than we were yesterday," Miles argues.

"That's true," you agree and move your hands down to your side. You stay still, however, scolding yourself, internally. Have some self control! "I just…don't know if I can stop with only a kiss." You ache with desire as if parched. It's almost painful being in his presence and not his arms. "But, I can't bear the thought of both tarnishing your reputation and losing you as my mentor. I'm afraid if we continue to be so careless here, we're only jeopardizing both our careers."

"You have a point," Miles admits. "Your progress as an attorney is of the utmost importance to me. As for my reputation," he smiles, as if laughing internally at himself, "I've built it back from worse. I do, however, wish to preserve yours."

You take a deep breath and sigh. "We can do this. We have to," you say, more to yourself than him.

"This won't last forever, don't forget. Come the end of the summer and subsequently your internship here, there is nothing forbidding a relationship between us," he reminds you and offers a reassuring smile. "And I, for one, will be very vocal about it, especially to Fredericks."

You smile and chuckle. "At least wait a week or so to make it somewhat believable that we didn't behave like animals around each other behind closed doors the entire summer," you reply.

"Five days," Miles playfully retorts with his trademark smirk.

"Okay, Romeo, five days it is," you agree with a laugh. Surprisingly, you both feel some of the tension disperse. You take your usual seat on the sofa and Miles sits at his desk.

Miles scoffs. "Please, you insult me. Romeo was an idiot. Galavanting around with young girls. He marries Juliet, murders her cousin, then skips town without her. And they both end up dead. Trust me, I was faring far better at eighteen years old."

You chuckle. "I would commit felonies to meet eighteen year old Miles," you admit.

He laughs. "It would not be anywhere near as interesting as you're imagining. Much like you, I was in the middle of law school; an intern fighting to make a name for myself."

"Imagine you and I in law school at the same time," you muse with a laugh.

"You might not feel the same way about me as you do now," he reveals.

"Why?" You ask.

"I wasn't in the same mindset I am now. In essence, I used to be willing to do anything to secure a guilty verdict, even at the expense of the truth, real justice. I don't like who I was then," he explains.

"What changed?" You're fascinated by this tale.

"An old friend of mine, like a brother to me; he pushed me to take stock of my values, challenge my beliefs," he confesses.

"I never knew that about you. I'm glad you told me," you say, the desire to kiss him is nearly unstoppable. You have to fight to keep your legs still.

He gives you a sweet smile. "What about you? I am beginning to feel very curious about what you were like at eighteen."

You blush. "Well, let's see…I was finishing high school and getting ready for college," you answer vaguely.

He looks at you quizzically, suspecting your withholding more. "No Romeo to call on you?" Figures he'd ask that.

You try to find the best way to explain…you sigh and lean your chin on your hand, fingers resting against your cheek. Your elbow sits perched on your knee.

Miles smirks. "'See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek'," he says, parroting The Bard's famous work.

"Do not quote Shakespeare to me at seven o'clock in the morning," you playfully chide. Normally, a woman would swoon at hearing a man quote Romeo and Juliet to her but Miles was clearly teasing you with it.

He chuckles. "Sorry, you were saying…"

"Dad…wasn't the most approving when it came to the boys around town. He was never happy with any of them. Most didn't really try very hard. Everyone in town knew him. Among his accolades as a near perfect detective, he was the stereotypical overprotective father as well," you explain. "Any boy that came around the house…well he had to get through Dad first and no one got through Dad. In his defense, none of them really held my attention much anyway"

Miles narrows his eyes. "Not one?"

You hesitate but shake your head.

"You're a bad liar," Miles says, immediately calling out the hesitation you definitely failed to conceal.

There was one. One. Nothing happened though, so it hardly counted. "There's an air force base in my hometown. Dad and I went to the air shows a lot and I met an airman there when I was seventeen…do you really want to hear this?" You ask, hoping he won't ask you to tell the story.

"Absolutely," he answers, still smirking. One day you may figure him out. Today is not that day, though.

"He was nineteen and Dad was furious. The airman, his name is Chris, came by a lot, even though Dad wouldn't let him in the house. Mom," you chuckle, "Mom loved it. She helped me sneak him letters. Sometimes I would walk to the end of the block to drop them in the federal mailbox so Dad wouldn't find out. Mom and I would try to get to the mail before Dad and watch for Chris' letters back to me. We got to have a few dates when I left for college. I lived in the dorms so all Dad could really do was disapprove from the corner. Chris got deployed overseas not long after that." You frown. "We kept up sending letters to each other for a few years and we got to spend a little time together when he was home on leave, but then I went off to law school and we just…drifted apart. We sort of still keep in touch. He got married and I think he and his wife are expecting a baby. Last letter I got from him was back in December."

"I'm sorry to hear it ended the way it did," Miles replies.

You shrug. "I'm not," you reveal. Miles most certainly isn't either, but you decide to let that slide.

"You're not?" Miles asks.

"No," you answer, smiling sweetly.

"Interesting. Why is that?" He watches you curiously.

"Chris was the first to dare to defy my dad. It was something of a novelty to me, I suppose, but looking back now, I can see that the connection I felt with him was barely a fraction of what I feel with you," you confess, blushing again. "If we had tried to stick together, between law school for me and the air force for him, we wouldn't have lasted."

"Are you suggesting I would have tried to steal you away?" He asks, amused.

"Would you?" You retort, a cunning smile shining back at him.

He looks deeply in your eyes and ponders. "No." He finally says. "I would have respected the choice you made. That being said, I still would have coveted your affections; I still would have invited you under my mentorship, and bear in mind, I still would have had to wait for your initiation of a personal relationship, anyway."

"So, we could have ended up right where we are now," you surmise.

"Would you still have chosen me?" He asks.

You don't need to think about it. Chris doesn't hold a candle to Miles. He never would. "Yes, easily," you answer.

He smiles. "One might call that fate, then," he replies.

You chuckle. "I suppose it could be."

"Does your father approve of me?" He asks.

"He…doesn't know about you, actually," you admit, guilt creeping across your face. “Well, he knows who you are, but not that we’re together and…together.”

"I don't see a problem with your own mother and father knowing of our relationship," Miles says.

"You don't know my dad," you begin, inhaling deeply and sighing. "He keeps hoping I'll move back to Colorado after law school. He's rather close with the chief prosecutor there and is already trying to secure a position for me with him. Dad'll be thrilled that I'm studying under you as an intern…but when he finds out about everything else…he'll be upset." You frown, wishing that wouldn't be the case. You've never wanted your father to approve of a man so much.

"If that is in fact the case, I have a rather important question, then," Miles begins.

"Okay," you reply.

"Should your father react the way you anticipate, will you want to continue our relationship?"

"More than anything," you reply, smiling longingly at him.

"Then we will," Miles reassures you.

You let a soft laugh out. "Even if my dad tries to rip us apart?"

He nods. "If he thinks he can keep me from you, he's sorely mistaken. As much as I would like to have his acceptance, I do not require it. I prioritize your desires, not his."

"Thank you, Miles." You're comforted by his confidence. Damnit, the urge to kiss him is rising again. Maybe, just maybe, if Miles fights hard enough, Dad will give in.

Miles checks his watch. "We should head to the courthouse. I'm anxious to see you question your witness," he says with a proud smile.

You return his smile. You're nervous, but eager to prove yourself. He holds the door for you, but refrains from touching you.

At the courthouse, you and Miles take your place at the prosecutor's table.

"Is the prosecution ready?" The Judge asks.

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor. I will also be supervising my law student who will be participating with witness testimony today."

"Very well…" The Judge agrees. He verifies the status of the defense team and begins the trial. "Will the prosecution please call its first witness?"

"You're up," Miles whispers in your ear. It sends shivers through you.

You clear your throat and project, "Your Honor, the prosecution calls Brian Hagen to the stand."

Your witness enters the courtroom and takes his seat on the stand. He is a middle-aged man with a shaved head and clean shaven face. He is quite lean. You recall from your internship last year he is very physically active and has even run marathons before. He is dressed in a very sharp, dark gray suit. Once he has been sworn in, you begin, Miles observing your every move. "Please state your name and occupation," you begin.

"Brian Hagen and I'm an employment attorney," he answers, beaming with pride at watching you perform like a proud father watching his child in the school play.

"Mr. Hagen, will you please testify about your relationship with the victim?" You ask. The defense attorney watches you like a cat watches a bird.

"Well, he contacted me about a month ago requesting legal counsel after he was fired from his job. He told me he had a crushing injury to his hand after an accident at work. He told me he had filed for FMLA but was fired before the request was processed. I never heard from him again and didn't find out he was dead until you informed me," Mr. Hagen testifies.

"Can you explain to the court what FMLA is?" You begin.

"Objection!" The defense attorney shouts. You pale. "This intern is requesting expert testimony from a lay witness!" He sneers as he says the word 'intern'. You see Miles' hand twitch out of the corner of your eye, but his face remains neutral.

"Objection sustained," The Judge rules. He addresses you by name, "you cannot ask a lay witness to give expert testimony."

Your face warms with embarrassment.

"Objection!" Miles shouts. "Mr. Hagen has already stated he is an employment attorney and therefore is perfectly qualified to make an expert testimony regarding employment law. My intern simply needs to voir dire her witness prior to requesting the expert testimony." He turns to whisper to you, "you're perfectly fine using Mr. Hagen as both a lay and expert witness. You just need to establish his expertise first."

"Right," you whisper back and collect your thoughts. You turn your attention back to your witness. "Mr. Hagen, where did you go to law school?"

"University of Florida," he answers.

"Can you speak briefly about your work experience?" You ask.

"I've been an employment attorney for twenty years and owned my own law firm for ten. I've handled wrongful termination cases, discrimination, retaliation, sexual harassment, and medical leave," Mr. Hagen explains.

"Does the defense have any objections to the witness testifying as an expert in employment law?" You ask, looking the defense attorney dead in the eye, trying to suppress the snide tone you wish you could use. You see the smallest smirk from Miles.

The attorney glares at you, but you stare him down. He shakes his head.

"Mr. Hagen," you begin, continuing where you left off before, "can you explain the Family Medical Leave Act?"

"It's a federal law that protects an employee's job while they take medical leave," he explains.

This is all information you are very well aware of but to prove your case, it has to be spelled out. "Would this law provide payment to the victim?"

"No, that's under workers compensation," Mr. Hagen answers.

"Who pays for that?" You ask.

"The employer," Mr. Hagen answers.

"What did the victim say about his needs following the accident?" You continue.

"He would have needed extensive surgeries and rehabilitation, likely totaling hundreds of thousands of dollars. Maybe more," he answers. Excited whispering scatters throughout the courtroom.

"Mr. Hagen, did you see the FMLA paperwork that the victim filled?" You ask.

"Yes, he faxed me a copy after he filed it with his employer," he replies.

You produce the copy of the FMLA paperwork for the judge to see. "Your Honor, I'd like to submit this as evidence," you stare.

"Objection!" The defense attorney shouts. "How is this relevant?" He asks. Miles smirks.

"Sustained," The Judge rules and turns to you, "please explain the relevance of this evidence."

"Yes, Your Honor," you begin. "As Mr. Edgeworth pointed out yesterday, the defendant was at the victim's home the afternoon he was murdered, but what we were unable to establish was a motive. Given Mr. Hagen's testimony about his consultation by the victim prior to his death, a probable motive is clear. Firstly, the victim applied for medical leave and was presumably going to then apply for workers compensation. Secondly, the victim died before the FMLA paperwork could be processed. Thirdly, let us recall that through a thorough examination of the defendant's business files, there was no hard copy of the FMLA paperwork and additionally, there were no corresponding emails between the victim and the defendant."

"Objection!" The defense attorney shouts. That was getting old. "This intern cannot prove my client was aware that the victim filled FMLA paperwork prior to his murder. Perhaps he had completed the paperwork but not submitted it."

"You're incorrect, counselor," you say. "This copy of the application clearly states at the bottom that it was electronically filled a week before he was terminated. Unless your client ignores his business email, he had to have known about it. Given your client's testimony to Mr. Edgeworth yesterday, he is a very dedicated business owner and claims he hardly ever misses work," you rebut. You turn back to your witness. "Mr. Hagen, how much was the victim going to pursue with his lawsuit?"

"He was going to ask for three million dollars," Mr. Hagen answered.

You smirk. Miles, following your line of thought, leans in to whisper, "go ahead. I think you can wrap this one up."

"Mr. Hagen, had the victim informed his employer, the defendant, of his lawsuit?" You ask.

"He served the notice to the defendant himself," Mr. Hagen answers. The audience in the courtroom collectively gasps.

The clacking of the judges gavel rings throughout the courtroom. "Order!" The Judge commands forcefully. When the chatter dies down, he continues, "the defense may cross examine the witness."

The attorney does cross examine your witness, but it's fruitless. His testimony is iron clad and the defense team isn't able to make any argument to sway The Judge.

"Guilty!" The Judge declares, securing your second win.

Once is an anomaly and twice is a coincidence; just as with your first guilty verdict, the defendant attempts to lunge at you from the defendant's stand. You feel a hand tug at your arm and before you realize it, Miles has pulled you behind him as the bailiff secures the newly convicted murderer. He shields you until the man is removed from the courtroom.

In the prosecutor's lobby, Mr. Hagen finds you and Miles. "You did great, kid!" He shouts and engulfs you in a big hug. You laugh happily and glance at Miles, knowing his apprehension for men touching you, but to your surprise, he is smiling calmly. Mr. Hagen releases you but keeps his hands on your shoulders. "I'm so proud of you! Look how far you've come! Can't wait to tell the missus how well you're doing!"

"Thank you for helping me, Mr. Hagen," you reply.

"Hey, it was an easy day for me. You did all the heavy lifting!" He says, still grinning proudly. He turns to Miles to shake his hand. "You've done an excellent job teaching her, Mr. Edgeworth," he compliments.

"Please, call me Miles. And thank you, but it's not a difficult task. She picks up everything very quickly," Miles replies.

"She's a smart one. Takes after her dad," Mr. Hagen adds and gives you a smile.

"She'll really be put to the test when we get our next case. She joined this one half way through and she still secured a guilty verdict," Miles says. He flashes you a quick glance. "I'm anxious to see how she does being involved from the start."

"I am as well," Mr. Hagen says and turns back to you. "Let me know if you ever need me again and of course, there's a spot for you at my firm next year, too!"

"You'll have to get in line, Mr. Hagen," Miles chimes in with a smirk.

"I see that," he replies with a chuckle. "Well, I do think prosecution suits you better," he comments to you and buttons his suit coat. "I suppose I should return to my office. Please, keep in touch," he adds and turns to Miles, "take care of her. She's like a daughter to me."

"I will," Miles replies firmly.

Mr. Hagen nods and heads for the exit. You and Miles take your leave as well and return to the prosecutor's office.

He sits at his desk. The urge to sit in his lap is almost disorienting. You force yourself to take your usual seat on the couch. You meet his eye contact. "I'd like to hear your reflection about this trial," he instructs.

"I felt a little lost sometimes, but less today than yesterday. I…really embarrassed myself by not establishing expertise for Mr. Hagen, didn't I?" You blush, mortified by your mistake in front of the entire courtroom, including Miles.

He chuckles, "I told you I didn't expect perfection from you, but discussing the errors now is important because I want you to recognize any deficits you have and work to improve them. I guarantee you will never again forget to voir dire your witness, wouldn't you agree?"

A sheepish smile creeps across your face. "Yes, I suppose this will stick in my mind forever." You look down.

"Don't dwell too much on it. This is how you learn to swim, so to speak. I will let you flounder a bit, but I won't let you drown. I want to see you learn on your own and rely on me only when necessary. This is your practice. I expect you to take ownership of it," he explains.

Good God, he's sexy when he talks like that. You take his feedback to heart, though you stare a little too long at his mouth. "I've never been great at handling failure," you admit.

"I wasn't either. I've learned to take everything I can from my missteps, though, and make myself stronger from it. You can do the same," he replies.

"I'm having trouble picturing you operating at any speed less than perfect," you comment, flirtatiously.

"Remember, I have been doing this for ten years," Miles reminds you. "You are still only in your second year of your formal education. Don't forget how advanced you already are. Mr. Hagen was a great starting mentor. I can tell he set a great foundation for you," he comments.

You narrow your eyes and smirk at Miles. "Speaking of Mr. Hagen, why is it that he gives me a hug and you have no problem whatsoever but Professor Fredericks touches my shoulder and you just about kick him out of your office? I'm noticing some pretty big inconsistencies," you playfully tease, leaning back and crossing your arms.

"Intent," Miles simply replies.

"Intent?" You repeat.

"Mr. Hagen sees you first and foremost as a daughter to him. I can tell by the way he treats you and he said it himself. With this, I have no problem. Fredericks ogles you. Combined with touching you is enough to leave me incensed," he clarifies.

"Right," you reply sarcastically. "Got it now. Mr. Hagen, good. Professor Fredericks, bad."

"You do learn quickly," he replies. He looks down and checks his watch. "It would appear we have some down time. Why don't you grab that bar exam book from the library and I'll help you study?"

"How'd you know I was down there this morning?" You ask, staring curiously at him.

"Do you really think you can be in this building without my knowledge?" Miles asks, eyeing you intently.

"When did you get here?" You ask, his hot stare melting your inhibitions quickly.

"Shortly after you. The secretary told me you had arrived. I saw you in the library talking with the librarian. You seemed rather content so I let you be. I knew I'd be seeing you soon, anyway," he explains.

You turn your eyes away. "Miles, you can't look at me like that���not here," you warn.

He lets out a low, seductive chuckle. "I see you are covering your neck today. Goodness, why might that be?" He asks sarcastically, with a mischievous smirk. His stare remains hot and intense.

Your smile wanes from your face. You can't take another second. You stand from your seat. "Miles, I can’t…” You struggle then sigh. “One of two things needs to happen. I either need to study in the library alone, or you need to get me the hell out of here…because I can't stay in the same room with you anymore and not touch you."

Miles rises from his seat, hastens toward you, grabs your hand, and leads you from the office. He whips his keys out of his pocket and locks the door as you both leave. "I have bar review materials in my home office," he says as you head for the exit.

[stardustroleplays]

ALEXANDER

❛ those of us who vow never to love again are making liars out of honest men ❜ how to rest - the crane wives

gif source

Content Warnings: Toxic parental relationships

GENERAL INFO

NAME: Alexander Dean Abbott NICKNAMES: Alex AGE: 32 HEIGHT: 6'" SEXUALITY: Gay GENDER: Cis Man (he/him)CAREER: Attorney at Law FACECLAIM: Adrien Brody

PERSONALITY

Charming but distant, armed with sharp wits and a penchant for keeping all but a small circle of close friends at arm's length, he excels at his job, but has a tendency to stay stiff and formal even in his off-hours. If there's one thing he isn't, it's spontaneous. Everything he does, he likes to think about and plan in as much detail as possible. While that means his organizational skills are immaculate, it also makes him overly cautious and causes him to miss out on a lot of things. He also really likes feeling like a provider, not just with romantic interests, but with friends as well. Alex is very observant, so if you mention that book you've been meaning to read? Two days later, he's handing you a copy. He notices that your favorite jacket is falling apart at the seams? No worries, just hand it over, he'll have it mended so it looks good as new. And forget about ever paying for dinner or drinks when he's around. It can be a bit overbearing, admittedly, but he means well. His favorite kind of people are those who aren't afraid to challenge him. Besides spoiling people with lavish gifts, affectionate bickering is his love language.

SHORT BIO

● Alexander's parents, Harold and Suzanne Abbott, both belonged to former 'old money' high society families recently fallen on hard times. Theirs was a match made less out of affection and more an attempt to salvage their fortunes. The endeavor proved to be doomed from the start and by the time Alexander was born, his parents were desperately clinging to what little remained of their generational wealth. ● His parents did their best to instill an industrious spirit into their son, seeing him less like an individual with his own thoughts and emotions, and more as a last resort to uphold their place in high society. And for a long time, Alexander didn't even mind. He didn't know better. All he really knew was that his parents were happiest with him when he was excelling in school and in his extracurricular activities. He learned very quickly that being successful was almost a suitable replacement for being loved. ● He got into a fancy law school and graduated top of his class, quickly establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom. As time went on, though, he began to feel a profound emptiness creeping into the seams of his perfectly constructed persona. As a coping mechanism, he began to work himself to the bone, which, granted, did work for a while - until burnout hit him like a train at full speed and he was forced to take a huge step back and reevaluate his life for the sake of his own health. ● After extensive therapy, he ended up quitting his position as a corporate attorney and established a small lawfirm of his own, Abbott & Co. Law Offices. He's still in touch with his parents now, but their relationship is strained at best, and he's trying to build a life he actually wants to live, for himself, not for anyone else. ● One thing he's sure he won't budge on, though, is his disillusionment with the dating scene. Even though he's lonely as all get-out, he's pretty committed to staying a bachelor forever. How much do you want to bet someone will eventually come along and change his mind?

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

[ ooc character tag ] [ ic character tag ]

[dreamingsushi]

The Longest Promise - Episode 7

Let's try a little bit more of this one, even though so far, I'm so confused. I guess it will make sense eventually. I think that Da Siming is a bad guy. I wonder if Zhu Yan is really supposed to cause Shi Ying's death at all and if all of this isn't just a lie. But it's hard to take any guesses at this rate. I have no idea where we are going with this one.

Zhi Yuan gives Zhu Yan the clothe he got for her. When her maid packs it to send it to Jiuji mountain, she accidentally includes Zhu Yan's embroidery of Shi Ying.

Consort Qing and her brother are worried about Da Siming hiding away Shi Ying, that he might have faked his death. Rumour is that he was very much in love with Bai Yan (Shi Ying's mom) back then. So Consort Qing summons Xuelu to her palace and asks her about Diwang grotto. She says that she couldn't really go, as soon as she got in, she fainted, as if someone didn't want her to go in there. It confirms a little more the suspicions. Bailu knows that she's being used, but she doesn't care, as long as she gets what she wants.

Shi Ying just turned 18 years old. Da Siming gives him a new palace to live in. Also, he'll have take in a disciple. There's a few challenges to undergo for one to be taken in. He says boys and girls are accepted. Da Siming though has already decided to have him take the Bai daughter (which one?) as his disciple. Seems like the Bai are pretty important. However, it would be weird to have them married, because they're cousins. I mean, I'm really not into incest and such. Anyways.

At first Zhu Yan didn't want to go to the selection, but Zhi Yuan convinces her to go, she won't need to care for the opinion of that perso who hurt her. Also, seems like this Zhi Yuan guy liked her great-grandmother and people from his tribe ever fall once in love in life. When she died though, she erased his memory of her, until they meet again once she's reborn. Her face was hidden by a veil, so no idea who could she be now. Because she's most likely reborn already. Anyways, she ends up going to the selection. There, Xuelu tries to provoke her by mentioning the fact that present general Qing Gang beat her father. She manages not to get into a fight, but promise the general to fight later on.

When Shi Ying comes in for the ceremony, she's a little in a daze, that he's Shao Siming. I thought wrong earlier that maybe Da Siming wanted him to marry one of the Bai girls. As he takes his vows, he promises to never get married in this life. Harsh. But also it's weird because he also promises to never covet the crown, but I'm pretty sure Da Siming wants him back on the throne... Zhu Yan says that she doesn't want to partake in the test to remain as a disciple. Shi Ying doesn't hold on to her and tells that she can leave by her own means, failing the exam.

Xueying and Xuelu teamed up together for the examination. Xueying seems clumsy and useless. She falls down a hole. At first I thought maybe Xuelu would just abandon her down there, but she actually saves her. I guess maybe she doesn't hate so much her sister, more that the circumstances make her unable to fully open to her. I mean, Xueying is a cinnamon roll, after all.

Zhu Yan decides to sit down and wait to be eliminated. But then someone is attacking her. She notices a feather on the ground and she tells Chongming to come out. She says that she won't stay on that mountain and that she won't resist if he attacks her: she wants to leave. However, she's probably not expecting him to send a big rock her way. Will she dodge? Will she get hit? We'll only know for sure in the next episode.

[privateanxieties]

So. Immediately I must mention this before I forget:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

summary: your own worst enemy is yourself

words: 8.1 k

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

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

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

These two are f*cked up™️

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

Back to Part 15.

Part 16

Hey.

Hey, asshole. Can you hear me?

—wake up—

Are you still crazy? Snap out of it!

—W̶A̶K̶E̸— ̵U̵P̶—

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

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

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

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

How could he sleep at a time like this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t give a shit.

Psh, sounds like you.

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

Down here, genius.

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

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

But no one was there.

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

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

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

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

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

It was him.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

And again.

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

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

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

“Fuck, I’m losin’ my mind.”

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

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

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

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

What do you think, Parker? 

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

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

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

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

He tilted his head, confusion contorting his features. 

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

Peter’s eyes darted, bewildered at the revelation. 

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

He looked up at the Phantasm, face blank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, like you protected Honey?

His heart lurched at her nickname.

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Peter fell silent.

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

Peter turned his face away, scowling at the shadows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrowed, tears dripping from his chin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—̵he wants you to D̷̫͆̊IĘ̶͖͎̝̰̹̫̋͒̃̍—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No such luck, he heard in the darkness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monsters of his own making.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ỷ̸̥o̴͔̾u̶̓ ̷hă̷v̵ë̵̴͉́͌ kn̵ó̸w̴n ̶̧̕ä̵͕́ll ̵̱̂alo̴̩͋n̶̤̆g̴.̸ Ŵ̷͜E̷͓͗ ̷h̵av̶e̵ Ą̶̛̼̩̮͎͆̂̑̈́̌͝Ļ̸̖̖̗̇̎́̑̕W̴̩̗̺̫̱̩̘̃̽̕͝Ạ̵̫͑̓͐̽Y̷͖̔̉Ṡ̷ k̶͖͗n̸ò̶ẁ̴n.

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

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

“Peter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she loathed herself for that.

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

He shook his head. “‘S’fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed hard. Of course she did. 

“Bella,” he answered.

“Bingo.”

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

“That’s not an answer.”

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

“No. I don’t.”

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

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

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

“Who’s Gwen?”

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

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

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

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

He swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

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

Time stopped. 

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

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

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

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

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

She was weak. 

Had always been weak.��

Had always begged for mercy. 

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

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

She hated Peter. 

She hated John. 

She hated all men. 

If God was a man, she hated him too. 

And her mother. She loathed her mother. 

She hated being a pawn, being a tool. 

She hated being talked down to. 

She hated being used. 

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

Fuck it. Fuck them all.

“Get on your knees.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She slapped him again. Hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honey. 

She tasted just like honey.

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

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

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

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

This was better than a dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She broke the silence first.

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

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

Responsibility, Peter.

His cheeks glistened with anguish. 

He nodded.

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

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

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

To be continued...

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

[mihrunnisasultans]

God is my witness that as long as I am alive my heart will beat only for you.

Mustafa x Mihrünnisa + touches expressing love & affection part 1 for the MY/K OTP series

[rhiezus]

❝ i would do anything for you. all my lines and rules. they mean nothing when it comes to you. it’d cross and break them all just to make you happy. ❞ // ele eh um marido seth x sulji

it always felt like sulji had been looking at her body from far above like she is watching the scene from somewhere else for so long. they play and replay in her head, again and again, something from a movie except that is her life. the decisions come and go just the same, sometimes like something is doing it for her instead of her doing it herself. when did she put herself into auto-pilot? it mustn't have been so long ago, but it felt long enough because her eyes were tired and her brain would throb against her skull asking her to see, look at it more. watch it close, intently. why couldn't she? and then whenever she would push herself, at moments when things would get too hard to bear she would and she would see him. and she was able to hear, sometimes even for the first time in her life. she knows there is more love from other people out there, from her sister, from her friends, and from her fans... but she can't hold it, they can't reach her in that limbo of hers. seth however since the first time they came to actually know each other, can. he reaches out to her every single time, pulling her back to earth like pulling herself from drowning at the most crucial moments. waking her up, giving her life some kind of meaning.

it always felt too cheesy to say, to begin to express to anyone that she was hopelessly falling into something that she couldn't explain. but to seth she never felt like she needed to, he gave her time and he respected her feelings, which altogether made it easier for her to heal. she would have her whole life now to appreciate him for that and to do so much more. she wanted to travel together, she wanted to build a home, she wanted to feel safe and make him happy, she wanted all that because she wanted him, for as far as she can remember and for as long as she knows. and right here at this moment, laying in bed together just a few nights after the day they promise to do just so by putting a ring on their fingers, she feels invincible. right now she is alive and happy. and it feels so fucking good that she can't stop smiling, she can't stop herself from giggling at anything he says or does, and she doesn't want to either. he means it, every word he says now and it doesn't panic her to hear it like it would a year or so ago. she actually feels like embracing those words, but instead she raises both of her hands and holds up both of his cheeks. "you already have, idiot." she grins, contently. her eyes must be beaming at him because his eyes beam at her, they are so happy that it's kind of dumb. she feels dumb, but in the best possible way.

outside looking in, it was possible to say she must have lost her mind. marrying so young with so much life ahead of you. but she was ready to answer every question as she said in her own vows that day that she truly wants to spend every remaining of her youth with him for he is the one who gave it purpose. and after that, growing old together they will teach each other how to be and they will cherish every other moment together as they want to. so fuck if the world, it never gave her anything as good as this and there is nothing wrong with wanting to keep it. despite her career, she has never wanted anything so badly and she'll prove that by standing by him now and forever. that has to be the best thing she has ever felt, undoubtedly. which is why she is always smiling and acting all happy, sappy, and stupid. "hey... so that means you would go anywhere and do anything for me right?" she asks, batting her long eyelashes at him like she does when she is going to be annoying and ask him for something. sulji does that often, in fact, she doesn't mind playing the cute card to make seth do things for her which is funny cause he always says he won't, then he does. they sound married, after all, sometimes she can't believe it.

the laugh that builds up to this is inevitable, she is running her fingers up and down his cheek and his jaw just to make matters worse. she most definitely doesn't wanna get up now and she doesn't want him to get up either, it feels like they will build a home out of their beds in seth's bedroom in his parent's jeju house. actually, it already does feel like home. whenever she would think of this bedroom, only good memories would come up. it was in this very same room a few years ago when they had sex for the first time, they got back together after that and now they are married and god knows how many actions has this room seen since then, she lost count yesterday. "if so, can you get me something to eat? i'll go for cheeseburgers, i need all the energy i can get." sulji finally asked with a smile on her lips, not looking at seth's eyes now because she was feeling kind of silly to ask something so random when he was in such a poetic state. who knew when that would happen again? well, she does have a lifetime to know now so it's okay, she wants something salty to eat and her husband can get it for her. sulji won't play it cool and pretend like she doesn't need him anymore, she does, she will always and she can't live without seth. he makes it easy to breathe and to feel alive so she'll spend the rest of her life trying to make him feel the same because there is nothing else in this lifetime or any other that would make her happier than that.

[randonauticrap]

Ficlet Spree - Request #2

I got a request from @devonares for:

1. Hugging them from behind & laying their head on the other's shoulder with Nokto Klein

You couldn't believe it; but why couldn't you? You asked yourself the question with pain, laced with malice - but only for yourself. You knew better than to think your nights with Nokto had meant anything to him like it had meant to you. You hated yourself for disillusioning yourself into letting down your guard around the charmingly handsome Prince. He had confided in you a few times, allowed his alluring and sensual mask to drop for mere moments at a time; in the solace of your room or his following your midnight trysts. And you, who had been slowly but very steadily falling for his beautifully broken soul, had come to believe that perhaps he felt the same.

But his words trickled down your face within the tears that fell from your eyes, the salt stinging the tender skin it touched.

"What are you saying to me, Nokto?" you asked as soft sobs escaped your throat.

"I'm saying it was a lie." he replied. "Everything we did, everything we had. It was a lie, it wasn't real."

"I don't- I don't believe you." you muttered, trying to find some explanation for his behavior. "I- I know it's scary, Nokto, but I-"

"Don't say it." he snapped, turning away from you. "Don't make this any harder than it is. I never intended to hurt you, but it got out of hand. End of story."

"Nokto!" you cried as he strode to the door, not looking back until he was halfway out.

"Goodbye, Belle."

Since then, you had holed yourself in your room unless you were traveling to and from Sariel's lessons. You needed several days alone before you would be able to face the Princes with any shred of dignity. You had long since sent Rio away after he could not stop grumbling about his dislike for the 7th Prince of Rhodolite, which had grown vastly since your argument. Even the maids knew you were not to be disturbed, so it was quite the surprise to you when your door opened without previous announcement.

Your teeth gritted when Nokto's wine colored eyes met yours, guilt painted on every feature of his face. "Prince Nokto," you said defiantly. "have you gotten lost? The library is on down the hall." You turned away from him, hiding the hurt you knew was evident in your eyes.

"Belle," he sighed, and you heard his barely present footfall as he crossed the room to you. "Please." it was a murmur in your ear as his long arms wrapped around your waist and the warmth that you had missed so much finally enveloped you again. The threat of you turning to face him and burying your face in his silky clothing with no questions asked was all too strong, and you wept in earnest as you tried to keep an ounce of your pride intact.

"Please, what, Nokto?! How could you possibly request anything from me after the cruel trick you played?" your tears fell, pelting the soft carpet, but not before sending another spine-rattling shiver of guilt down Nokto's spine as they wet his arms.

"I- I didn't mean it. I didn't mean what I said. I was... terrified. Everything I feel about you was never supposed to happen to me; I swore it wouldn't. But, it did. It did and I did the only thing I knew how to do... I lied. I lied about not loving you." You felt the weight of his head fall onto your shoulder in admitted defeat.

You wished for nothing more than to believe his words; the words that had only been uttered by his lips in your sweetest dreams. But you couldn't be certain, not until you had seen his eyes, so you turned in his embrace until you were looking up into his beautiful face, and there you saw it: Longing, hope, love. "Nokto," the word that left your lips was uttered with such tenderness that the Prince's eyes misted over with emotion. "Please, please don't lie to me like this again."

"I won't," he vowed, pressing his forehead down against yours. "Not like this."

"So tell me the truth." you prodded, needing to hear him say the words.

"I- Belle..." he paused to take a measured breath. "I... love you, and it is not a lie, or any kind of deceit."

"Nokto!" you threw your arms around him and pressed your lips to his. "I love you too." you whispered against his mouth and he smiled, tightening his grip around your waist and capturing his lips with yours once more.

~

Tags for the lovelies: @aquagirl1978 @rhodolitesroseforclavis @violettduchess @ikehoe

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [five] // wanda maximoff

summary: Wanda decides to ruin your chance at moving on, which doesn't go down well with you.

warning/s: none

author's note: jealous!wanda is one of my favourite wanda’s 👀 also your comments/feedback always make my day so thank you so much! ♥️

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

Meeting Anna's granddaughter wasn't something I'd ever imagined, since Anna rarely mentioned her unless it was to recall a memory that eventually made her quiet for the rest of the day or to make a snide remark out of annoyance. So, to have her here in front of us was definitely... new.

"What are you doing here?" Anna asked with disbelief.

Sasha blinked awkwardly. "I, er, got a call from the nurse. She said you'd hurt your back, so I thought I'd check in." Her gaze fell to Wanda and I. "I see you've got company."

"Sorry, we'll give you a moment," Wanda blurted, before looking to Anna reassuringly.

I did the same before eyeing Sasha suspiciously then following after Wanda into the hall. When the door closed behind us, I wondered what exactly would happen in there. To say I was overprotective of Anna was an understatement.

Taking a seat on the chairs outside her room, I became acutely aware of how stupid I looked in my trainers, Mickey Mouse pyjamas and raincoat. Especially when Wanda sat beside me, knee brushing mine.

"Do you want a drink or anything?" she asked suddenly, earning my attention.

I shook my head, crossing my arms and leaning back into my seat. "No, thank you, I'm good."

She hummed in acknowledgement but said nothing else. The awkwardness that lingered between us was overpowering, but nowhere near as overpowering as the scent of Wanda's shampoo that was drifting up my nose from how close she was sat to me. I tightened my crossed arms, trying to think of something else. Then I remembered what had happened in Anna's room before Sasha interrupted.

"What were you and Anna arguing about?" I asked, glancing at the witch.

She winced, but didn't look my way. "Nothing. Just neighbour stuff."

I smiled bitterly. So, she didn't want to share. Fine. No big deal. Who was I but her neighbour's carer anyway?

After ten minutes of waiting, we decided to head back inside to make sure Anna was okay. What we saw was Anna and Sasha crying happy tears as the latter sat at her bedside, clutching her hand.

"Damn, sorry," I apologised for Wanda and I, realising we'd interrupted a special moment. "We can–"

"No, we're done," Sasha said, wiping away her tears with embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

"Devushki (girls), this is my granddaughter, Sasha," Anna introduced, and I'd never seen her look happier.

As Sasha stood up and rounded the bed to approach us, I realised she seemed familiar because of the photographs I'd seen around Anna's apartment.

"It's nice to finally meet the two people who have been taking care of my grandmother," Sasha said, before putting out her hand.

I bit back from retorting with something along the lines of 'we wouldn't have to if you had cared for her yourself', and instead shook her hand. Wanda glanced at me, probably sensing the negative thoughts in my mind with her powers, but she said nothing as she smiled politely at Sasha and shook her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Wanda spoke, realising I wouldn't. "Anna talks a lot about you. I was hoping we would eventually meet."

Sasha sighed regretfully, smile fading. "Yes... well, I haven't been around as much as I should have been. I know that now."

"Took you long enough," I muttered under my breath, it slipping out without me realising.

Wanda shoved me in the arm in response and I frowned, rubbing the sore spot.

"You're right," Sasha said, looking to me apologetically. "But I'm here now. And getting that call earlier... it made me realise that I've treated Anna horribly. That's why I've invited her to live with me. To make up for lost time."

Certainly not expecting that, my jaw dropped with surprise. "What?"

Sasha sat back down beside Anna's beside and I exchanged startled looks with Wanda before looking to the older woman in question.

"No offence," I started, glancing at Sasha, before focusing on Anna again, "but are you sure this is the right move? It's not too sudden?"

Anna shook her head and grabbed Sasha's hand. "She wants me to be around her family. And I want it too, Y/N. I miss them."

I nodded, but chewed on the inside of my mouth anxiously. It's not that I didn't trust Sasha (okay, maybe it was a little), but I was scared for Anna. I didn't want her to get heartbroken all over again.

Be supportive, Wanda's voice filled my mind, and I looked to her to see her eyes fading from red to green.

I clenched my jaw. Stay out of my head.

With a bright smile, she ignored me and looked between the grandmother and granddaughter duo.

"I think that's wonderful, Anna," she said kindly. "I mean, of course I'm going to miss having you as a neighbour, but this is all you've wanted. I'm thrilled for you. And so is Y/N."

When she looked to me for confirmation, I felt a familiar anger in the pit of my stomach, only reserved for Wanda Maximoff. But this wasn't about us, this was about Anna.

"I am," I agreed, eyes flickering to Anna. "It sounds great."

"You can both visit whenever you want," Sasha said, nodding enthusiastically. "Anna loves you both so dearly."

"You can't get rid of us even if you tried," Wanda joked, flashing Anna a teasing smile.

Anna chuckled. "I knew you would both understand."

I smiled halfheartedly, glad that everything was working out for Anna but knowing I would miss caring for her greatly.

"We should leave you to rest," I said with finality.

"Thank you," Anna replied, and by the way she looked at me, I knew she was thanking me for a lot more.

"Get well soon," I told her in my 'nurse' voice that she hated, a playful smile on my lips. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

Anna nodded. "Tomorrow."

After saying an awkward goodbye to Sasha, I left the room and headed for the lift down the hall, not bothering to wait for Wanda. Thankfully, she must have known I didn't want to speak to her, as she didn't speed after me.

—

Since Anna moved in with her granddaughter, the last time I saw Wanda was at the hospital. Two more months passed and I had no need to bump into her at Anna's apartment since Anna didn't live there anymore. And the one time I visited Anna since she moved in to Sasha's house, Wanda wasn't present.

I guess it made it a lot easier to attempt to get over her. Six months since she broke up with me was long enough to move on, I think. I'd been on a few dates, none really going anywhere until Natasha decided to set me up with someone a few weeks ago.

It was a family friend of her Avenger's teammate, Clint Barton, and though it was a blind date, it actually worked out well. The woman was called Elise and she was very sweet and charming on our first date, having a similar sense of humour to mine and a killer smile. It was actually the first time since Wanda left that things felt like they were falling into place. We went on a few more dates, deciding not to rush things, and I found myself looking forward to going out with her.

It was a few weeks into our dating relationship when Natasha gave me a call, inviting me as her plus-one to Clint and his wife's vow renewal. They were having a whole celebration at their homestead in Missouri and Natasha figured I'd enjoy it, able to take a weekend break and join her at the lavish hotel she'd be staying in. And also because Elise would be there.

"Oh?" I said with surprise. "Elise didn't mention anything."

"She wanted to," Natasha said with amusement, "but she didn't want to bring it up in case you didn't want to go."

I quirked a brow, despite her being unable to see me. "And why wouldn't I want to go?"

Natasha hesitated. "'Cause Wanda will be there...?"

A sigh escaped my lips as I massaged my forehead. Elise knew about Wanda because it came up when she asked how Natasha and I became friends. She was actually really chill about the whole thing, which I appreciated, but I could only imagine how she must have felt knowing that Wanda would be at the vow renewal.

"You should still come," Natasha encouraged when I didn't say anything. "I already spoke to Wanda and she said she won't cause a scene or anything."

"I doubt that she would," I mumbled.

"She just wants you to be happy," Natasha finished. "So, be happy as my plus-one and get a cute date in with your girlfriend whilst you're there."

I tried to stifle the smile on my lips. "Elise isn't my girlfriend."

"Yet," Natasha added knowingly.

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Look, send me the details and I'll be happy to be your plus-one."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, and I could just imagine her fist-pumping like an idiot. "I'll see you then, Y/N."

"Goodbye," I told her, though a smile of amusement was playing on my lips.

After that call with Natasha, I didn't hesitate to give Elise a call, hoping I wasn't bothering her whilst she was at work.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I greeted, smiling to myself. "Is this a bad time?"

"Well, luckily for you, I'm actually just starting my lunch break," she said in a joking manner. "What's up?"

I scratched my head uncertainly. "Well, Natasha just called and invited me as her plus-one to Clint's vow renewal. She said you would be there, too, obviously, but I just wanted to check in and see if it was okay that I went."

I left out the part about her not telling me about it, but she seemed to pick up on it anyway as she breathed out slowly.

"I just don't want to step on your toes," I quickly added, before chewing on my lip.

"You could never," she said reassuringly. "I actually wanted to ask you to be my date, but I thought it may be too soon. Y'know, a vow renewal when it's only what, the sixth date in?"

"It's not too soon," I said, before adding, "I can just come as Natasha's friend and we don't have to make it a date."

"There's also the fact that your ex will be there," Elise added, and I frowned at the mention of Wanda. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"It's been six months," I told her with certainty. "I'm as comfortable as can be."

She paused. "If you think you'll be okay, then I'd love to see you there, Y/N."

"I know I'll be okay," I said promisingly. "And I'd like to go and maybe see you, too."

She laughed quietly and it made me smile. "In that case, I guess I'll see you there."

"It'll be fun," I said knowingly.

"It will," she agreed. "And now I can't wait."

It was my turn laugh. "Me either."

And fun it was... along with many other words.

The day of the vow renewal came by quickly enough and as promised, I went with Natasha as her plus-one. She made it as enjoyable as she could for me which I appreciated, with the two of us getting first-class tickets which Natasha was happy to pay for, and checking in to a beautiful hotel for the weekend. And that was just the accommodation.

The actual vow renewal was a stunning affair, as Clint and his wife, Laura, had gone all out with decorating the homestead and it's fields in a traditional, romantic way. A flower arch stood front and centre, with rows of seats set out for guests. Bouquets lined the outside and lights were strung above and all around the trees which I could only imagine would look stunning once the sun set.

"They really went all out," Natasha said, impressed as she took in the scene before us.

I hummed in agreement. "It's beautiful." I glanced at her adding, "Bet you wish you brought an actual date now."

Natasha smirked knowingly. "What's to say this isn't one? This could all be a plan to steal you away from Elise."

"Because that makes sense," I played along with amusement. "The woman who set me up with her best friend's family friend is trying to steal me away from said family friend. Makes complete sense."

"True," she said with a shrug, walking forward. I followed her as she continued, "If I was trying to make a move, you wouldn't see it coming."

I tried not to laugh. "Sure, Natasha."

"Trained assassin, expert in espionage, master of lying and hiding in plain sight," she listed off her skills one by one on her fingers. Shooting me a knowing smile, she repeated, "You wouldn't see it coming."

I rolled my eyes playfully and the two of us made the rounds, myself reacquainting with the other Avengers whom I hadn't seen since, well, since Wanda and I were together. It was a little awkward, since I was never really close with them and vice versa, but they were polite and kind and made me feel comfortable (probably because of Natasha, which gave me yet another reason to be grateful to the redhead).

Eventually, it got to a point where Wanda was the next person to say hello to and I truly thought six months would be enough to get over her; oh, how sorely mistaken I was.

She was talking to Sam Wilson, the two talking about something or the other that was clearly entertaining enough to warrant a laugh from Wanda. As we approached them, the sound of her laugh taunted me, melodic and dancing around my ears like a terrible reminder of what I couldn't have.

They spotted Natasha and I soon enough, their conversation ceasing and Wanda's laughter silencing as her eyes met mine. I tried not to let her effect me, but it became increasingly different when I noticed how beautiful she looked today, wearing a maroon-coloured dress and wearing her brown-red hair down in curls. Of course, all of that didn't compliment the giant scar on her forehead.

"Y/N, it's so good to see you!" Sam exclaimed, trying to prevent an awkwardness from occurring. "How have you been?"

I smiled his way. "I'm good, Sam. You?"

We talked for a little while, catching up, before Natasha decided to drag Sam away for a stupid, fake reason that was clearly said on purpose. Knowing I couldn't exactly stop her, I let her get away with it, figuring I'd have to face Wanda at some point.

"You look good," she spoke first, making me push a stand of my hair behind my ear to give my hands something to do.

"Thanks," I mumbled, before clearing my throat and meeting her gaze. "So do you. That's, er, that's always been your colour."

She smiled in response and I cursed inwardly, wondering why the hell I said that.

"You sound like you've been doing well," she said, referring to the conversation I had with Sam.

I nodded. "Yeah, I have."

A silence filled the air that none of us knew how to fill. I stared at my shoes so hard that I'm surprised a hole didn't form. Wanda hugged herself, unsure whether to speak or not.

"What happened to your head?" I finally thought of something, nodding to the scar.

She subconsciously reached up to touch it, though she didn't seem affected by it. "Oh, nothing. Just happened in a recent mission."

I nodded uncomfortably, never responding well to when she got injured. But she knew that.

"So, Nat said you've got a date," Wanda said, and the way she said it made me think that maybe she'd been wanting to mention it for a while. "Elise, right?"

I swallowed. "Yeah. She's just helping the Bartons out with some stuff then I'll be seeing her after."

Wanda nodded, eyes flickering between me and the floor. "That's nice. So, is it new?"

God, this was awkward.

"Kind of, yeah," I answered, not even sure why. "It's not, like, exclusive, but it's nice to move on, y'know?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, so you're moving on?"

I pressed my lips together firmly. She was watching me curiously, green eyes bright with intrigue.

"I'd hope so," I answered, cocking my head to the side and watching her. "It's been six months."

She nodded, looking down. "Yeah, okay... so you're not in love with her?"

I clenched my jaw. "Is that really any of your business, Wanda?" She didn't answer, so I straightened up and avoided her eyes. "I should go. Ceremony is going to start soon."

Walking away, I left with tense shoulders and more nerves than when I headed in. She had no right to be jealous. She left me.

I found Elise just before everybody was told to take their seats for the ceremony. She apologised for missing me before, mentioning how she was helping Laura with getting ready, then proceeded to shower me in compliments which sent me into a blushing mess. After catching up, we took our seats for the ceremony and waited for it to begin.

Feeling someone's eyes on me, I glanced to my left and saw Wanda sat on the other set of rows, but she was staring right at me, lips pressed together thoughtfully. I rolled my eyes and looked ahead, ignoring her stares. As if sensing my mood, Elise grabbed ahold of my hand gently, glancing at me with a small smile as if to check that was okay. I squeezed her hand in response, letting her know it was.

Are her hands sweaty? Because they look sweaty.

I clenched my jaw and shot Wanda a glare, seeing the amused smile on her lips as she watched me.

Stay out of my head, I told her mentally, knowing she was listening, before rolling my eyes. And her hands are soft, thank you very much. Yours are the sweaty ones.

Though it was a terrible comeback, Wanda lost her smile and rolled her eyes before looking away. I tried not to let her annoying self bother me as Elise and I sat together, watching the ceremony.

It was short and sweet and though I didn't know Clint and Laura too well, it was easy to see they loved each other very much. Their vows were beautiful and it was adorable when their kids ran up to them at the end to give them a giant hug. I didn't know much, but I knew that I'd love to have a love like theirs some day.

After the ceremony came the reception, and there were loads of tables and chairs set up for guests, including a stage and dance floor next to it, perfect for a nice celebration after the vow renewal. It was all wonderful and I was excited, until I learnt that I was sat on the same table as Wanda.

Me, Elise, Natasha, Sam, Wanda and Bucky Barnes were all sat at the same table, which definitely didn't help with the awkwardness as Wanda eyed me from across the food. I tried to ignore her presence and focus on having a great time with Elise. Natasha promised that Wanda wouldn't make a scene, so I just had to believe her.

"So, what can I get you all to drink?" a waiter said, stopping by our table.

Everybody told him what they wanted and when he looked to me, I shrugged.

"Literally anything is fine with me," I said, before quickly adding, "Well, anything except gin. Not a fan of gin at all."

The waiter nodded and smiled politely. "I'm sure I can get you something good without gin."

I returned his smile as he nodded to us all once more before walking away to get our drinks.

"So, what did you think of the ceremony?" Elise asked, giving me her attention.

The two of us erupted into conversation, as did everyone else, and I was genuinely having a good time with her. The food was good, too, as were the drinks when they arrived. But the one problem was Wanda bloody Maximoff who couldn't keep her eyes away from me and was agitating me with her mere presence. I tried so hard to ignore her, but God forbid my eyes flickered over to her and she was already looking my way.

After a delicious meal and lovely conversation with the others, everybody began to get up and mingle with the other guests. I took this as my chance to steer away from Wanda and instead catch up with Natasha and hang out with Elise, who got on with everyone wonderfully. Sadly though, she had to keep nipping away to help the Bartons with some stuff for the party, but I didn't mind. I figured that was also part of the reason why she didn't invite me as her plus-one, so I didn't take it personally.

About an hour into the celebrations, I was mid-conversation with Natasha when we were interrupted by Wanda. I rolled my eyes as she looked to the redhead questioningly.

"Have you seen Clint around?" she asked. "Laura wants me to take everything from the gifts table inside and I need the key."

Natasha pursed her lips, shaking her head. As her eyes looked around for him, she said, "I'm not sure where he is..."

Before either of them could come to a conclusion, Elise appeared by my side with an apologetic smile and a drink in her hand.

"Hey," she greeted, squeezing my hand gently. "Sorry for ditching you before. I had to make sure the bar didn't run out of alcohol."

"It's all good," I told her with a small smile.

"I got you this gin cocktail to make up for it," she said sweetly, making me eye the drink like it was a bomb.

Wanda snorted suddenly, making me look to her with a glare. She tried to hide her laughter behind a smile as she looked the other way, though that didn't stop her from commenting in my mind with her obnoxious, intrusive powers.

Real good listener this one. Didn't you say you didn't like gin earlier?

I refrained from smacking her. Go away, Wanda.

"Thank you," I said to Elise gratefully, accepting the drink. "It looks great."

"Oh, I think I see Clint," Wanda said, before shooting us all a smile I'd love to punch. "Catch you later."

"See ya," Natasha said, as Elise waved and I rolled my eyes.

—

Dancing was fun and I liked to think I was good for an average person. So, when the DJ put on some fun music and encouraged guests to have a little dance, I immediately asked Elise to join me. Unfortunately, she wasn't exactly the most confident of dancers. She was adorably apologising as she held my hands, letting me take the lead.

"It's okay," I reassured her with a laugh. "You're doing fine."

But as she stepped on my foot for the millionth time, I could tell she thought she was doing anything but. I didn't mind though since it was amusing and cute all at the same time.

Be careful over there, Y/N. You may have been better off wearing some steel-toed shoes.

At the sound of Wanda's voice infiltrating my mind, I searched around me until I caught sight of the familiar green eyes over Elise's shoulder. She was stood to the side, entertained smile adorning her lips, as she watched Elise and I dance.

Why don't you piss off and mind your own business before I buy a pair of steel-toed shoes just to kick you with!

She didn't respond, so I focused my attention back on Elise and paused as something a little slower and more romantic played in the background. Offering an encouraging smile to Elise, I held out my hand which she accepted happily.

"Luckily, this one is pretty easy, so you might avoid bruising my feet," I joked to lighten the mood.

She flushed with embarrassment but let me pull her close as I took the lead. Subconsciously, my eyes wandered back to Wanda, who was now crossing her arms with annoyance and watching me with glowing red eyes. She had absolutely no right to be jealous. But I didn't care. It wasn't my business.

After sharing a lovely dance with Elise, the two of us took a seat at our empty table to have some water and talk. Of course, as we were chatting, our conversation was interrupted by none other than–

"Wanda," I got out through gritted teeth.

She grinned as she took a seat next to us, crossing her legs and resting her intertwined hands on her knees comfortably.

"I figured I'd introduce myself properly since we haven't really met before," Wanda explained, eyes dancing with mischief before she looked to Elise. "I'm Wanda Maximoff."

Elise smiled politely. "I'm Elise Fey. And I know who you are. A really impressive Avenger at that."

I narrowed my eyes as Wanda waved her hand dismissively. What was she playing at exactly?

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said bashfully. "But I guess, since you know who I am, it's only fair I return the favour. After all, you're here as Y/N's date, and as Y/N's friend, I thought it would be nice to get to know you."

"Friend," I repeated the word bitterly. "So, that's what we are now?"

Wanda chuckled, brushing off my words, before focusing on Elise. "So, what do you do, Elise?"

"I'm a veterinarian," she quipped proudly.

"How cute," Wanda said, tilting her head to the side and smiling. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Only a few years," Elise said, glancing at me with mild confusion. "It's a really rewarding job."

"I can imagine," Wanda said, before pulling a puzzled expression. "But wait, how does that work with you both? Since Y/N is allergic to pets an' all?"

Locking my jaw with agitation, I stared at Wanda's doe-eyed face. Elise looked to me with surprise.

"You are?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I shook my head, smiling at her. "No, not really... I mean, well, rabbits. I'm allergic to rabbits. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"It kind of is," she said playfully. "What if I had treated a rabbit at work and then went on a date with you?"

I chuckled awkwardly. "Hmm, yeah, okay, maybe it's a little bit of a big deal."

She hummed disapprovingly before looking back to Wanda, who watched us both curiously.

"So, you work as a vet in New York?" she asked Elise, and I couldn't tell if she was actually interested or just trying to piss me off. When Elise nodded, she continued, "Are you from New York?"

"I'm originally from here actually," Elise said, motioning around us. "My family knew Laura's family before she married Clint. That's how I know the Bartons."

"Oh, so your parents still live here?" Wanda asked, leaning her head in the palm of her hand as she continued to question her.

"Yeah, not far from here actually," Elise answered with a smile.

Wanda nodded. "Cool... so how would that work, the whole visiting them thing? I mean, Y/N works a lot, right? And I assume you're close with your family. So, how does taking the time off to visit your parents work with you both when it's, like, 16 hours away?"

I squeezed my hands together to contain my frustration towards Wanda. Elise opened her mouth to respond, then closed it when she realised she didn't know how to answer. Her eyes darted to mine, asking for help, and I knew she was too polite to call Wanda out for her bullshit.

"We're still newly dating, Wanda," I answered through a fake smile. "We haven't even talked about meeting each other's parents, so it's not an issue right now."

"Right now," Wanda echoed my words, as if adding a double meaning. "But it will be in the future?"

I tried not to react harshly as I said, "That's not what I said."

Wanda nodded slowly, smirk tugging at her lips. Saying nothing more on the subject, she looked to Elise with dark eyes.

"It was lovely meeting you," she finished. "I'll see you around, I guess."

Elise nodded uncomfortably. "You, too, Wanda."

Shooting me a smile, she got up and left Elise and I sat there in mixed emotions. I was peeved at the Sokovian woman, not understanding why she had to try and ruin my one chance at moving on.

"I'm sorry about that," I said to Elise, a frown on my lips. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I definitely didn't expect it."

Elise chewed on her lower lip with thought. I waited patiently, wishing I knew what she was thinking. Finally, her blue eyes met mine apologetically.

"I don't think Wanda is quite over you," she said quietly. "And maybe you're not over her either, Y/N. At least not as much as you think you are."

I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Elise, she's just being a dick to piss me off. It's not like that."

Elise winced. "I think it is. And honestly, you're a lovely person, but I just don't want to get involved in something like that right now."

I knitted my brows together with confusion. "What do you mean?"

She rested her hand on mine atop the table. "It's probably better we stay friends. Easier."

"Elise... c'mon. We just– we only just got to know each other." I frowned, feeling bad that she didn't want to see where this would go.

"For what it's worth, today was really fun," she said with a smile, trying to make light of the situation. "And every date we've shared has been fun, too. But I can't compete with the history you share with Wanda. And I don't want to."

I didn't know what to say, speechless, unable to understand why she was doing this. Taking that as her chance to leave, she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek before standing up and letting go of my hand.

"I'm gonna leave early," she explained. "I hope you work stuff out for yourself."

I looked up to her, watching as she smiled once more before leaving me be. We'd only been dating a few weeks, I knew that, but I still felt saddened to know she didn't want to keep things going. And with the realisation that it was because of Wanda, my sadness was quickly replaced with anger. It always came back to her.

Scowl on my face, I stood up and knew one thing: Wanda Maximoff was dead meat.

[elevenharbor]

what if No-Face from Spirited Away...

...is actually a lonely boy behind the mask, befriends/helps Chihiro/Sen while she struggles in Yubaba's castle because he sees her, alone and scared, just like he is.

Then one day, while Chihiro is crying, No-Face comes out to comfort her...but somewhere down the line Chihiro gets curious enough to ask him about why he wanders...and asks if she could remove his mask... which he lets her.

...and Chihiro is blown away because he is beautiful, even in his sadness.

No-face realizes he likes seeing her face light up, something he has never experienced with another, human or spirit or any other creature. It makes him feel a certain way. For the first time, he isn't outed or disregarded, like the pariah he is. He decides he wants her company and wants to see her smile at him like that again, no matter what it takes.

Armed with this mission/new purpose, he tags along wherever she goes. Always invisible, but always watching her, making sure she is safe from harms way. He shows up occasionally when he feels like she needs him or when she is feeling melancholy. Chihiro does most of the talking, No-face just listens (he can't speak yet.)

One day, No-face sees Chihiro writing something on the ground, gets curious enough to ask what she's doing (non-verbally.) Chihiro, already attuned to No-Face's ways, seizes the opportunity to teach him basic characters. No-Face is receptive to her instruction and it's not long that this becomes routine for them: Chihiro spends time teaching No-face after her shift at the bathhouse ends; No-face the ever-diligent student, never missing a day. Rain or shine.

Fast forward to Chihiro meeting Haku at the pigpen, and Haku comforting Chihiro by offering her food. No-face sees them, but they can't see him. It's probably for the better as he is assaulted with a pang in his chest and a sour expression behind his mask, especially when he glances at Haku.

He doesn't know it yet, but he is actually jealous of their closeness. Chihiro was his friend first.

He doesn't bring up what he saw during his and Chihiro's next lesson, however. He figured her ignorance means she won't hate him, and he can continue to see her, their shared moments becoming the splash of life in his dull existence.

With the amount of time they have spent, No-Face sees her kindness and compassion, and falls in love (but he doesn't know what the feeling is...) Right then and there he gets this overwhelming feeling to protect her, help her, and keep her safe and happy, at all cost. He consumes and absorbs others to get a better understanding of her, and to be able to communicate with her. He is disheartened when she rejects him and fears losing her after the scene he caused at the bathhouse, and vows never to do it again.

At this point, he's learned enough to be able to compose a small letter that he wants to give her. It was part an apology letter, part something else. As he accompanies her in her journey to Swamp Bottom, he internally wrestles with the best time to give it to her - and to ask her if he could stay with her forever. He feels nervous about doing the latter - in fear of being rejected again - and him being alone once more.

At Swamp Bottom and under Zeniba's instruction, No-face overcomes his fear of approaching Chihiro by constructing something that he decided she could wear so that a piece of him will always be with her, even when she goes back home.

The thought makes him sad, but seeing her unhappy here makes him sadder. So with a reluctant heart, he decides to stay with Zeniba and lets her go.

Right before Chihiro and Haku take off, Chihiro embraces No-face, whispering that she hopes they meet again, somewhere in the future. No-face slips the letter in her pocket without her noticing, hugs her a bit longer, knowing this is going to be the last, and quietly nods.

As he watches them take off, he doesn't notice the single tear that rolls down his cheek (behind the mask.) The others don't notice except Zeniba, who casts a saddened glance his way, seeing through his mask, and seeing his handsome face; beautiful, and brokenhearted.

Chihiro makes it home. Once in her new house, Chihiro feels the letter in her pocket. She opens it and quickly bursts in tears. Her silent friend had meant every word, even if the word arrangements are awkward and broken. She reads his apology, his gratitude for keeping him company, and finally, his promise to her:

I am with you, always. You are my home. I hope I will be yours, someday, somehow.

She lets the letter fall to the ground as she mourns her loss. She touches the hair tie he helped make, missing him more than she ever realized, and wishing that she could see that beautiful, broken boy again in her world, in her lifetime. .

[eideticmemory]

the day | matthew gray gubler

In which Matthew is a pisces and you’re a writer.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff that I cannot believe I actually wrote. Featuring ‘Lover, you should’ve come over’ by Jeff Buckley, if you wanted to listen while reading.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

They sit there, charging on his desk, all day long, all week long. He doesn’t wear his airpods. You know that, it is a fact. They’re trinkets, decoration, a little bit of a flex, but, Matthew never wears his airpods.

So, the question is: Why the hell has he had them in all week? Every hour, of every day — those little, white airpods hung from his ears like an aura of isolation.

It must be revenge, you thought. It must be his way of coping with the ridiculous amount of time you spend in his office. Alone, putting pen to paper. Initially, he’d peek his head in every once in a while, after you’d been of a bit of a writer’s bender, just to remind you that he loved you. That he was proud of you.

Yet, when it’s your wedding vows sitting on the desk, waiting to be written — when you need him to come in, give you that sweet smile and tell you how much he adores you . . . he’s wearing his airpods.

Matthew never wears his airpods. Your fiancé nevers wears his airpods. And for such a small thing, it’s starting to freak you out. Because one week before your wedding is not the time to do this. Not the time for distance, and insecurity. Not the time for Matthew to be walking around the house, constantly, wearing those fucking airpods.

He coasted his way past the office doors, your eyes following his figure like a light. You trained in on his ears, the white specks clear and visible as he walked right by you. Once he was out of your sight, you released a frustrated huff and set your pen down atop your note pad, put your face in your hands.

You sighed, spoke in a sad and quiet voice, “Matthew Gray . . . what the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t see him at all the day before your wedding. He facetimed you that night to say goodnight, that he loved you, and he would see you Saturday. His voice was so soft, so genuine, so full of love. And all you could focus on was the airpods hanging from his ears.

“I’m ready to marry you, Matthew Gray,” you said. “Are you ready to marry me?”

His face transitioned to a gentle, ever so slightly confused, expression, and he replied, “Believe me . . . I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my life.”

You smiled, “Then I will see you at altar.”

He grinned, “See you at the altar.”

You had stars in your hair. Little clips in the side of your head that made your eyes sparkle. As you were dressed and assisted throughout the big day, you held a crumbled, jumbled, scratched up piece of paper in your hand. It wasn’t perfect, hell, you weren’t even sure it was good. But it was honest, and it was loving, and it took you months to write. Your biggest project yet, if you must say so yourself.

At last call, you were alone, staring at the words as if you didn’t already know each one by heart.

“[y/n],” your friend called. “You ready?”

And, not for the first time, you crumbled the paper up between your fists. Crushed it, smushed it. Threw it to the ground, looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Glitzy, glammy, gorgeous. Dressed in ivory — not white, wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

You exhaled, whispered, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Your hands shook. From the start to the finish of the aisle. You sought comfort in Matthew, never taking your eyes off him. But damn, if he doesn’t look so good that it’s nerve racking. He held your small hands in his palm, told you that you looked beautiful, with tears threatening to roll down his face, already.

He’d insisted not too long ago that you be the first to read your vows. Just the thought made you tremble, anxious at the vulnerability, and the hundreds of eyes and ear waiting to hear what you’ve got. Matthew noticed this, and put his hands on around your forearms.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey . . . just talk to me.”

You did. You held his eyes on yours, you recited your poetry, you silenced the entire building. Only pausing to inhale shaky breaths, and to wipe the tears from his face.

“And I love you,” you choked on your words. “And I thank you, so much, for showing me what true love is, Matthew Gray. Thank you for being . . . the absolute love of my life.”

Matthew could only reply would a somber laugh, wiping away the excess tears from his face. “Whew . . .” he breathed out. “Wow . . . how the hell am I supposed to follow that?”

The space erupted in soft laughter.

Your own laughter included.

The two of you were formally introduced as Mister and Misses Gubler, surrounded by a wave of applause within the reception hall. Matthew raised your bound hands into the air, proud, joyful. He had you, he finally fucking had you. Until death do you part.

He left you centered in the middle of the dance floor, illuminated by the soft light, as he made his way upon the stage, located right in front of you.

“Hi, everyone,” he waved. “I’m Matthew Gubler, I’m [y/n]’s husband —“

You laughed along with everyone else, who hooted and hollered at his declaration.

“Thank you, thank you . . .” he smiled. “Thank you all for being here, for supporting [y/n] and I, it means so much.”

You tilted your head at him, his focus finally being directed at you once again. “[y/n] . . . my love . . . I’ve waited forever for this day. Forever. And if you will do me the honors, I’d like nothing more than to dance with you . . . to have our first dance as husband and wife to — to a song that I first heard when I was fifteen. To a song that . . . I’ve been listening to ever since we first met three years ago, a song that . . . has been on repeat in my head in preparation for this moment, right here, right now.”

As you held your hand out for him, gentle guitar flowed from the speaker, though it wasn’t any riff that you recognized. Matthew joined you in the center of the dance floor, pulling you close as you whispered, “Matthew Gray . . . what are you up to?”

“I’m dancing with you . . .” he smiled, setting his hands tightly on your waist, your arms draped over his shoulders. “I’m serenading you.”

Looking out the door,

I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners.

“Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water,” Matthew sang, gently.

“Oh, he’s singer, too,” you giggled.

He chuckled, “Shut up — Maybe I'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong. But tonight, you're on my mind so, you'll never know . . .”

Broken down and hungry for your love,

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, you know how much I need it.

“Too young to hold on, and too old to just break free and run,” setting your head on his shoulder, you let him sing in your ear. “Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun , much too blind to see the damage he's done. Oh, sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, he has no one.”

So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn,

Will I ever see your sweet return,

Or, will I ever learn?

Lover, you should've come over,

'Cause it's not too late.

Matthew’s grip tightened around your waist, his long arms engulfing you in an effort to get closer to you, closer than humanly possible.

Lonely is the room the bed is made,

The open window lets the rain in,

Burning in the corner is the only one,

“Who dreams he had you with him . . .” slowly, your husband, your husband, looked in your eyes, “My body turns, and yearns for a sleep, that won't ever come.”

“It's never over,” he sang to you. “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder . . .” following the words with a small kiss to the top of your shoulder. As if in immediate response to the words, and the physical touch, tears began to pour down your face.

“It's never over, all my riches for her smiles,

when I slept so soft against her.”

“It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter.”

“It's never over,” and these lyrics, he sang with your face in his hands and his lips touching to your forehead. “She’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.”

You sobbed, pulled him closed, nuzzled your face into his neck, held on for dear life to the back of his head.

But maybe I'm just too young,

To keep good love from going wrong.

Oh lover, you should've come over.

I feel too young to hold on,

I'm much too old to break free and run.

Too deaf, dumb, and blind,

To see the damage I've done.

Sweet lover, you should've come over.

“Oh, lover, I've waited for you,” when he said this, it wasn’t a melody. It was spoken, softly, soulfully.

“Lover, lover, lover, lover, love, love, love, lover, you should've come over . . . ‘cause it's not too late . . .”

Every word.

No stumbles, no stutters, no faltering.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

But when he does, it’s for a good reason.

[joshstambourine]

A Girl Named Ivy

Warning: None! Unless you dislike fluff

Word Count: 2350

Synopsis: Just a cute lazy day with Jake and his little girl

Thank you so much for this request @anditsmywholeheart , I can’t even begin to explain how much joy it brought me to write. Hopefully you love it--- and that you don’t mind that I named her, I find it a lot easier to write when I have names. 

Taglist: @anditsmywholeheart @babydxll

Jake let out a weak sigh as he could feel small shifts of weight on the bed. The movements were slow, as if trying not to wake him up. It wasn't long before the shifting stopped and there was soft pattering leading away from the bed. Jake couldn't help but peak his eyes open to see what was happening. He could see a tiny figure standing at the window on the far side of the room. The small figure wore a set of blue floral pajamas, with soft brown hair falling over her shoulders, she was on her tippy toes trying to see outside.

"...Ivy... what are you doing?" Jake called in a groggy manner, which immediately caused the little girls head to turn and look at him.

"Mommies gone again…" she tells him lightly, "I wanted to see her before she left." Ivy admits in a sad tone. It was a rather normal thing for Ivy to check and see if (Y/N)'s car was there in the morning, she still hadn't managed to get herself up early enough despite all of her vows to do so.

Jake couldn't help but smile a little, "Come here sweetie." He tells her, lightly lifting his arm and moving the blanket a touch. Ivy was rather quick to scramble her way back to the side of the bed and climb back up so she could cuddle into Jake's chest.

Jake wraps his arm around her tiny figure giving her a small kiss on the top of her head, "Mommy will be back before you know it. She always is." He whispers against her hair, his hand rubbing her back in a loving way.

"But why does she have to go? You don't have to go away everyday." Ivy points out, wiping her little nose with the back of her hand.

Jake smiles a little, "Well, we have to make money so we can pay for all your toys and clothes." He tells her beginning to twirl her hair around his finger. It always surprised Jake just how much Ivy looked like him; she had his soft brown hair that always sat so sweetly on her shoulders, her eyes… they were the same color as (Y/N)'s but their shape was just like his when he was small.

"Well… I don't need any more toys." Ivy tells him, "Do you think if I tell Mommy that,  she'd stay home with me?"

Jake softly laughs pushing her hair away from her face and looking into her eyes. "Maybe… but y'know we can have lots of fun without Mommy here sweetheart." 

Ivy pouts a little, "You always say that…" She utters; she may have all of Jake's features but that pout was pure (Y/N). 

"Annnnd? Don't we have fun?" He asks her. To which Ivy shakes her head. "No?! What do you mean no?!" Jake quickly responds, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Daddy isn't fun?" She again shook her head. "What?!" Jake quickly says again, hands moving to her sides, "Daddy isn't fun?!" He quickly asks, beginning to tickle Ivy’s sides.

She just as swiftly begins to giggle and try to push his hands away, "S-Stop--!" She giggles, Jake complies and instead pulls her into a tight hug for a moment.

"I think you just don't want to admit that Daddy is more fun than Mommy. It's okay you can tell me…!" Jake whispers by her ear, "I won't tell Mommy." He continues.

Ivy seems to think over this idea for a moment or two before lifting her little hand, "Pinky promise?" She whispers back as if (Y/N) was in the room now.

"Pinky promise." Jake tells her, locking one of his calloused pinkies with hers. They were so small, Jake couldn't help but stare at her tiny hand for a moment. Four years had gone by so fast, it felt like he closed his eyes and when he opened them again Ivy had sprouted up and was preparing to go to kindergarten.

Jake could still remember the first time he got to hold her in his arms… it felt...as if everything in his life had purposefully led up to that exact moment. Jake had tried his best to not let on how big of a deal this was to him to other people; of course, (Y/N) knew. 

Just like the moment (Y/N) had told him that she was pregnant… his tough guy façade crumbled, and he became a crying mess. They were happy tears of course… just overwhelmingly happy ones. Jake held the small bundle close to him, "I'm your dad…!" He lightly whispered, to her--- and more importantly to himself. “...I’m your dad.”

Jake immediately bit his lip a little having recalled that very special moment in his life. He refused to cry as he looked down at his little girl who was growing up faster than he ever could have imagined.

"Daddy?" She lightly called him.

"Yes Ivy?" He responds softly, her hands cupping his cheeks.

"You look sad!" She tells him honestly, seeming to have noticed the change in how he looked at her. Jake could never quite grasp just how good kids were at picking up on people's emotions.

Jake shook his head giving her little palms a kiss, "No! I'm not sad, just thinking~" He tells her with a tender smile. "I was thinking about a fun thing we could do today… to surprise Mommy?" He lightly suggests.

"To surprise Mommy?!" Ivy soon beamed, her little cheeks were so cute when she smiled.

Jake nodded, "To surprise Mommy." He hums as she moves to kiss her nose. "What do you think of making cupcakes?"

"Chocolate cupcakes?!" Ivy quickly suggests,

"Is there any other kind?" Jake smiles at her, Ivy quickly sits up and starts to dance a little.

"Come on Daddy!! Let's go make them!" She urges, taking his hand and trying to pull him to sit up. She was clearly excited, pushing her hair out of her face.

Jake chuckles a little as he sits up, "First." He starts, "We have to get you dressed for the day okay?" He tells her.

She was already crawling her way towards the door, "Can I pick my clothes?!" Ivy eagerly asks, next to vibrating with the new found excitement for the day.

"Sure, honey." Jake smiles lightly watching as she happily hops off the side of the bed and begins running down the hall. "No white clothes Ivy. You hear me?!" He yells.

"Okay!" She yells back.

Jake now stood in the bathroom, brushing back Ivy's hair. She was now dressed in a light purple summer dress that ruffled down to a flowy bottom at her knees. On her feet were mismatched socks, one covered in orange flowers, the other ladybugs. And of course as a crowning glory she wore a long pink beaded necklace. "How do you want your hair this morning?" He lightly asks her, looking at her in the mirror.

She taps her chin, "Two buns?" Ivy suggests.

"Two buns eh?" Jake utters, "Not just one big bun?" He asks her, he wasn’t surprised by the choice. Ivy seemed to like her hair in two buns or a fancy braid normally; that being said (Y/N) normally did her hair because she was much better at it. Jake began to divide her hair so he could pull the two sections up the way she wanted.

"Are you going to have a big bun Daddy?" She asks, her gaze showing she was looking up at him in the bathroom mirror.

"Well I was thinking about it."

"Can I do it for you??" Ivy quickly asks him, watching as he tied the one side into a messy but sweet bun. It was different from how (Y/N) did her buns but Ivy knew her dad was trying his best.

"It'd be faster for me to do it, honey..." Jake tells her. Ivy did his hair very often and Jake really did love letting her play with it, but he assumed she would want to get straight to baking today.

Ivy bit at her cheek for a second watching him start on her second bun. "I want to do it for you." She reaffirms, "When you do buns they're so messy… I want Daddy to look pretty today." Ivy tells him pointedly.

Jake looks down at her pretending to be offended by that statement. "Hey! I thought I was pretty good at it…!”

Ivy seemed to make a slightly disgusted face as she shook her head, making Jake smile even wider. “Well how would you do it then?” He asks her, handing her the hair brush now that he had finished up her buns. 

Ivy spun around on the stool and pulled him down by his arm, “Turn around!” She tells him, Jake gives her a peck on the cheek before sitting down with his back facing her. Her hands were quickly in his hair, yanking the brush mercilessly through any knots Jake had in his hair. He wouldn’t say anything, not wanting to kill her little creative spark. He just bit his lip and allowed her to tug and pull until finally she seemed happy with the little bun she had made on the top of his head. “Where is the thing Daddy?” Ivy asks him, clearly looking for an elastic or scrunchie.

“On the counter baby.” He replies, suddenly getting a sharp pull on his head. She was reaching for one of her floral scrunchies to put in his hair. Once she found one it took her a few minutes to get it in his hair.

“There!” She hums giving him a small smack on his shoulders.

Jake looked up at her, before getting up and turning to look in the mirror, “Oh wait!” Ivy stopped him pulling him down by his hand once more before opening a drawer and pulling out a white headband of (Y/N)’s and quickly pushing it down on Jake’s head. “There! Now you’re beautiful.” She hums.

Jake finally looked at himself in the mirror, curious to see just how messy his hair was. Ivy had actually done a bang up job for the most part, aside from a few little pieces poking up. “I love it.” He smiles, leaning down to give her little kisses on her cheek, “Thank you Ivy.”

Ivy grinned proudly at her handy work.

After a few more stops during their morning routine, Jake and Ivy were now in the kitchen. Ivy knew the drill: she had to get her stool, she also had to find her apron, and most importantly she had to put some music on for the two of them. Ivy began to dig through the records trying to find her favorite album he had buried away. Finally she pulled free an album and handed it to Jake carefully, knowing very well how delicate records were. “The space ship one!” She cheers, having picked out Boston’s album.

The sight of it made him smile, he knew she only liked it because it had a space ship on it but it still made him happy that she wanted to listen to something like that. “You know what to do.” He lightly tells her, not moving to help her just watching carefully as she placed the record on the turntable and very carefully moved the needle over it, 

“Right there?” She asks him, wanting to make sure she would drop it in the right spot. Jake leaned a little closer and soon nodded,

“Right there. Remember to put it down slowly.” He says. Ivy did so with ease, having done this many many times, within seconds music began to fill the house. “Good job!” Jake hums offering his hand for a high five, Ivy happily hit it and began to the kitchen excitedly.

The rest of the afternoon was full of fun as Ivy worked with Jake to bake some beautiful surprise cupcakes for (Y/N). They were covered in batter and icing by the time they were done, sprinkles all over the counter from all of the decorating they had done. As it drew closer to the evening Ivy had cuddled herself up on the couch and fallen asleep watching a movie, she couldn’t wait for (Y/N) to get home so she could give her the prettiest cupcake she had made.

The front door of the house soon creaked open, keys jingling as (Y/N) called out. “I’m home!” 

“In the kitchen.” Jake responded softly, not really wanting to wake Ivy up yet. 

(Y/N) stepped into the kitchen to find Jake cleaning everything up as well as a plate full of cupcakes on the counter. It immediately brought a smile to (Y/N)’s lips, “You guys clearly had a fun day.”

Jake smiled back at her, “Those are supposed to be a surprise, so you better act surprised when she shows you them.” He points out, as he continued to scrub out one of the bowls.

(Y/N) came up behind Jake to hug him from behind and place a small kiss on his neck, “I will~” She smiles resting her head on his shoulder, “It was a fun day though?”

Jake nodded, turning a little to place a soft kiss on (Y/N)’s lips, “Y’know what?” He whispers,

“What?” (Y/N) asks.

“She says that I’m funner than you.” He grins being very proud of this.

“What?!” (Y/N) laughs, Jake just kept nodding, not saying anything else. “Well we’ve gotta change that.” She continues pulling back from him and beginning towards the hallway, “Is she in the living room?”

“Yeah she’s sleeping.” Jake hums, 

(Y/N) nodded as she started her way down it, “Ivy! Mommies home!” 

Jake could hear her call as he turned back to the dishes, his smile wouldn’t dampen. He still couldn’t believe just how lucky he was… to have this beautiful little family. More importantly, how lucky he was to have his sweet little girl named Ivy.