#like i didn’t know for a long time either. it’s not my place to be like ‘and that means it’s fine and not a problem’

[timmmytimtim]

Why are you the only one who doesn't notice BatBoys (dick, jason, tim, damian) x gn!reader

* 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

synopsis: civilian reader and yearner batboys when reader lowk doesnt gaf about them lolz + extra where they finally notice

notes: no use of [name], def ooc but idc at this point, making out w tim because im so fucking desperate, all aged up, pretty long uhh...

a/n: self indulge, i got lazy halfway through. i miss my kpop phase (heavily inspired by miniskirt by aoa!!!!!!!!)

thank you for reading ily

1.4k-ish words, not beta read, UNEDITED

* 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Dick Grayson * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Attention could literally be Dick’s middle name if you ask him. I mean, who wouldn't think that way when expecting eyes are on him since the start, first ever wonder boy, first ever hero sidekick, could literally bag anyone he wants, was even trusted to rule the Justice League at some point.

He’s so used to the attention, maybe absorbs it too much in some cases, but at the end of the day, he’s Blüdhavens vigilante with an overbearing responsibility. So color him surprised when you—the just-moved-in-idfk-what-im-doing person—can't even care to spare him a single momentary glance. With that small attention seeking boy still inside of him he decided to do everything he can for a single mere eye contact.

You jolted from the sudden clash outside as you were tending to the lilies in your home, this shit has been happening for what, 2 weeks now? Stick guy, as you like to call him, would always, and you mean always jump from balcony to balcony but purposely stay longer on yours, before jumping off again, you tried to ignore him but oh my god.

Once dick realized that wasn't working out he tried showing off. Most bone cracking acrobatics? Oh yeah he's doing that right in front of your apartment before kicking some robbery dude on the shin. He would lure whatever gang he's fighting near your place, just enough for you to see him take them down with those stupid sticks while making sure you're a safe distance away from them. Maybe he's a little more desperate, you could say.

You watched outside as he took the last man down, your arms crossed with a glare, calling out to him. “You’re noisy.” He turned almost immediately with a—not so—captivating innocent smile as if he didn’t do this on purpose. “What a way to say thank you for protecting the city.” To say the least he was pleasantly surprised when you bandaged him up after with a goodbye kiss.

He stayed rooted to his place when the door closed in front of him, then he melted, a dreamy sigh and lopsided grin plastered his face holding his lips still faintly having your now drying strawberry-tasting saliva (don't ask him why he knows that) as he giddily walked away. God, he will do this more often now if this means more attention from you, even if you didn’t know he was Dick Grayson, yet. 

Jason Todd * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

If you forced Jason to count the amount of times he was called intimidating, he wouldn't even reach a third of it if he counted with both his hands and toes. So when you just stared at him as he beat up a runaway killer till a pool of blood he was completely, utterly, confused. He's Red Hood for fucks sake, a literal anti-hero.

Actually it was a misunderstanding, it’s not like you weren't scared, oh you definitely were, your fight or flight response just broke. Since then he kept seeing you everywhere and you wont even look at him, and he would be damned if he didn't do something about it.

He would always be loud, at some point he knew where your apartment was (tim cctv hacking perks he says) so now he definitely knew where to make the most noise. You’d wake up in the middle of the night looking out your window, seeing red hood an alley away as he tried shooting some stupid crime breaker, either that or you’d hear the loudest bike engine of your life.

Maybe just MAYBE if he gets desperate enough he’ll study how you dress, or take note of your biggest interests then use that to try to grab your attention, as Jason Todd himself or red hood. 

Oh man to say he wasn't absolutely melting was an understatement, he's been continuing that routine for longer than he actually needed to, you finally noticed soon enough leading to where you two are now.

You, straddling him as you cradled his face, lightly mushing his cheeks, face close as you counted his left freckles. “You looked creepily stupid when you first tried getting my attention by the way.” you teased sternly, eyes merely fixed on the specks of brown on his face. He just let out a low grunt of disapproval as his face betrayed the noise, leaning in closer to your touch grip on your hips tightening. 

Tim Drake * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Tim first saw you around Gotham when he found you at the ass crack of dawn buying the most random drink known to man at the convenience store. He’s seen you around for quite a while now, actually, and he loves to bombard your emails once he found out he went to the same school as you.

You never cared about what was really happening around you, at one point Tim's grappling hook accidentally shot out to your ankle. “Oh my fucking god—” you got cut off as your ass hit the pavement below, immediately standing up in embarrassment. Robin ran to you profusely apologizing, your hand just raised to wave the incident off like it's nothing, that the Robin wasn't in front of you, walking your slightly bleeding ankle away from the scene.

Ever since then he made it his mission to grab your full attention.

You'd get the most stupid emails randomly through the weeks, always consisting of “You’ve just won a date with THE tim drake, please contact this email back for confirmation.” or “Hi, do u hate robin” You always thought it was spam emails so you consistently kept ignoring them. One time you jokingly replied back, it just spiraled into back and forth emails with this mysterious person that never admitted to their identity. 

If you told old you you’d be making out in your own kitchen countertop with the same person who trolled your emails they definitely would've called you a freak, but look who’s talking now.

Tongues down each other's throats, hands all over, waist, hip, hair, nape, anywhere you two could latch onto you held on tight. Sloppy saliva slicked lips that left a clear glistening string connecting two mouths when the any of you leaned back for air.

Then you talked “I still hate you for bombarding my school email of all things.” Tim dramatically gasped holding onto your waist tighter before whispering a shout “What!” You only found out it was him because he kept using the same slang he did for speaking, he definitely did that on purpose.

Damian Wayne * 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Damian has got to be the most unique Robin Bruce introduced to Gotham, his own humble opinion that is. He wasn’t really wrong, katana as a weapon was a pretty cool addition from the constant bo-staff fist fighting Robins throughout the years.

So when he heard a small rumor went around that you literally didn't know Batman got a new Robin after Tim (you only knew the robins changed because of their hair) he was so pissed(disappointed). He tried to hide it by not caring back but the yearner in him literally dragged him back to hell.

So now what did he do? Yeah he showed off as well, like older brother like younger brother or whatever they said, Dick was definitely the one who gave him that shitty advice.

Every time he would patrol around your area he will show off his skills, not just the katana but also the other weapons he used, if he even could at the moment he’d use every single one, he looks a little crazy.

You squinted as you tried to make out the silhouette outside, mumbling to yourself “What the fuck…” some dude—Robin—was out there fighting 3 people at once, you watched pretty fascinated by his smooth, fast fighting skills, as much as you didn't know the guy he was pretty encaptivating. 

You’d be lying if you didn't say the new robin was fun to talk to, your nights just became a small tradition by then. ‘Accidentally’ coming across Damian as he was out on patrol, you guys would talk here and there, nothing pretty long but it was enough to sustain whatever Damian had in him.

One night led to a kiss on the cheek and a “Thanks for saving the city, or whatever, unknown” leaving the other man stunned as you exited the rooftop. Oh yeah, the next kiss is going to be on the lips, he is going to get that cookie no matter what it takes.

[xiaprint]

zayne won’t fuck you just yet | not proofread | minors dni

zayne wasn’t quite sure at what age he had fallen in love with you.

maybe it was around high school when you had been the only person in class brave enough to partner with him for a final project, knowing he was very meticulous and a bit of a hardass about academics.

rather, it could have been after graduation when you would text him in the middle of the night. college was stressing you out and he was the only one who seemed to know a thing about biology. using him as a quick answer key was a good conversation starter, anyway.

perhaps he’s always had these feelings. it could even date back to when you were only little, running around on the playground and forcing zayne out of his shell to play cops and robbers at recess.

regardless of the specifics, zayne has been infatuated with every inch of you. when you agreed to let him take you out, he was over the moon. he planned everything from the place to the time to the dress code. it was a bit over the top for a first date but you knew how his brain worked, so you went along with it.

the relationship bloomed fast and soon, he knew you at the deep level that he’s always yearned for. he finally scratched beyond surface level, even gave up his first kiss on a whim.

sexually exploring one another was something he was adamant on taking slow. he needed to savor it, needed to find patience in bringing his biggest fantasies to life. the first time he saw your pussy, puffy and drooling for something to plug her, he couldn’t bring himself to give you what you wanted just yet. penetration didn’t feel like the best first step for either of you, so he settled with jerking his cock over your cunt.

hot puffs of air leave his lips, watching with jaded interest as your pretty fingers circled your clit. the hardened bud throbbed with interest, soaking up each slip and slide. you mewled so sweetly for him, legs spread wide for his viewing pleasure, his knees playing their part of keeping your lower half hiked up.

“never been so wet,” you breathe up at him and his ears perk up, hand growing sloppy with its strokes, eyes shifting to peer at you over the metallic rim of his glasses. there’s so much trust in your fluttery gaze, lips parted in a glossy oval, the picture of sin painted beautifully over your features. “you do this to me. you’ve always had this effect on my pussy.”

oh, how he wanted to throw rationally out of the nearest goddamn window. morals be damned, he wanted nothing more than to slot himself between your slick folds and pound until you choked on every syllable of confessed love.

“have i?” he responds, stuttered, head rolling on his shoulders. a groan punches out of him, quiet in a way that is so very zayne. his dick has never felt so warm, thick shaft twitching each time he glides his grip down to the base.

“you have no idea, do you?” your moan makes his eyebrow twitch, balls so tight that they almost hurt. his eyes focus back on your sopping pussy, staining his sheets, dripping down your ass cheeks all for him. “you drive me so crazy.”

the tipping point hit him like a freight train.

his breath hitches and he just can’t hold it. your scent fills his room, your whimpers echo in his head like a song. zayne has waited long and hard for just a glimpse of your skin, to see you intimately in ways that no one else has had the pleasure of seeing. cum leaks out of his swollen tip like a faucet, lips curling with a hiss.

“look at that,” he whispers more to himself, shivers running up his spine, ropes of gooey seed landing with grace all over your wet lips. it smears along your fingers, his eyes rolling back as soon as you spread them wide for him to watch the way his cum coats your hole and clit. “dirty girl. i’ll give you what we both want next time.”

[buckysrighttit]

omg hi okay so i’m thinking the first handful of times you and bucky have sex he cums pretty fast, right? like it’s been almost 100 years, so i was asking when reader cums for the first time on his cock and he’s just WHIPPED and can never have sex the same again🤓

-💋

ps no one writes bucky like u do😭😭

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is pure filth, I’m just warning y’all. More people should write about this shit ‘cause it’s hot as FUCK.

ps: <333 I like making my man Bucky dominant but he crumbles the moment you touch him 👹

Being with Bucky felt like a dream. You had been together for a while and he never ceased to make you fall for him more.

He constantly took you on dates when he wasn’t away on missions- then you decided to set the limit to one date a week because every time you went out, he’d bring you flowers. And your apartment was full of them. You needed time to let the older ones wither before throwing them away and replacing them with fresh ones.

He had been in and out of cryo for seventy-ish years, so you both decided that slow was the way to go. The first kiss didn’t take long- just because he had hyped himself up in the mirror before walking to your house.

After that, it was mostly holding hands, spending time together, even at each other’s place. But it never went further than cuddling and making out for a while. Because he needed time and you’d wait for him. Reassure him when he was scared you’d get tired of him, how could you? He had treated you better than anyone else ever did. He was the one for you.

Eventually it happened. One night, after having spent the evening with him on the couch watching movies, it just happened.. naturally. Slow, gentle- didn’t last long, at all. Obviously, it had been a long time for him- you knew that and reassured him that it was ok. That you didn’t mind it.

But really, it wasn’t just because of how long it had been for him: Bucky was a goner for you. One look from you and he’d gladly fall to his knees for you. He’d die for you, really. So it hit him hard the fact that he couldn’t last long in bed- but your gentle voice and soft hands always made him feel better about it.

Still, he always made sure to satisfy you, either using his fingers or his mouth.. or both. That night though, he was determined to make you come on his cock because he needed to feel it. He needed to feel you. He wanted to be able to last longer and make you come first.

He walked up behind you while you were cooking dinner, hugging you from behind. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, just holding you.

“Hi” you smiled when you felt his warmth up against your back and leaned back against him: “Good?” You asked, your free hand moving back to play with his hair.

“‘M good” he murmured against the skin of your neck, not moving an inch: “What are you cooking?” He asked, looking down at the stoves.

“Chicken curry” you responded, turning your head to the side to press a little kiss to his cheek: “It’s gonna be ready soon.” You added, stirring the curry in the bowl.

He pulled back a little, his hands shifting down to your hips and gave them a small squeeze: “Smells delicious already.” He said with a smile: “I know, I made it.” You grinned back at him, turning the stove to its lowest setting before turning around to face him and kiss his lips.

“You don’t have to brag so much,” he pointed out, pulling you closer: “I know it’s good because you made it.” He added, giving you a peck on the cheek.

That made you smile: “Help me set the table?” You asked, pulling away from him to take the tablecloth and walked to the table. He followed right behind you, grabbing you by your waist again.

“..What if we do something else before dinner?” He asked, voice a low rasp, the kind of tone he had when he needed you. Your answer was a grin: “Let me turn off the stoves.”

The moment you stepped inside your bedroom, he cupped your face and kissed you, gentle as ever. He walked you back against the bed and when you fell down on it with a giggle, he smiled and crawled on top of you, kissing you once more.

His hands wandered down your body, sliding underneath the hem of your shirt to touch your warm skin. The coolness of his metal arm made you shiver, it being cold against your already feverish skin.

You gasped his name when he started kissing down your body, pulling your shirt up to kiss down your naked chest and stomach. When he reached the hem of your pants, he looked up at you, his eyes holding all the desperation he was feeling at that moment in them.

Once you gave him a small nod of approval, he pulled down your pants, teasing you from over your underwear for a moment before discarding that too.

Your hands buried in his hair the moment he went down on you, soft gasps and moans leaving your lips because of how good it felt- he was too good with that tongue of his.

But that time, he didn’t let you come. No, he just brought you to the edge and then pulled back with a smirk, licking his lips.

His eyes were already hazy, his cheeks flushed when he leaned back and moved to hover over you again. At your protests, he pressed soft kisses down your neck: “Want you to come on my cock..” he panted against your skin: “Want to feel you come around me tonight.” And that just turned you on even more.

You cupped his face and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. You moaned against his lips and eventually parted, looking up at him. And Bucky was a wreck already.

You slid one of your hands down his chest, making him let out a shaky breath. You cupped him through his pants- because he was still dressed and that wasn’t fair.

He moaned when he felt your hand there, his hips bucking against it- before he grabbed your wrist: “Don’t” he panted shakily, then he took off his shirt: “Feels like I’m gonna come already,” he threw his shirt onto the floor: “And I don’t want to.” His voice was almost a growl when he said that and it just made you grin.

“Yeah?” You teased him, running both your hands down his chest again: “You’re just so sensitive..” you teased him again and helped him take off his pants.

He was already straining against his underwear, a wet spot right where his tip was. It was hard to hold back and not touch him- but you knew he’d just move your hand away again and you didn’t want to tease him too much.

Once he took his briefs off as well, his cock sprang free, precum beading at the tip and hard as a fucking rock. You could tell just how hard he was- he kept on twitching.

He leaned back down over you, kissing you softly on the lips: “Can I?” He asked, pressing soft kisses to your jawline and neck. Once you gave him your consent, he lined himself up with your entrance. He bit his lip as he started to push inside, holding back a moan.

“H-holy shit,” he gasped, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you: “You’re so tight-“ a soft moan escaped you when you felt him bottom out inside of you and that made him twitch again.

His breathing was shaky already, face flushed and eyes closed in concentration. You cupped his face with your hand: “Good?” You asked him with a small smile, gently tracing his stubbled cheek with your thumb.

“Yeah” he panted, leaning into your touch: “Feels too good already..” he added with a tentative roll of his hips that made you gasp.

He started out slow, rolling his hips into yours, trying to hold back. Because he knew that if he didn’t, he’d come too soon.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hands still clawing at the sheets at each side of you: “Fuck, baby-“ he whimpered: “Feels so good- you’re so good to me,” he rambled. Because that’s what he did when the pleasure took over his mind. He started calling you any sweet nickname that passed through his mind, telling you how good you felt, how good you were being for him-

But then you felt his rhythm falter and you knew what that meant. You looped your arms around him, holding him close, the sounds that escaped your lips muffled against his shoulder. And then he stilled- but you didn’t feel him come.

You opened your eyes to check on him: “Bucky, are-“ he soon muttered something against your skin. And as you looked down, you saw his hand wrapped tightly against the base of him. Holding back, holding back for you.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good boy-“ he moaned weakly at your words, shushing you soon after: “Don’t, please don’t” he pleaded you, more like begged you: “‘M trying to last here” he added shakily and that made you chuckle softly.

You kissed his cheek, then his lips: “I love you” you murmured and he smiled at that: “I love you too.”

When he felt like he wouldn’t come the second he moved, he started rolling his hips again and slid his flesh hand down to touch you too. It felt too good- and knowing that he wanted you to come with him, to come on his cock- it turned you on even more.

“I’m close,” you gasped as your hips bucked a little against his hand: “‘M so close, Bucky-“ you whimpered, your nails digging into his back.

“Come for me” he pleaded: “Please baby, please come for me- come on my cock, let me feel it-“ that sent you over the edge, head throwing back in pleasure as your high washed over you.

He didn’t last long after that, not at all. Not when you were clenching around him so much, when you looked so good coming for him on his cock- and he came hard. His hips stuttered and stilled as he came deep inside you with a shout, his body shaking from the force of it.

It felt like it would never end. It just kept going- the pleasure was making him dizzy: “H-holy fuck-“ he whimpered, his face buried against your shoulder.

When it finally started to subside, he collapsed on top of you, panting as he tried to catch his breath. You ran your hands up and down his back, both of you sweaty and exhausted.

“I’ll do this every time now,” he panted with a smile: “It felt too good” he added and you chuckled: “Please do” you said as you pressed a peck to his cheek: “I love you” you murmured to him then: “I love you too.”

[mailedlove]

thinking about walking in on the yandere touching himself to you<3 as punishment, not letting him touch you and only getting off to a flesh light infront of us or tying him and overstimming the poor boy

DEVOTION. pt. 5

pairing: submissive yandere (your insert) × harsh female reader

content: masturbation, usage of toy, name calling (fem.rec), degrading, humiliation, implying of punishment, mentions of underwear licking and “peeing”. (actually means to cum) (it’s gross, i know. 😭), no aftercare :(

note: thank you so much for the request! apologies if it took a few days. i was kinda out of it and i keep forgetting to finish this. 🥲 also the peeing part was actually not about taking a real piss, OKAY. 😇 anyway, hihi, i hope you enjoy it ! i will be using this as a base for the next request, so stay tuned for that. NOT PROOFREAD !!!!!

if this is your first time seeing this post, it’ll be better to read from the start since there are other parts for this! i just didn’t put the links in since i felt lazy.

hearts, comments, and reblogs are all appreciated.

coldness filled the room, bringing the boy a side of uneasiness that came along with it. your yandere has been going off the deep end ever since you left the town, with nothing to do and nothing to hold onto. however, that was how he felt weeks ago. today was the day you were finally going home and he couldn’t wait. the passing of time feeling like eternity when you’re not around.

“it’s okay, she’ll be home in any minute now.”

he mumbles reassurances to himself, pacing back and forth inside the room, trying to find comfort to something— attempting to hold onto anything. as the clocked marched on, his mind began to run with thoughts that confused him. due to your nature being the kind to be self-reliant, you didn’t bother telling him what time you’ll be at the airport. you only texted him and said you’ll be home in half an hour. he knew he should’ve not let you go home without being picked up from the airport. either way, he still trusted you enough to let you do your thing.

as he walked all over the place, he could not help but grew more impatient, longing for you. the boy’s little walks then led him to the tiny laundry basket that was also inside the room. as he opened the cover, his palms became sweaty even when the room was in an almost-freezing state. his worries became replaced with thoughts— scenarios that were unholy and lewd. before he could think properly, his hands were already reaching for your unwashed underwear inside the basket. you wouldn’t be mad at him if he just relieves himself a little bit, right? he just can’t help it..

“i’m sure s-she’ll understand.. yeah.. mommy’s good. i am good. so she’ll still give me my reward even if i break just one rule, right?..” he slightly smiles to himself, sighing shakily as he brings the small fabric to his nose. he moans at the smell hitting him, finally finding the comfort he’s been looking for. after sniffing the fabric, he then shakily sticks his tongue out, licking the underwear. he could only moan harder and tilt his head back slightly from his actions. lowering the piece of fabric, he silently mumbles apologies for what he had done, and what’s about to be done.

the said boy walked over to the bed and placed himself on the big, fluffy matress. he laid above, shifting into different positions so that he could find the comfortable one. after finding the most comfortable one, which was laying on his back with his legs spread out, he then places your underwear on the nightstand. after properly putting it down, he lets out a whimper, unhooking the button of his pants. his heart lets out a corresponding beat towards the clank of the button as he finally removed it, even with shaky hands.

he spat a glob of saliva onto his palm, doing the action continuously to ensure that he’ll have no trouble with lubricating himself later on. his lips became a mess after, though. it had tiny, short streaks of drool on the sides as well as dripping slightly on his lower lip.

anyway, after getting the right amount, he shifts to his other hand so he could pull his undergarment down and free himself down there. his dick immediately sprung out which was due to his hardness beforehand. there was already pre-release at the tip.

with a trembling hand, he uses it to coat his dick before moving it in motion. he moved his hand— shaky and erratic. slick sounds releasing as he worked his hand up and down his shaft slowly. each stroke made his breath hitch, may it be a proper or unsteady stroke.

“h-hmhh--”

he let out little whimpers which he couldn’t hold back even when he tried to. he felt disgusted, and somehow aroused. grossed out but somehow enjoying it. he hated himself for being weak, for being an impatient, desperate boy. but he discards all of that, too distracted due to the heat building up inside his stomach.

just when he’s close to grasping that reward he’s been craving for, is when he lets himself go and fall due to a little desperation. he couldn’t help but think about how disappointed you’ll be. sure, he already convinced himself that you’d definitely understand him, but even his heart wasn’t buying it.

“s-sorryy.. nghh..”

he stutters out and moans, heart pounding as he sped up his motion, chasing for a release. he has been going for a few minutes now. the noises had gotten a lot louder, same with his whining. he could feel the heat curling inside his body— just waiting, waiting to be released. he was close, eyes rolling back, and tongue slipping out a little.

he could feel— he could feel the heat— stopping, not because he finally got to relieve himself, but because it was cut short. the creaking sound of the door opening had interrupted his chasing for his high.

fuck. it was you. he is definitely screwed.

“h--hey! let me exp-”

“shut. it.”

you dismissed him with anger fueling in your voice. you didn’t and would have never expected him to disobey like this so you tsk to make him hear how dissatisfied you were with his actions. even with you standing on the doorway, you could still see from afar that he was starting to tear up. he looked like a beat up puppy, lost and afraid. it was a sight to see, honestly. too bad, boys who do bad things get punished rather than rewarded.

“get your toy inside the drawer, now. and remove your clothes.”

“b-but— i want to e-explain fir—”

“i said now.”

he was trying to protest but you weren’t having any of it. you’d still win either way. so he just nods, removing the saliva off his hand by wiping it on his shirt. after wiping it clean, he then removes it along with his lower garments before reaching for the drawer. he was already scared since you’ll be punishing him, but further afraid since he heard the words your toy instead of just a toy. it implies you’ll be using him— breaking him without your help, thus indirectly.

you finally walked inside the room, setting your things aside before sitting on the bed to face him. he was now holding the fleshlight, in which you refer to as his toy. you cooed at his state, bony but pleasing-looking hands clutching the skin-colored fleshlight you had bought almost a month back as a “present” for him.

“since you wanna act all big and tough now, i guess you don’t need my help anymore, right?”

you broke the silence, tilting your head to the right as the words left your mouth. he could feel a pang hit his heart with the thought of not needing you anymore. of course he does need you! the desperation just got to him.. and so he quickly shakes his head no rapidly and fastly, panic settling on his face as he doesn’t want you to think about yourself like that.

“i--it’s not like that, mama... i swear— swear i just couldn’t wait any longer and i thought you wouldn’t arrive that earl--”

you hush him, cutting off his rambling. he quickly stops talking, looking at you with doe eyes.

“i was about to give you the best reward i could ever give but here you are, fucking it up. you know you might not get another chance, hm?”

you said, looking down at your index finger as it grazes the toy rather than his hand. he nods furiously to let you know he understands you. after that, with the use of the same hand, you guided the fleshlight towards his already-wet cock. he was squirming in the process, trying to avoid the toy’s insides to wrap around him. please’s left his mouth, begging you to stop and begging for you to forgive him. you acted as if you were deaf, ignoring his pleas as you finally inserted his shaft fully inside the silicon toy. you earned a loud groan from him, making you smile smuggly.

“see? it hasn’t even done anything and yet you’re already moaning like a whore. i guess you really don’t need me after all.”

you sigh sarcastically, acting as if you were hurt and with you knowing how easy he was— he was quick to reassure you in hurried breaths.

“no, no, no, m--mommy— i need you, need you s’much.. please don’t s-say things like tha— hah! ”

a moan suddenly fell from his lips which cut off his words. you had caught him off guard by moving the toy in a quick but short time. you did it since you didn’t want to get bored by his blabbering, your mind only focused in making him play with his dick.

“you just gonna blab or start?”

you loosened your grip on the toy and let go, fake yawning as you looked at him with a bored expression. that was the signal to finally make him start to work. he didn’t want to be inside the toy but he’d rather endure it than see you be bored at him. guess he has to put on a show to make you entertained then.

finally, after what felt like years, he started to put his hand on the toy so that he could begin moving it. it was already slicky since his dick still had saliva from all the spitting he had done a while ago. his breath hitched as he finally pushed the toy fully down around him. he whined at the contact, his thighs trembling uncontrollably as he starts to move the toy up then down.

“s-sensitive..”

his voice cracked, breathy moans filling the room. as he continuously moves the toy at an erratic but slow pace, he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes slightly, making it half-lidded. he was starting to water a little from the sudden sensitivity. you saw this and immediately tormented him for the fun of it.

“keep your eyes open. i’m sure you aren’t that dumb and can still follow a simple rule, right?”

you placed your palm on your cheek as you spoke. he quickly opens his eyes, shifting them to meet your gaze. you couldn’t help but look at his face in awe. his eyes were similar to a void, no thought behind those iris. his mouth was slightly agape with wet drool that started to dry on both sides of his lips. his face was pure on sweating with hair lightly wet. what a scene it was, fully knowing that he just started a few minutes ago.

“i should just keep you like this forever, hm?”

he didn’t respond.

“answer me.”

he finally acknowledges your words, shaking his head.

“n-nooooo.. n-ngh! want i--inn.. wann’ be in, p-pleasee-”

he was starting to turn dumb-like, words all slurry since he could not talk properly anymore. you could also see that he was still moving his hips but not the toy anymore. he was the one fucking toy now, his lower body doing all the work. he didn’t break eye contact as he did his actions, lips parting oh so slightly until you could full on see the insides of his mouth.

“t--touchh me, please..” he begs, lips forming into a messy pout as he bites back a cry. he wanted to be held in any form of way as he was still deprived of the comfort he’d been needing. of course, knowing the devil you were, you shook your head no, resulting the boy to finally release a sob.

“issokay, i understand.. but wait! wait, m-mama, i’m g-going to pee. wait, p-please, hngh-”

he didn’t know what he was saying anymore, too fucked out to even understand the words coming out of his mouth. pee? you thought. you were puzzled, so you didn’t give him answer since there wasn’t one that you could give anyway. as you shifted your eyes back to his cock, you could somewhat see that it was all red and pent up.

by now, he was still fucking the toy fast and hardly. all you could hear was noises of squelching, whimpering, and loud moaning. hell, he was even starting to shout loud cries but you were far too distracted to even quiet him down since you were enjoying this too much.

“o-ooohh! a--ah!- momm’, sorryyy, i’m going to-”

he grips the sheets with the use of his free hand to keep him stable as he arched his back. a sorry was the last thing you heard before he cries out, releasing his load inside. whimpers left his mouth as he saw the toy drip out his cum. oh, so that’s what he meant. cute.

his body then retorts back from arching, making him shudder in the process.

“sorry, m’sorry..”

he apologizes in defeat. you almost fell for the act but good thing you remembered this was his punishment for disobeying. with “no mercy” still in your head, the words that fell from your lips left him biting his lip anxiously.

“no aftercare for you, hun. i won’t even hold you until you make it up to me. this is your punishment for not following rules, sorry not sorry.”

you went on to ramble, letting him know that actions come with consequences. he didn’t fight back, only nodding in defeat. in reality, you did want to hold him and caress him but it wouldn’t do him good since he might start to get spoiled.

“clean yourself up. i wanna sleep.”

was the last thing you said before exiting the room, leaving the boy all alone.

[lilirae00]

Still Here - Part 4/?

Summary: Paige and Azzi were never official. But they were never nothing, either.  Years in the future when they’re both in the WNBA, everything between them still feels unfinished and impossible to ignore. Inspired by the song, “Why Is She Still Here?” By Reneé Rapp. 

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: angst, cheating storyline but not on each other

a/n: Okay we’re moving along. This part really showcases them both separately, since we need to see them grow as individuals. Feels a little bit filler, but it’s necessary. 

Masterlist

—

Present day - Minneapolis, Minnesota 

The sky above Minneapolis was cloudy and threatening to drizzle, and yet the air felt heavy giving off that late-season feel, like summer wasn’t quite over, but the end was near. 

Azzi walked a few blocks in her blue Lynx tank top and black practice shorts, sunglasses on, phone loose in her hand. She hadn’t slept much. 

Paige’s voice from the press conference repeated itself like a song she couldn’t get out of her head. 

I'm just tired of being a ghost in someone else's story.

It wasn’t even a direct quote about her. Truthfully, it hadn’t been directed toward anybody in particular, not really. And yet, Azzi felt it everywhere. In her chest. In her rib cage. In her stomach. In that spot behind her eyes that stung from crying harder than she meant to. 

She didn’t text Paige. She didn’t even dare. What could she say?

Instead, she had stared at the viral press conference clip for hours, the words echoing in her head long after the screen had dimmed. 

And this morning, she finally typed out one short message to someone else.

Azzi: You in town already?  Want coffee?

Nika: Always. I’lll try not to break your heart. 😘

When she arrived at the coffee shop, she spotted Nika sitting outside, legs stretched long under the table, sunglasses propped on her head, iced coffee half-gone.

“Still in that hideous Lynx blue, huh?” Nika called out as Azzi walked up to her. “I thought you’d outgrow it.”

Azzi snorted and collapsed into the chair across from her. "It's great to see you, too."

"Mm-hmm." Nika sipped her coffee, then gave Azzi the once-over. "You look like you haven't slept in a week. Trouble in paradise?"

Azzi removed her sunglasses, rubbed her eyes. "Something like that."

A beat passed. Nika lifted her eyebrow. "So... you see the press conference?

Azzi tensed.

"That quote?" Nika nudged, "Ghost in someone else's story? Pretty poetic for our girl. She practicing slam poetry now?"

Azzi didn’t say a word.

Nika cocked her head. "You know, I have never seen anyone say so much and literally nothing at the same time. Except you…you were always fluent in that shit."

Azzi smiled weakly, but her chest felt tight. She stirred her untouched coffee with the little wooden stick like it contained the secrets of the universe.

"I saw it," she said finally.

Nika leaned in, resting her chin on her fist. "So... spill."

Azzi's mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. She didn't know how to say it without making it worse than it already was.

"She said that because of me," she finally got out, her voice low and filled with regret.

Nika blinked. "Yeah. I figured."

Azzi blinked. "You did?"

"Az," Nika said softly. "I roomed with Paige for three years. I'm not dumb. I never brought it up, because it wasn’t my place, but, like... did you think I didn’t see the late nights and the tension strong enough to literally ignite our entire apartment?”

Azzi inhaled and slumped back against her chair. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Nika also leaned back and stared at her with narrowed eyes, sharp but not unkind. “So, uh...how long has all this been going on?”

Azzi blinked, then let out a dry huff of a laugh. “It’d be easier to estimate how long it hasn’t been going on.”

Nika’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn. That long, huh?”

Azzi nodded, her eyes finding the rim of her cup. “Since college. Since...my freshman year.”

“Jesus,” Nika whispered, dragging it out and punctuating it with a low whistle. “You guys have been orbiting each other for, what, seven years?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said quietly. “Something like that.”

Azzi stared at her coffee. “And I’m with someone. I have been for two years. And I still...” Her throat felt like it was closing up. “Every time I see Paige, I just completely lose all logic. She's magnetic, I just go right back to her.”

Nika let the silence hang for a moment. “You ever think maybe that’s the problem. Two moons in the same sky...just endless gravity but no landing?”

Azzi looked up at Nika for the first time.

Nika continued. “I’m just saying. You’ve got Emma at home playing house, and you’ve got Paige with half your soul in her hands like it’s some precious thing you keep shoving in a drawer.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

“She makes me feel,” she said quietly. “Like I’m made of something electric. Like I’m worth something. Like every single version of myself I’ve ever been is still lovable.”

Nika exhaled and leaned back. “And Emma?” 

“She’s...she’s good. She’s kind. She loves me, I think. But it’s easy. We don’t talk about hard things. I never have to explain myself. It’s like...resting.”

Nika let out a low hum. “That’s one hell of a thing to say about your girlfriend.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

“Do you?” Nika pressed, voice not unkind, but firm. “Because I gotta say, Az, from where I’m sitting? You’ve been fucking over two people who clearly love you…and you’ve been letting it happen for years.”

Azzi flinched, taking the words like a hard push to her chest. 

"I'm not saying it to be mean," Nika said softly. "But you need to hear it. Paige is not okay. She hasn’t been okay. You think she would’ve said that shit at her press conference if she was fine?”

Azzi swallowed and choked. "She told me not to show up again until I could choose her."

Nika raised an eyebrow. "And here we are."

"I haven't seen her since." Azzi said quickly. "That was weeks ago. I’ve left her alone.” 

"But you haven't let her go," Nika spoke quietly, but with emphasis. "And that’s the important part.”

Azzi felt her throat constrict. "I don't know how."

"You do," Nika said, "You just haven’t wanted to. Because if you let go of one, you’re stuck with the consequences of the other. But you can’t keep dragging Paige through this. You can’t keep pretending Emma’s your future if Paige is your gravity.”

Azzi didn’t respond immediately. She just sat back, staring past Nika as random strangers walked by on the streets of Minneapolis beside them. 

"You love her," Nika said, not a question. 

Azzi didn’t hesitate, "Of course I love Paige." 

Nika grinned. Her grin was slow, and sharp. There was something knowing in her eye. 

"Funny, I didn't say a name," Nika said.

Azzi froze. The realization hit her like a freight train. Her coffee sat before her, barely touched. Her mouth was dry. The sound of her own voice saying Paige's name just seconds ago echoed through her head with terrifying sharpness. 

She hadn't even considered it, not consciously. It was pure instinct. Muscle memory. Like breathing. Because, that was the truth wasn’t it? When someone asked about love, without fail, Azzi's heart went right to Paige. It always did. It went right to her, without a map, without a plan. Just pure gravitational pull.

Azzi blinked and looked down at the napkin she had been twisting, knotting and tearing until it was a little more than an uneven set of strips beneath her fingers.

It was always Paige. Every city, every jersey, and every time Azzi just didn't know who she was supposed to be…Paige was the constant. The ache. The home.

And, still…she had run.

Nika stirred her coffee with her straw, like she hadn’t just cracked something wide open. “Your heart chose that one for you.”

Azzi didn't argue with her. She couldn't. The name was there floating between the two of them like it always had been.

Nika leaned in a little closer now. Her voice was low, steady, warm, wrapped in steel, "I love you, Azzi. You know I do. But this? This isn't love in the way you're living it. This is you holding onto comfort because it’s easier than facing a kind of love that may just break you open.”

Azzi's lip quivered. "What if I ruin everything?"

"Oh, you already did," said Nika without malice. "But that doesn’t mean you can’t try to make it right.”

They continued on in silence, the low hum of the espresso machines and indie music filling the patio space. Azzi stared at her hands and Nika didn’t probe again.

Azzi’s throat tightened. “I think I lost her already.” 

Nika shrugged. “Only one way to find out."

Nika slurped down the last of her coffee and stood to her feet. Then she reached out and pulled Azzi into a quick, firm hug. It was the kind that said everything that didn’t always need to be said out loud. 

“Well,” she muttered into Azzi’s shoulder, “I need to go stretch and pretend I like cardio.” 

Azzi let a soft laugh slip against her. It didn’t fix everything, but it opened something in the weight on her chest. 

Nika leaned back just enough to look her in the eye. “You gonna be okay?” 

Azzi looked up, getting the first twinkle of something like clarity in her eye. "I don’t know," she said slowly. "But...I think I finally know what I need to do." 

Nika gave Azzi a full look of affection and exasperation. "Took you long enough." She smirked and tugged Azzi’s sleeve. “Now go do something dumb and romantic before I do it for you.” 

Azzi smiled bittersweet, but real.

Nika gently bumped her shoulder, already retreating toward the street. “See you tonight at the game.”

And for the first time in a long time, Azzi felt like maybe, just maybe, she was ready to stop running. 

—

The door shut softly behind her with a sound that was too soft for the night she had. She felt like slamming the door. 

Azzi let her bag drop to the floor and she stood still in the dark entry way while the weight of her body sank into the quiet. The silence should’ve felt familiar. Stable. Home.

Instead, it felt sterile. Like she had walked into a stranger's apartment after they had already gone to bed. The stillness only left her feeling exposed, like she was somewhere she didn't belong even though this was her apartment. 

Every part of her legs ached as she walked down the hall. Her body was sore, but not a good sore. Not a sore that came from earning a win. This was the worst game she had played in years, maybe since UConn. 

She couldn't find her timing. She couldn't find her shots. She missed wide-open looks, fumbled passes, and turned the ball over as many times as she could count. Coach Reeve didn’t even let her get through the third quarter before she sat her on the bench. Quietly, with no eye contact.

It was kind of humiliating.

But the benching felt less painful to her than knowing why it happened. Her mind had been in another place the entire game, lost in the conversation with Nika that morning, lost in her confession that she didn’t mean to make.

Of course I love Paige.

She could hear her own voice when her eyes were closed, so quiet and broken outside that coffee shop. 

Her hand paused on the doorknob to her bedroom. Inside, Emma's bedside lamp was still lit, casting a soft color across the room. She was already curled under the covers, propped on pillows with a tablet in her lap. Her glasses were slipping down her nose. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun. It was cozy. Domestic. Safe. 

"Hey babe," Emma smiled. "You're home,"

Home. 

Azzi flinched so slightly that she hoped it didn't show. The word felt wrong. Too sharp. It didn’t land the way it used to. Not after a night like this. Not after the things she’d let herself think about someone else.

She stepped inside the room but didn't say anything. 

Emma observed her with quiet excitement. "How was the game?" 

Azzi blinked. "You didn't watch?" 

Emma’s mouth parted like she hadn’t expected that reaction. "I wanted to, I did. But I had to work late, and I got stuck with these quarterly reports. And then my mom called and talked for almost an hour. She wouldn't stop talking about her trip to Santa Fe." 

She gave a little laugh like that was supposed to make all of this any better. "I thought I would catch the highlights in the morning."

Azzi stared at her.

Two years together. Two full seasons. A home they shared. And she couldn't even be bothered to turn the game on. She looked away, swallowing back a small rise of something bitter in the back of her throat. 

“It was fine.”

She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but Emma didn't notice.

"You look tired," Emma said, setting aside her tablet. "Come get in the bed."

Azzi moved on autopilot taking her clothes off and throwing everything into the hamper. She pulled on an old pair of sleep shorts and a faded T-shirt that hung down below her shoulder. She moved slowly, like every piece of her body was waiting for instructions.

She slid into the bed without another word.

Emma shifted toward her, shuffling across the sheets. She kissed Azzi's bare shoulder, soft and slow, and rested her cheek there like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I missed you today."

Azzi didn't move. Didn't react. Her skin felt like fire.

She lay there, still and silent, and let Emma touch her regardless.

Emma's hand trailed over her back, slow circles against her shirt. She kissed her under her jaw. Her voice was steadying. "You're tense."

Azzi didn't respond.

Emma adjusted a little, wrapping herself around Azzi from behind, tucking her under the weight of arms and sheets and quiet. "You don't have to talk about it," she whispered. “Just let me hold you."

Azzi closed her eyes.

She wanted to want that.

Wanted it to be enough. To sink into comfort. To stop thinking. To stop feeling so much.

Emma was calm. Steady. She didn’t fight. She didn’t push. She didn’t make Azzi question herself, or get under her skin. She let her be. Gave her peace. Gave her space. That’s what you wanted, Azzi reminded herself. You said it yourself. She’s good. She listens. She’s not a war every time you walk into the room.

And yet. 

It was too quiet. Too easy. Too soft.

Where was the fire? Paige would've made her talk.

Paige would've read every flicker of emotion on her face and known exactly where to press.

Emma kissed her shoulder once more and then fell silent again. 

Azzi lay there, bones heavy, heat in her throat, blankly staring at nothing. The room around her was quiet. Dim lights. The woman next to her was kind. 

But it didn’t feel like love, it felt like hiding. 

And she knew in the terrifying, deep places where her fears lived that she couldn't keep doing that. 

She lay there with her eyes shut, trying to force herself to sleep, but she couldn’t shake the memories of a time years ago.

—

FLASHBACK – Elite Eight, Paige’s Final Year at UConn

The hotel room felt eerily quiet. Azzi hadn’t said a single word since the locker room, not even during the excitement filled bus ride back to the hotel. Her silence had followed her into the elevator, down the hallway, and into the noticeably dark hotel room that CD had assigned them together despite their usual rules. 

Paige was watching, still propped on her bed, as Azzi slowly undressed, pulling off her hoodie as if it weighed fifty pounds. She didn’t meet Paige's eyes once since she entered the room. She just stripped down to a tank and shorts, shoved her clothes into her suitcase a little too forcefully, and crawled into the bed the farthest from the door.

Not even a goodnight. 

The silence pulsated in the room. Paige was perched on the edge of the other bed, still holding her iPad. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, counted to ten in her head and then stood. 

Azzi didn’t flinch when the bed dipped behind her, but Paige could sense the way her body tightened. Still, she slipped beneath the covers and wrapped her arms around Azzi's body, pulling her close to her until they were pressed together.

"Don't, not tonight," Azzi said hoarsely. Her voice wavered, but she didn’t make any effort to move away from Paige. 

"I'm not going to let you spiral," Paige murmured into the nape of Azzi's neck. "So tough shit."

Azzi released a breath she had been holding, probably for hours, and her body fell back heavily into Paige's without permission. "I really messed up," she said quietly. "I was the reason we almost lost…I was…" her voice caught. "That was the worst game I've ever played." 

"Yeah, maybe," Paige said playfully, her chin resting on Azzi's shoulder.

Azzi snorted. "Not funny." 

"I'm not kidding," Paige said. "You're allowed to have a bad game. But you're not allowed to beat yourself up over it like you just committed murder or something." 

Azzi swallowed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad," Paige whispered into her skin. "I'm not letting you hold this in." 

Azzi turned just enough to glare at her. Her eyes were glassy in the dark. "You don't get it. I got open looks and bricked every one. I went 0-10 till the fourth quarter."

"I was there," Paige said, her voice cool and calm. "I saw it all." 

"Then why aren't you mad?" Azzi said.

Paige hugged her tighter. "Because one game doesn't change who you are." 

Azzi's lip trembled, and she blinked hard, as though she could physically stop the heat creeping up behind her eyes. 

"You think I don't know you?" Paige's voice was deep now, low. "You think I haven't watched you work and grind every day for four years? That I haven’t seen how you stay up late, shooting until your fingers go numb, trying to push through everything, even when your body’s screaming?”

Azzi took a shaky breath, but Paige wasn’t finished. “You had a bad night. That’s not you. That’s just... a night.”

Azzi stared straight ahead, refusing to let herself feel how badly she needed those words. But Paige always knew. Knew when to push, and when to soften. Knew when Azzi needed to be held and when she needed to be forced to look at herself in the mirror. 

"You weren’t lost out there," Paige continued, still softly. "You were distracted." 

Azzi stiffened. 

Paige waited. "I know you," she said again. "You get in your head and it eats you alive. But you also get out of it. Every time. You pull yourself back, you show up, and you fucking deliver. That's what you’re going to do in the Final Four." 

Azzi rolled over slowly until they were face to face, barely a breath of space between the two of them. Her gaze wandered in Paige’s eyes, almost looking for a reason, a hole in the truth to argue. 

"There’s something wrong with me," she finally whispered. "Sometimes I don’t even know why I play this game anymore. Not when it feels like I’m failing all the time." 

"You’re not failing," Paige said. "You’re afraid. That's not the same thing." 

Azzi swallowed. Throat tight. 

"You’ve been afraid since you got here," Paige continued, her voice still soft but deep under the surface, she was cutting through Azzi like steel. 

"Afraid you’d be just another hyped name who can’t back it up. Afraid you’d let the team down. Afraid someone like me…" she exhaled "would see the worst in you and leave." 

Azzi didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. 

"But guess what?” said Paige. "I’ve seen the worst. I’ve seen all the moody, mean, self-hating parts of you.” 

"And you're still here?" Azzi tried to joke, but her voice cracked. 

Paige wasn't smiling. "Always." 

It wasn't a promise. It was a fact. A truth that didn’t need to be said, but settled between them like a vow anyway. 

Azzi let herself be quiet for a while. She let Paige run her fingers up and down the entire length of her spine. Let her kiss behind her ear, the curve of her jaw, hoping that maybe Paige's touch could soothe the game from the damage it caused. 

"Do you ever get scared like this?" finally came Azzi's voice, barely audible.

"All the time," Paige said. "But I don't let fear make decisions for me." 

Azzi blinked. "How do you do it?" 

Paige looked right into her eyes. "I remember the part of me that knows I was built for this. That knows I deserve to be here, even if I mess up." 

Azzi exhaled like someone had cracked open her chest and let her breathe for the first time all night. The tears fell from her eyes and she couldn’t stop them. 

"You’re okay, Az," whispered Paige. "You don’t have to carry this by yourself, I’m here." 

With Paige pressing their foreheads together, Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. 

—

Back to Present - Azzi’s apartment - Minneapolis, MN

Azzi blinked against the ceiling of the apartment she shared with someone else. Someone who didn't ask about the missed shots. Who didn't even know she'd been benched for the first time in years. Someone who was nice, reliable, gentle. Good.

But someone who had never cracked her open like that. Like Paige.

She rolled to her side, eyes burning. Emma slept soundly next to her, arm thrown loosely over Azzi's hip. Comforting. Present. Oblivious.

Azzi remembered that night in the hotel during the Elite Eight like it was stamped onto her skin. Paige's voice. Paige's love. Paige had looked past the imperfections and stayed. No one else in Azzi's life had done that and Azzi had never allowed anyone to.

She had spent years trying to quiet the parts of herself that were exposed hat night. The spirals. The panic. The fear of being not enough. 

But Paige had always spoken to those parts of her. She didn't just love Azzi, she understood her. And now, lying in this clean, tidy apartment next to someone who asked if she was okay but never asked why, Azzi realized the truth.

She wasn't choosing Emma for love. She was choosing her for safety.

And she couldn't do it anymore.

That was clear to her now. What wasn't so clear was what came next. Because Paige wasn't waiting, and that made her stomach twist and turn. 

Azzi had spent so long pretending that she didn't care and pretending that she didn’t actually feel the things that she felt. And now here she was lying to herself in the dark and wondering if she'd actually created too much damage. 

If Paige, in all her messy, brilliant, aching loyalty, had finally stopped wanting her. She wasn't sure if she even had the right to choose Paige anymore. She knows she doesn’t. 

The thought hit her like a punch to her chest. And underneath it was something deeper, something quieter. 

Why couldn’t she stop? 

Why did she run from the one person that made her actually feel something? 

Her heart raced under the weight of it all. Because this has never been just about Paige or Emma, it was about her. Something broken or buried that she couldn't even name and she was just done carrying it around like armor. 

Maybe she needed safety because she wasn’t raised knowing how to be held in love without fear. Maybe she had chosen quiet because love, real love, made her feel too much. 

And maybe, maybe she was just done untangling it all on her own. 

That was more frightening than anything else. More frightening than Paige walking away. More frightening than hurting someone you love. More frightening than looking in the mirror and not liking who she was looking at.

She just needed help. Maybe professional help. Someone who could ask her something better than "Are you okay?" 

Someone to help keep her from lying away her answers.

She closed her eyes, her body still pressed lightly to Emma's as she felt the weight of her own silence. 

Tomorrow, everything would be different. 

—

That Same Night – Dallas, TX

Paige had watched the Lynx and Storm game alone on her couch, feet tucked under her legs, and the lights out in her living room. She didn’t mean to get this invested. She tried to keep it casual, telling herself she was just interested in seeing how Seattle was doing and that this wasn’t about Azzi. But there was no way to deny the truth anymore.

Azzi had looked awful from the tip.

Slow. Hesitant. The normally fluid way she moved when she played was flat and detached. Her passing had been clumsy and easy shots were missed. Paige cringed watching Azzi back away from her defender or pause for that too familiar moment before pretending to drive. It was as if someone else was moving inside her body.

Paige knew her game better than anyone in the world. Knew the kind of spiral Azzi fell into when her head got too noisy. She had witnessed it in high school and in college. 

She had seen it in practices, games, locker rooms and buses, and sometimes in hotel elevators when Azzi would lean against the wall with her eyes closed like she needed the earth to stop spinning for one second so she could breathe.

And Paige was sure that this was not about basketball.

She bundled her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, hugging her knees to her chest, jaw tightening to quiet her own frustration as Azzi was benched in the third quarter. That didn’t happen, not to Azzi Fudd. Not unless something was really wrong. 

Paige blinked hard at the TV screen, willing herself not to feel it and not to care. She told Azzi not to come back unless she could choose her, and that meant Paige didn’t get to choose either. She didn’t get to reach out or to check in. 

But she wanted to care. God, she fucking wanted to.

She tried everything to keep her hands off her phone. Dish washing, laundry, pacing the kitchen for no reason, scrolling social media and immediately regretting it once she saw the post-game coverage.

By the time she got around to brushing her teeth, she had checked Azzi’s Instagram four times just to see if she had posted anything. She hadn’t. And Paige had not unclenched her jaw since the buzzer went off.

She had just pulled her blanket over her legs and set her phone screen down on her nightstand, when it buzzed against the wood.

The FaceTime ringtone blasted through the room. She frowned, flipped her phone over, and saw Nika’s name on display.

She answered without thinking, letting her voice soften. “Nikaaaaaa."

Her old roommate smiled wide from behind the screen, wrapped in a towel from some hotel bathroom. “You look like you’ve been crying."

Paige scoffed. "Nice to see you too."

"I'm kidding." Nika tilted the phone as she flopped back dramatically. “But not really. You good?”

“I’m good,” Paige said, the words spilling out even though she felt empty inside. “Long day. Congrats on the win though, you looked sharp out there.”

Nika smirked. “Oh? You were watching?”

Paige blinked. “Yeah. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Nika repeated, her tone shifting to something a little more pointed. “Were you watching for me…or for her?”

Paige had nothing to say to that. She shifted, tried to smile. It came out crooked. She knew where this was headed, and she didn't think she'd have it in her tonight.

Nika raised an eyebrow. “You know I had coffee with her this morning.”

Paige looked up slowly, as if the wind had rushed out of her lungs, the air had suddenly gone still. “Oh?”

Nika nodded, absently tapping at her phone like she was bored with the conversation, but she was staring at Paige like a hawk. “She looked like shit. All fidgety. Played with her cup the whole time. Couldn't look me in the eye.”

Paige exhaled through her nose and turned her gaze away. She didn't want to hear any of it. But she desperately wanted to hear it all.

“I didn't push her. I just let her talk,” Nika said. She paused. “And you know what came out?”

Paige didn't respond. Her silence was more than enough of an answer.

“She's not okay, P. She thinks she is, but she’s not. And I think you know that.”

Paige looked down at the blanket twisted in her lap, her fingers curling into it, tangling into the yarn. “That's not my problem anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Nika said softly. “You're not sleeping. You're spiraling. You've got that look on your face. The same one you had when you used to watch her from the bench after your knee surgery and couldn't step in.”

Paige's throat tightened. She blinked up at the ceiling, swallowing it down.

“I saw her play tonight,” Nika added. “And I've never seen her that lost before. Not even as a freshman.”

Paige flexed her jaw.

“She’s unraveling, Paige. And I think it’s because she’s been running from the one person who never let her.”

Paige stayed quiet.

“I’m not telling you to fix it. I know you've done everything you could,” Nika said, her voice gentler now. “I am just saying maybe you’re not the only one who meant it when you said it was real.”

Suddenly, the screen was too bright. Paige squinted and pulled it lower down to her chest, staring up at the ceiling like it held some kind of answer.

“I can't reach out,” she whispered. “I told her not to come back until she could choose me.”

Nika's voice softened. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn't mean you have to stop hoping she will.”

Paige stayed quiet for a long time, after Nika's voice faded. The silence didn’t scare Nika, it never had, but it weighed like something thick and waiting. The kind of silence that meant Paige was about to break apart.

"I don’t even know how to stop loving her," Paige murmured.

Nika shifted so she was sitting up right.

"I've been trying," Paige added, her voice fraying at the edges now, as if she was unraveling a thread she'd been gripping too tightly. "For so long. Every time she chose someone else. Every time I told myself I'd be ok. I kept telling myself I'd move on, meet someone who wanted me out loud, and I tried. But it was never..."

She trailed off.

"Her,” Nika finished softly.

Paige sucked in a breath. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes stinging. “It’s like she’s in my blood stream. I can’t fucking shake her."

There was a beat of silence before Nika blew a breath. "Ok, damn. I thought you secretly turned into a nun or something. But I guess really you’ve just been getting railed by your one true love while the rest of us were all guessing why you never dated anymore.”

Paige’s mouth fell open as she turned her head to the screen. “Nika!”

“What?” Nika responded, unphased. “Am I wrong?”

Paige buried her face in her hands. "You can't just put it like that. Jesus."

"Oh, so you were secretly getting your back blown out and hiding it from me?"

"Nika."

"I'm just saying!" she grinned, eyebrows raised. "The way you've been acting? It all makes sense now. I should've known it wasn't celibacy, it was chaos."

Paige shook her head and fought a smile. “You're the worst."

"And you're in love," Nika said softly again. "Stupidly, fully, and recklessly in love."

Paige snorted a laugh, but it was short and dry. "She's got a whole girlfriend, Nika. An actual girlfriend. One she goes home to. One who posts about her. And I'm just..."

Her voice cracked and faded out before she even finished.

"You're not just anything," Nika said resolutely. "And you know that."

Paige pressed her fingertips into her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "She used to come to me like it meant something. Every time. And then she would go home and leave like it didn't."

Nika stayed quiet.

"And I let her," Paige said. "That’s on me. I let her crawl into bed with me like it was home. And I let myself believe it was enough to mean something, even when she never said it out loud. And then she would go back to her actual home and I was stuck knowing exactly what it felt like to be loved halfway."

Nika exhaled, having nothing left to joke about.

"I don't know that she even knows how to love all the way," Paige said, her voice trembling. "I think it scares the shit out of her. But, I told her not to come back unless she could choose me...and I meant that. Because I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't keep being her secret."

She looked away from the screen, biting her lip until it bled. "But I miss her so fucking bad, Nika. I still check my fucking phone, like she's gonna text. I still have her shampoo in the bathroom. I still... fuck. I don't know how to do this."

There was quiet on Nika's end for a moment. "Would you still want to be with her if she did choose you?"

"Yes," Paige said immediately. No wavering in her voice. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

She rubbed her hand over her face, the silence evident on the other end. And then, almost in a whisper, "I should hate her. I should. After everything... I should hate her. I should never want to see her again."

She paused, eyes burning, staring at the dark screen.

"I tried, Nika. I really, really tried to hate her. But it's impossible."

Then Nika cleared her throat and made a joke to lighten it. "Well... for the record, you're still kinda nun-adjacent. I mean, no one's seen you even flirt in public since 2023."

"Go to hell."

Nika snorted. "Already packed."

"Listen..." Nika added, "I think you're a lot more resilient than you give yourself props for."

Paige didn't answer right away. Her eyes fell, her fingers tracing along the seam of her blanket. When she looked up again, her eyes were still tired, but steadier.

"Thanks, twin."

"Anytime, P."

They let the moment between them stretch. Two friends who had been through everything together, one quietly waiting for the storm to pass and the other simply holding their umbrella without asking why. 

When the call ended, Paige didn't move for a long time. 

She just sat there, Azzi's name blooming like a bruise behind her ribs, and she wondered if love was always supposed to hurt this quietly.

[elaineiswithyou-blog]

Best Sandwiches Part 2

AN: I tried to make it as gender neutral as possible but is likely female leaning, also I am aware there is a lot of temp play in this one, didn’t mean to but we’re here now

18+ Under the cut

Bathsheba and Amir: You best believe these two do not shut up at all during it. Amir basically sings Bathesheba and your praises while Bathesheba soaks in the glory, bantering back meanwhile you’re absolutely overstimulated and overworked. They just coo at you about how cute you look all flushed, sweaty and out of breath before going right back to it

Johnny Splash and Amir: I know they don’t get along but that’s what might get your freak going. Amir angrily rutting into you or finally finding a way to silence Johnny while all Johnny can do is whimper. Maybe Amir ties him up with a ball gag and forces him to watch or forcing Johnny to give you oral while the two of you make out and Amir ruthlessly teases him

Kopi and Dasha: In my heart of hearts, they’re great friends and have a huge size difference. What’s not to love? Kopi and Dasha are both on the shyer side so you’ll have to be the one to lead, at least to begin with. Your dominance probably won’t last long once Dasha’s comfortable though, able to handle both you and Kopi in each of her broad muscular arms

Daisuke and Artt: Both lovers of poetry, pleasure and your divine being. The sex is a bit plain compared to some of the others on these two lists but the poetry and art they make following the sex is just as erotic and romantic as you would expect. They’re gentle, passionate lovers but don’t think that doesn’t mean you won’t be having some fun. Artt will tie you up and paint you while Daisuke either acts as another model beside you or writes poetry about your gorgeous curves or the fondness of your hands

Miranda and Beverly: They can both get quite hot when they want, Miranda often taking the lead, knowing exactly how she and Beverly like it. Unfortunately if you’re looking for just your own pleasure you’re a bit out of luck with this one. Miranda and Beverly are constantly challenging and chasing each other's highs, they might treat you like a bit of an after thought, cuck holding is probably the best way to describe what they do. Like you’re there but you’ll just have to watch until you can prove to be a useful thing to them

Stefan and Freddy (This is for you Anon, we love anon): Two massive hunking thick men. Freddy might try to keep his cool but with Stefan’s fiery attitude and you being an absolute brat lately, it was only a matter of time before the two men gang up on you. And boy did they gang up on you indeed. Don’t expect to be able to walk after a night with these two, gentlemen doesn’t seem like the right word, animals might be better. You will have a little bit of freeze and fire burns but who says you couldn’t get off to the extreme temp play. If you manage to get them riled up enough, you’ll be in for a long night and a lot of scratches from unhuman marks and burns in places you never thought you would be

Freddy and Mitchell: Mitchell is picky and boy do you and Freddy love to please. Despite how large Freddy is, as long as you listen to him, he’s very gentle despite the fact his hand can wrap around your thighs with no problem. You best believe you’ll be covered with all kinds of sensation, from cool ice cold popsicles, whip cream, chocolate sauce, there’s not a food they wouldn’t try off you. Mitchell also always reviews your sex after, thankfully he seems kind in his reviews

Cabrizzo and Amir: Just all the nicknames you could think of. It might not be the most extreme sex you’ve ever had but you best believe it’s the most romantic sex you’ve ever had. Candles by the bed, rose petals, slow strip teasing as they kiss and compliment every inch of your skin. There’s nothing more sexy to them than seeing you turned on and orgasming over and over again, talking you through the sensations with foreign words that seem familiar after just a single night with them

Mateo and Betty: It’s super super comfortable. Mateo’s softness and Betty’s chest provide extra comfort as the two of them pleasure you. Mateo is a lot more shy, having to be invited in by both you and Betty but once he gets a chance he isn’t planning on wasting it. Betty takes the lead, being more flirtatious and imaginative than you or Mateo but you both don’t seem to mind. It’s soft but passionate, kisses galore, it would almost put you to sleep if Mateo wasn’t touching you so eagerly below

Dante and Dorian: Maybe a bit of an odd pairing but it’s no wonder it came to be. Dante ever the player and flirt around the house and Dorian wanting to protect you and your dignity. Turns out you and Dante just happened to have the same thought and gang up on Dorian. Dante is extra careful not to go in too hot like normal, knowing Dorian is watching. His eyes are intense as he watches the way you and Dante move together, only coming in and joining the fun after watching the first round and being too pent up not to do something about it

Volt and Eddie: God in what ways aren’t this pair the perfect sandwich? The three of you can take on any role, sometimes you and Volt taking charge of Eddie, other times Eddie and Volt taking charge of you and of course you and Eddie taking care of Volt. It’s passionate, electric, literally. Small shocks when they both come providing extra stimulation as you meet their high. As much as Eddie seems tired, the truth is he can never really get tired due to the electricity in his veins so you’ll be up all night long with them

River and Winnifred: Perhaps they’re a bit coy and shy but they enjoy you, so it’s only fair they enjoy your body too. Winnifred able to flex the temp of both you and River, the hot steamy sex suddenly turning freezing cold makes your body and mind rush with sensation and thoughts, none that stay for long before River and her are back to ravishing you once more

Curt and Rod: They’re what you just might call the originals. The first sandwich the player ever had, the two of them bantering back and forth as they tease you, turning you on easily. Draping you in lavish fabrics, covering up pieces of your body while exposing your chest and pelvis to the world still. It’s such a contrast from what you’re used to everyday and only turns you on more. They talk like your not there as you use you, talking about all their favorite parts, it’s no wonder you come so quickly

[writer63]

Chapter #10: My Heart Divided

This AMAZING art is by herdolcezza!

here is the link to their post: https://www.tumblr.com/herdolcezza/791973486751055872/drunk-and-carried

Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time

Chapter Summary: Some Zoemira angst + Rumi feeling bad, then a talk with Celine, more Rumi angst, more Zoemira and then Rumira!!

Masterlist

Last Chapter>>>

Word Count: 11,657

Warnings: Talk of self harm and suicide, drinking, plus a few kisses (hehe)

Author Notes: OMFG!!!!! I hope you guys love this chapter cause I lowkey couldn't stop writing it! So I'm going away with My best friend this weekend so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out but I hope this long one makes up for it! Till next time! ;)

---- ZOEY POV ----

The three of us stayed curled together on the couch. Rumi didn’t stir once, breathing soft and steady against Mira’s shoulder. Mira held her like she was something fragile, precious, and I couldn’t look away.

But no matter how warm it looked, the bad feeling in my chest wouldn’t go. It gnawed at me, sharp and restless. What if she’s keeping secrets because she’s in danger? What if we’re already too late?

My brain wouldn’t stop. Every possible worst-case scenario crashed over me until it felt like I was suffocating.

Finally, I slipped off the couch as quietly as I could, bare feet padding across the floor. I made it to my room and shut the door, heart racing, before pacing tight circles in the dark.

The silence was worse here. It gave me nothing but my own thoughts to chew on.

The door creaked. Mira slipped inside, careful, leaving it ajar so Rumi wouldn’t wake.

“Zo,” she said softly, eyes shadowed but sharp. “What’s going on with you?”

I rubbed at my arm, unable to meet her gaze. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. Something’s wrong with her. I know it.”

Mira sighed, stepping closer, voice steady. “You’re not the only one worried. But you—you carry it like the world’s about to fall apart.”

“Maybe it is.” The words came out harsher than I meant.

Her eyes searched mine, steady and intense. “Zoey… you’re shaking.”

“I can’t help it,” I snapped, then faltered, lowering my voice. “I’m scared. Not just for her. For us. For…”

My chest tightened. Don’t say it. But the words slipped out anyway, raw. “For what’s happening between us. All of us”

Mira stilled, like I’d cracked something open in her too.

“You think I don’t feel it?” she asked, barely above a whisper. She stepped closer, heat radiating off her. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? Or Rumi?”

My breath caught. “And the way you guys look at me,” I whispered back, my throat dry.

She exhaled, frustrated, dragging a hand through her hair. “We shouldn’t. You know that, right?”

“I know.” My voice broke a little. “But knowing doesn’t stop it.”

I look up at her hoping a small part of her will lose control, even though it might mess things up, mess everything up, but at least we’d be doing it together. 

“You keep looking at me like that,” Mira murmured, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll do something we can’t take back.”

The room shrank, pulled tight around us. My pulse thundered. “This is dangerous,” I breathed, but I couldn’t make myself step back. My lips curled into something between a challenge and a plea. “That’s why you like it, isn’t it?”

Her silence was answer enough.

The weight of it pressed between us, thick and hot. I swore if either of us leaned forward even an inch, everything would shatter.

Instead, Mira reached out—slow, deliberate—and her fingers brushed my arm. The lightest touch, but it sent sparks ripping through me. She let her hand linger, her restraint breaking just enough for me to feel how badly she wanted more.

“Go to bed, Zo,” she whispered, voice shaking with something she was barely holding back. “Before we both do something we regret.”

I stood there long after she left, trembling, my skin burning where she’d touched me.

Sleep was impossible.

Because nothing about this was safe anymore—not my feelings, not Rumi’s secrets, not whatever had just caught fire between me and Mira.

---- MIRA POV ----

I slipped back into the living room, careful not to make a sound. Rumi hadn’t moved. She was still curled into the corner of the couch, lashes dark against her cheek, lips parted just slightly in sleep. Peaceful. Untouched by the storm twisting in my chest.

I sat on the edge of the armrest, watching her breathe. I should have felt calmer here, with her safe and warm, but instead the weight in me only grew heavier.

Because Zoey was right—something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones. But what scared me more wasn’t danger outside our walls. It was what I felt inside them.

I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple, closing my eyes. I’d never thought I’d feel this way. Not about Zoey. Not about Rumi. Definitely not about both of them.

The realization alone made my chest tighten like I’d broken some unspoken law. We’re already dealing with enough—Rumi’s past, the nightmares shadowing her, the secrets she won’t share. The last thing we need is me complicating things with feelings I shouldn’t have.

Because this isn’t simple. It’s not like sneaking looks at Zoey until my pulse stutters, or the way my body burns when she stares back like she’s daring me to lose control. And it’s not just the way I can’t stop wanting to shield Rumi, to hold her the way I did tonight and never let her go. It’s both. At once.

I drag my gaze back to Rumi, soft in the moonlight. She doesn’t know. She’s never known—Celine made sure of that. Love was never part of her training, never allowed in her world. She wouldn’t even understand what it means if I told her.

What am I supposed to do—hand her this mess of a heart and ask her to make sense of it, when she’s still trying to make sense of herself?

The thought nearly breaks me.

I glance toward the hallway, toward Zoey’s door. My skin still tingles where she brushed too close, where I almost gave in. The memory of her words echo: This is dangerous. That’s why you like it, isn’t it?

She wasn’t wrong.

I rub my arm, restless. Dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover it. Whatever this is—it could ruin us. All of us. And still, when I look at Rumi’s sleeping face and think of Zoey’s fire, I know I’m already in too deep.

And there’s no way out that doesn’t hurt.

The hours bled together in silence. I didn’t dare move from the couch—Rumi’s head still rested against the cushion where I’d shifted her, hair falling across her cheek like a curtain. She looked so small, so untouchable, like if I breathed too loudly she might shatter.

I should’ve slept. I needed sleep. But my mind wouldn’t let me.

Instead, it kept replaying Zoey’s voice, sharp and worried: If Rumi can’t tell us what’s going on, maybe we should ask someone else. Celine.

I’d wanted to shut it down. I had shut it down—or at least tried. But the thing about Zoey was, she had this way of pulling the truth out of me even when I fought it. And the truth was clawing at me now.

Because she’s right.

Rumi’s hiding something. The weight of it sits in every silence she doesn’t fill, every time her eyes go glassy like she’s somewhere else. And if she won’t tell us… someone has to.

Celine.

The name alone sent a chill crawling through me. I hated the idea of handing any of this back to her, hated that she might still have some hold over Rumi after everything. But if Celine knew what was haunting her, if she had the answers Rumi refused to give—then what choice did we have?

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling slow. Zoey would push for it again. I could see it in her eyes. And this time, I wouldn’t be able to stop her.

My chest tightened. Because agreeing with Zoey meant admitting two things I wasn’t ready for:

That we were already in too deep. And that we might not like what we find.

I shifted closer, tugging the blanket higher over Rumi’s shoulder. She murmured something soft, but didn’t wake. I brushed a strand of hair from her face before I could stop myself, fingers lingering a second too long.

God, what are we doing?

I thought of Zoey again, the fire in her eyes, the way she looked at me like she could see every crack in my armor. Her words burned in my head: This is dangerous. That’s why you like it, isn’t it?

Maybe she was right. Maybe I did like it. But that didn’t change the fact that it scared me—scared me because I wanted them both, and that want was going to tear me apart.

Still, one truth settled heavy in my chest as the night stretched on.

If Celine had answers, then we needed them. Even if it meant reopening old wounds. Even if it meant risking everything.

Because the not knowing—that was the real danger.

And I couldn’t protect them from shadows forever.

---- ZOEY POV ----

Sleep wasn’t happening. Not after everything. Not after Mira’s voice whispering in the dark, “Before we both do something we regret.” Not after the way her hand had lingered on my arm, searing through me long after she walked away.

I tossed, turned, gave up.

So I grabbed my notebook. The one I always kept tucked under my bed for nights like this—nights when my brain refused to shut off, when the only way to quiet the storm was to spill it into lyrics.

The pen moved fast, almost frantic.

Fragments.

Half-rhymes.

A chorus about fire and danger and wanting something you shouldn’t.

I lost track of time—minutes, hours—until the edges of the page blurred and the only sound was the scratch of my pen and the faint rhythm I tapped with my free hand. The world outside the words didn’t exist.

At least, not until the door creaked.

I looked up, startled. Mira leaned against the frame, arms crossed, hair a little messy like she hadn’t slept either. Her eyes were tired but sharp, locked straight on me.

“We’ll do it,” she said. Her voice carried no hesitation, no wiggle room. Just steel. “We have to talk to her.”

I blinked, pen frozen mid-word. “Wait—what?”

“Celine,” Mira clarified, stepping into the room. “We’ll talk to her. We need to.”

It hit me, sudden and heavy. My chest tightened. “Mira…”

“Now, Zoey,” she said, steady and unflinching, “we may not like what we find out. But we need to be there. For Rumi. To know how to help her.”

The way she said it—soft but unshakable—broke something in me. Relief, fear, gratitude all tangled up until I couldn’t hold still.

I dropped my notebook, bolted up, and threw my arms around her. Mira stiffened for half a heartbeat before wrapping me back, warm and grounding in a way that made my throat ache.

“Okay,” I whispered fiercely against her shoulder, then pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Okay, I’ll set up a meeting!”

For the first time all night, Mira let out a tiny laugh—quiet, almost disbelieving—but it was real.

And in that moment, with the weight of what we were about to do pressing down on us, I realized something terrifying.

We weren’t just crossing lines with our feelings anymore. We were crossing lines with Rumi’s secrets, too.

And there was no going back.

---- RUMI POV ----

Morning crept in slow, golden light spilling across the penthouse floor-to-ceiling windows. My eyes blinked open, groggy, and for a second I didn’t know where I was.

Then I felt it.

Warmth. Steady, breathing warmth pressed against me on both sides.

Mira’s arm was draped across my waist, heavy and protective, her fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of my shirt like she was holding on even in sleep. Zoey’s head rested near mine, hair tickling my cheek, her hand tangled loosely with my own.

I froze. Not in fear—no, something stranger than that. Something I couldn’t name.

I looked at them, their faces soft and unguarded in the morning light, and my chest tightened. Mira, all strength and steel even when she was resting. Zoey, all restless fire and tenderness hidden under her wildness.

My girls.

The thought came unbidden, reckless. My girls.

But what did that even mean?

Love. I didn’t know what that word really was. Celine never taught me about it—it wasn’t in her lessons, not in the rules she raised me under. Hunters didn’t have time for it, not when survival came first. And before… before Mira and Zoey, the only time I’d brushed close to it was Jinu.

Jinu had been different. Dangerous in a way that pulled at me. He’d made me feel alive, reckless, like maybe the darkness inside me wasn’t all something to be afraid of. But it wasn’t the same. With him it had been sparks and shadows. With them—

With Mira and Zoey—it was… warmth. Safety. Like they saw every broken piece of me and didn’t look away.

But was that love? Or just me clinging to the first people who hadn’t left?

I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

Still, lying there between them, I let myself breathe it in. Mira’s steady heartbeat at my back. Zoey’s fingers brushing against mine with every tiny twitch in her sleep.

Maybe I didn’t know what love was. But this—whatever this was—felt like the closest I’d ever come.

And that terrified me.

The longer I lay there between them, the tighter my chest felt. Mira’s warmth pressed against my back, Zoey’s hand still tangled with mine—like they were holding me in place without even realizing it.

I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to stay. But something inside me buzzed with restless energy, a voice whispering that I had to do something. Something to give back. Something to prove I wasn’t just this fragile, broken thing they had to hold together.

Carefully, carefully, I eased Zoey’s hand out of mine. Mira’s arm shifted when I moved, but I slipped free and tucked a blanket over them both before either could stir. They looked so peaceful I almost regretted moving at all.

Bare feet silent on the hardwood, I padded into the kitchen. The morning light caught in the steel and glass, and I suddenly felt very small standing there. My hands hovered uncertainly over the countertops, like I wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Cooking. That’s what I’d do.

I hadn’t in ages—Mira always took charge in the kitchen, or we ordered takeout, or someone decided eating out was easier. Me? I’d let that skill fade, locked away with so many other parts of myself.

But now… maybe my girls would enjoy it. Maybe they’d smile, maybe it would make this morning feel normal. Warm. Safe.

I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, out of habit more than anything. The simple act steadied me. Then I opened cupboards, found ingredients, let muscle memory guide me. Eggs. Rice. Vegetables. Simple, but filling.

The rhythm of chopping, the sizzle of the pan—it grounded me. My body moved like it remembered even if my mind didn’t. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about demons or secrets or the shadows creeping up behind us.

I was just… cooking breakfast. For Mira. For Zoey.

For us.

And even if I wasn’t sure what love was, even if the word felt too big and too heavy for me to carry, this—this act, this small offering—was the closest I could get to showing them what they meant to me.

The rice steamed soft, the eggs folded golden, and the vegetables brightened with just the right sear. I plated it all carefully, hands trembling only once or twice. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked… good. Warm. The kind of breakfast that might make them smile when they woke.

I set the plates aside, letting the food cool while the quiet of the penthouse pressed around me. For a moment I just stood there, arms crossed, hoodie tugged tight around me like armor.

Then I realized—I didn’t need it anymore.

With a slow breath, I pulled the hoodie over my head, leaving me in just a simple tee. The morning air kissed my skin, cool against places that had once been hidden away.

My hands hesitated at the hem of my sleeves, at the soft tug of the bandages wound around my arms. They’d been there for so long it felt strange, unnatural, to imagine myself without them.

But I wasn’t broken anymore. Not in that way. One by one, I unwound the strips of fabric, watching pale skin reappear, faint lines marking where old wounds had been. Healed now. Scarred, but healed.

I flexed my fingers, tracing the smoothness where pain used to be. It felt like shedding something heavy, like maybe I was finally allowed to breathe.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to hide. Not from Mira. Not from Zoey. Not even from myself.

The breakfast waited, cooling on the counter. My arms, bare and unbound, felt lighter than they ever had.

And yet, deep down, I couldn’t shake the whisper: They’ll see. They’ll ask. And then what?

I tied the bandages neatly, setting them aside on the counter.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready for their questions. But at least for this morning, I’d given them something. Something soft, something whole.

Something of me.

---- MIRA POV ----

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Warm, savory, familiar—but out of place. Cooking. Actual cooking. My brain lagged, caught between sleep and wakefulness. I did most of the home-cooked meals. But it smelled good, really good, so obviously Zoey wasn’t cooking.

I stirred, eyes heavy, cheek still resting against Zoey’s hair. It took me a second to realize the weight missing from my other side. My heart skipped.

Rumi.

That absence alone jolted me more awake than the scent ever could.

I blinked fully open, tilting my head just enough to see across the room. And there she was. At the table, back straight, arms resting on the surface—bare. No hoodie, no bandages hiding her.

The sight froze me. My breath caught sharp in my throat. My pulse rattled against my ribs.

Her arms.

I wanted to look, to take in the details of her skin, to know if the healing matched what she told us—or what she never said out loud. My gaze skimmed too fast, trying to memorize what my heart wasn’t ready for, but before I could take in more than a glimpse, she moved.

Quick, almost nervous.

She pushed away from the table, chair legs scuffing faintly against the floor, and headed for us.

Panic flared. I let my body go slack, eyes squeezing shut in an instant. My chest rose and fell slow, steady, feigning the rhythm of sleep.

Her footsteps padded closer, soft, cautious. I felt her presence before she even stopped. Her shadow spilled over me, cool and fragile. She lingered.

Her breath hitched faintly, like she was bracing herself.

“Hey,” Rumi whispered, voice gentle, warm in a way that made my chest ache. “Wake up, breakfast is ready.”

I stayed still. Pretending. Even though every muscle in me ached to sit up and pull her into my arms. To tell her I saw her. That I knew.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I held to the performance—breathing slow, loose, like nothing had shifted. Watching her from behind closed eyes, every nerve lit with the truth I wasn’t supposed to see.

When her shadow moved away, I shifted. Let my lashes flutter open, slow, heavy, like I was only just stirring. A stretch, a soft groan, the whole act.

Beside me, Zoey stirred too, still tucked into my side.

“Morning,” I mumbled, nudging her gently with my shoulder. “Come on, Zo, up. Smells like… actual food.”

Her head lolled against me, messy hair covering her face. “Food?” she croaked, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a lightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. I rubbed her back, coaxing her awake. “Breakfast.”

Zoey groaned, dragging herself upright as I followed. I blinked hard, like I was still shaking off dreams, but my gaze found Rumi again.

She was already retreating to the table, sliding back into her chair with that quiet grace she carried when she didn’t want to be noticed. She picked up the small plate she’d made for herself, movements deliberate. Careful. Her portion was small, like she was afraid of taking too much space—even here, in her own home.

“Rumi… breakfast,” I whispered under my breath, but it slipped out audible enough that Zoey caught it.

“Huh?” Zoey muttered, blinking fast. Her eyes went big as she rubbed them, yawning wide.

I looped an arm around her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her. But my heart was elsewhere—at that table where Rumi sat alone, eating in silence, like she hadn’t just crossed a line she’d been holding onto for so long.

It hurt. God, it hurt to watch.

“Come on,” I murmured into Zoey’s hair, squeezing her hand. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

We both pushed up, sluggish from sleep, and I tried to play casual, like this was just any morning. But I couldn’t stop my eyes from lingering—on Rumi’s bare arms, on the reality of what she’d let us glimpse for half a second.

She had taken the bandages off.

And I didn’t know if that was a victory, a wound, or something in between.

The three of us sat around the table, plates warm, steam rising faintly between us. It should’ve felt normal, cozy even. Rumi had cooked. That alone was enough to make this morning feel… different.

Zoey immediately dug in, humming exaggeratedly as she shoved a bite into her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said around a mouthful, eyes wide. “Rum, this is so good. Like, ridiculously good. Why don’t you cook more?”

Rumi gave a tiny shrug, stabbing at her own plate with deliberate care. “Haven’t really felt like it. Plus Mira is amazing when it comes to this stuff.” Her tone was casual, but her shoulders curved inward a little, like she wasn’t sure if she should be proud or embarrassed for even trying.

“Well, you should,” Zoey insisted, mouth still full, leaning over to nudge me under the table with her knee. “You’re giving Mira a run for her money and this is like, ten times better than takeout.”

I smiled faintly, though my fork had barely moved. My eyes stayed on Rumi instead of my plate—the faint flush creeping across her cheeks, the way she tried not to look directly at us. Her arms moved freely, bare in the morning light, and I couldn’t help but notice how much better her scars looked. The angry red was fading, the edges softening into pale lines. They were healing. She was healing, at least on the outside.

But the sight twisted something in me. Because I remembered why they were there in the first place.

The cruel words Celine had carved into her—not physically, but emotionally. The way Rumi used to come home from rehearsals with her head low, knuckles white from holding it all in. The punishment disguised as “discipline.” The way she was treated like a weapon instead of a girl. I had patched Rumi’s wounds before, both literal and not, but nothing made my blood boil like knowing Celine was behind so much of her pain.

That was why Zoey and I were doing this. Why we were lying. We had to face Celine, dig into her lies, and figure out the truth—for Rumi’s sake. To stop letting the past strangle her future.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were forks clinking, Zoey’s little noises of approval, and the distant hum of the city bleeding through the penthouse windows.

“So… Rumi, how are you feeling?” Zoey asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Rumi’s fork paused, then lowered. “Better… I guess,” she mumbled, but after a beat she lifted her gaze to us. Her voice steadied, just a touch louder. “Things have been better than usual, honestly. You guys… your help, it means a lot. Thank you.”

The words landed heavy in my chest. I could tell she still wasn’t okay—not completely. But this was something. A crack of light through the dark she carried.

“Anyway.” Her tone shifted, sharp, the subject dropping before it could stick. Classic Rumi. “So what should we do today?”

Zoey and I traded a glance.

“Uhhh, Mira and I have an errand to run,” Zoey said carefully, trying for casual. “It shouldn’t take long, Ru.”

“Yeah, it’s for Bobby,” I added quickly, the lie slipping out smoother than I expected. I knew we promised no lies between us, but what choice did I have? If she knew the real reason—that we were going to Celine—it would shatter her. And she was just starting to feel a little better.

Something in her expression shifted—small, but sharp enough that I felt it like a knife. Her lips pressed together, and she gave a slow nod. “Oh… okay.”

Shit.

Zoey leaned forward instantly, her voice soft, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Hey, if you don’t want to be alone, we told Bobby he could swing by and check up on you. Just hang out a little.”

Rumi forced a laugh, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I need babysitting.”

“You don’t,” I said quickly, leaning toward her, trying to ease the sting. “But we just… we don’t want you to feel alone. Plus, we’re only a phone call away if you need anything.”

Rumi’s eyes flicked between us, searching. For what, I didn’t know—maybe the truth beneath our words, maybe proof that we weren’t leaving her behind. Finally, she dropped her gaze back to her plate, fork tracing slow circles in the food she wasn’t eating anymore.

And the silence that followed was louder than anything.

---- ZOEY POV ----

By the time we left the penthouse, my stomach was knotted so tight I thought I’d be sick. Mira didn’t say much as we walked—she never does when she’s bracing herself—but the tension radiating off her was like static. The closer we got, the heavier it felt.

Celine’s office sat at the end of the hall, the heavy oak door looming like a barricade. I pushed it open first, Mira trailing just behind me.

The scent hit instantly: lavender polish, sharp incense. Once, it used to calm me. Now it clung to the air like a disguise.

Her office was always immaculate. Books aligned with surgical precision. Folders hidden behind polished cabinet doors. Even the sunlight through the tall windows looked staged, slicing the carpet into sterile, white rectangles. It was curated calm. Cold, untouchable.

The walls bore no family photos—only us. The Sunlight Sisters in glossy frames: staged candids, promotional posters, snapshots from our first tours. And Rumi. Always Rumi. Bowing. Smiling. Winning.

But this time, the perfection was cracked. A ceramic mug, half-drained, leaned precariously on a notebook. An uncapped pen lay forgotten on the desk’s edge. And scattered across the polished wood were photographs—real ones, not curated, not staged. Faded edges. Curling corners.

I stepped closer, throat tight.

Rumi as a newborn, swaddled, her face scrunched like she was already stubborn about being seen. A toddler gripping a stuffed rabbit mid-laugh. A little girl in pigtails, a training uniform too big for her, fists wrapped in cloth. Ten years old, feet planted, eyes steel. Always being molded. Always being watched.

I gripped the back of a chair until my knuckles whitened.

Mira didn’t sit. She stayed standing, arms crossed, chin high, her jaw set like stone. I lowered myself into a chair instead, back stiff, palms pressed to my knees to stop them from trembling.

Celine stood behind her desk, but she wasn’t the same woman I remembered. Once, she’d filled a room with authority, untouchable in her poise. Now, she looked… smaller. Her clasped hands clung to each other rather than steadying her. Shoulders curved inward. Lines carved deep into her face. Tired—not just physically, but in her bones.

The silence pressed in, sharp as glass. The clock ticked, slicing time into unbearable pieces.

I forced myself not to look back at the baby photo. It hurt too much.

“You probably know why we’re here,” I said at last, my voice steadier than I felt.

Celine’s jaw locked. She gave a small nod, eyes flicking between us.

“We’re here to talk about Rumi,” Mira cut in, already impatient.

“Rumi needs help,” I said. “She needs to feel surrounded. Loved. To know she isn’t broken.”

“That she doesn’t have to hide who she is, or prove her worth,” Mira added, her voice sharp as a blade.

Celine fidgeted with her fingers, then stilled. Her gaze met Mira’s, and for the first time I saw something hard in her eyes.

“So she told you everything,” she murmured.

“No,” Mira shot back. “Not everything. Just that you told her to hide. That—”

“She told us you believed her marks would disappear,” I interrupted, trying to soften the blow. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” Celine’s voice dropped. “Once the Honmoon is turned golden, the marks will fade. As will her… her demonic nature. It has to. For her. She’s afraid of herself.”

Mira’s breath caught, fury rising. “Of course she’s afraid. You taught her that. You made her hide, made her ashamed. You never looked at her as your daughter.”

“That’s not true.” Celine’s voice wasn’t loud, but it silenced the room. She rose slowly, eyes glistening, then turned to the window. “I loved her. I tried to give her a dignified life. To protect her.”

“Then why make her carry that silence?” I whispered. “She’s spent her life hating herself because of it.”

Celine’s lips parted, and then—barely above a whisper: “Because she reminded me of her father.”

The words landed like stones.

“I loved her,” Celine continued, voice trembling. “From the moment I held her. But part of me never stopped seeing what he took from me.”

She told us about Mi-yeong. About the bond they’d shared. About the betrayal she still carried. The demon who seduced her. The promise she made to Rumi’s mother—to love the child. To stay.

Her story poured out: Mi-yeong’s death, the violet mark on Rumi’s arm, the grief curdling into shame, into fear. By the time she finished, tears ran down her face unchecked.

Mira’s fists were clenched white. “You think she chose this? That she asked to be born? You failed her.”

Celine collapsed back into her chair, broken. “I do love her. But I feared what she carried. I feared him.”

Mira’s voice cut like glass. “Well, your fear left her starving herself. Barely sleeping. Pretending we don’t notice her nightmares.”

I touched her arm gently. “Mira…”

But Mira wasn’t finished. Her voice shook as she unleashed it: “A few days ago, we found her on the bathroom floor. Do you know what that looked like? Seeing her so pale, whispering she couldn’t take it anymore, nails plunging into her arms so hard they caused scars?”

I closed my eyes. The memory seared itself in again.

“She didn’t call for you,” Mira went on, harsher. “Not once. Because she thought you’d rather she disappear.”

Celine froze, breath hitching.

“She doesn’t believe you love her,” Mira’s voice cracked, breaking at last.

Celine trembled. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She bowed her head, shoulders sinking under the weight of the truth.

“She what—” Her voice splintered.

“She hurt herself,” I said. Too harsh, but true.

“Not again…” Celine whispered, so faint I almost thought I imagined it.

Mira and I whipped our heads toward her. We had both heard it.

“What?” Mira demanded.

Celine’s eyes shone. “It started when she was eleven. I found her once. She promised to stop. But at fifteen, I found a letter stashed in her room for me if she ever… And then at eighteen, she almost…” Her words broke.

“After the Idol Awards,” she whispered. “She came to me. Her demon had taken over. She begged me to kill her.”

Silence fell like a blade.

---- MIRA POV ----

“She… she wanted to die?” The words barely left me. My voice cracked into something small and ugly.

My knees buckled, and I crumpled into the chair I’d sworn I wouldn’t sit in. Just minutes ago, I’d stood tall, strong, righteous. Now I was nothing but a trembling mess of bone and breath. Zoey’s eyes flicked to me, worry plain in her face, but I couldn’t look back.

The panic in my chest clawed at me, sharp and wild, like it wanted to rip its way out. Petrified—that was the word. Not the kind of scared that makes you run, but the kind that roots you in place, hollowing you out from the inside.

“What did you say?” Zoey asked Celine, her voice strangled.

I couldn’t breathe. The thought of Rumi lying there, cold and lifeless, the warmth gone from her eyes—the very idea froze my blood. A world without her wasn’t a world I could stand in.

“I said no. Of course I did,” Celine whispered. “I told her I loved her. But… I couldn’t accept all of her. I still can’t. Not yet. I—”

Her voice faded, and something inside me snapped.

I raised my head slowly, meeting her gaze through a blur of tears. I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. My voice came out jagged, torn from somewhere deeper than anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whispered. “She wants to die. And you still can’t tell her she matters to you?”

Celine flinched as if I’d struck her. Her hand pressed against her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. She didn’t argue. Didn’t deny. She just sat there—silent, guilty, hollow.

“I need time,” she said at last, so soft I almost missed it. “But I know she’s not alone. She has you.”

My throat closed up. Rage and grief twisted together, choking me.

“And if we hadn’t been so understanding?” I snapped. My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “She’d be dead by now.”

“Or with Gwi-Ma,” Zoey murmured.

The name alone made bile rise in my throat.

“I’m sorry…” Celine’s voice cracked. And maybe she meant it. Maybe she really did. 

But I didn’t care. Sorry didn’t erase the scars. Sorry didn’t take back the nights Rumi cried herself to sleep thinking she was unlovable.

I stood so fast the chair scraped back against the floor, the sound sharp and ugly. My nerves felt raw, exposed, every heartbeat too loud in my ears.

“You don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

I stormed out, the door slamming behind me with all the weight I couldn’t put into words.

The hallway spun around me, air catching in my lungs like it didn’t want to stay. I braced my hands against the wall, trying to breathe, trying not to collapse.

Then Zoey’s voice. Soft, steady, but firm. She stepped into the doorway, watching me unravel. 

She turned back to Celine “you should’ve told all this to her,” she said quietly. “Not to us.”

And with that, she shut the office door, leaving Celine behind. She turned to me, and I realized my hands were still shaking.

The walls felt like they were closing in, every breath tight and shallow. My palms pressed against the cold plaster, fingers clawing for something solid. But nothing steadied me. I couldn’t stop shaking. My chest burned with every ragged inhale, the air scraping like glass in my throat.

“Hey,” Zoey’s voice cut through, quiet but steady. Not sharp. Not accusing. Just there.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping she wouldn’t see me like this. Not her. Not anyone. But then her hand touched my arm, warm and grounding, and all the fight drained out of me.

“Mira, look at me,” she said.

I did, reluctantly. And her eyes… god, her eyes didn’t carry the judgment I expected. Only concern. Only care.

My lips trembled. “She wanted to die, Zoey.” The words slipped out, broken. “And Celine—she just—” My throat closed, strangling me, but Zoey’s hand tightened on mine.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know.”

She guided me away from the wall, down onto the bench lining the hall. My knees barely held, but she didn’t let go until I was sitting, my hands limp in my lap.

“You can’t hold it all in like this,” Zoey said softly. Her tone wasn’t commanding—just steady, like an anchor against the storm inside me. “You’ll tear yourself apart.”

“I can’t stop seeing it,” I whispered. “Her face. When we found her after the fight. The way she—she looked at us like she didn’t want to be here anymore.” My chest hitched. The tears I’d held back in Celine’s office finally blurred free, sliding hot down my cheeks. “And I keep thinking… what if we’d been too late?”

Zoey reached out and wiped one away with her thumb, gentle, like I’d break if she pressed too hard.

“But we weren’t,” she said. “We were there. And we’ll keep being there. For her. For each other.”

Her words didn’t fix the ache, but they quieted the panic, just enough for me to breathe again. Just enough to remind me that the weight wasn’t mine to carry alone.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against Zoey’s shoulder, and for once, I let myself break.

Zoey’s arm slipped around me, holding me steady. “We’ve got her,” she whispered. “And I’ve got you too.”

And somehow, those words were enough to keep me from falling apart completely. 

---- RUMI POV ----

The apartment felt too quiet once Zoey and Mira left. I’d waved them off with a tight smile, told them I’d be fine, but as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the silence pressed in like a weight I couldn’t shake.

I started with the dishes. They were still piled high from breakfast, the remnants of crumbs clinging stubbornly. Scrubbing each plate felt… necessary. My hands moved mechanically, the warm water grounding me in a way that nothing else could. I rinsed, dried, and stacked. One. By. One.

Then the counters. Dust and crumbs seemed to have multiplied while I wasn’t looking. Wiping down every surface, lining up jars, folding the kitchen towels just so. I hummed softly, a little tune I didn’t even recognize, letting the rhythm of cleaning fill the empty spaces.

Laundry next. The pile in the corner of my room looked insurmountable at first, but the scent of detergent and the weight of wet clothes in my hands… it was calming. I folded everything with care, stacking shirts by color, socks in neat pairs. I imagined it would make everything in my life feel a little less… chaotic.

And yet.

Once everything was done, I sat on the edge of the sofa, my fingers still damp from the last towel. The apartment gleamed. Spotless. Perfect. And I felt… nothing.

I didn’t know what to do now. My chest ached a little—the dull, persistent reminder of the bruises I’d tried to hide from the girls. The sting in my wrists, the soreness in my legs… it all whispered that I wasn’t as fine as I wanted everyone to believe.

I stared at the sunlight spilling across the floor, shifting slowly as the day moved on without me. My mind felt empty, but also too full—too many thoughts bouncing around, none of them landing.

So I just sat there, folding my hands in my lap, letting the quiet stretch around me. The apartment smelled clean, my body tired from moving, my heart… still too raw to make sense of anything. I didn’t cry—not yet—but I felt like I was holding back a storm, one that wanted to tear through the neat little world I’d made for myself today.

I whispered to no one, “What do I even do now?”

I stood slowly from the sofa, every muscle protesting, and decided—maybe a shower would help. Just a few minutes of warm water, letting it wash over me, let me exist somewhere outside my own head. I needed… something.

The bathroom was steamy before I even turned on the hot water, and the tiles were cold under my bare feet. I leaned against the edge of the tub for a moment, letting the heat of the water trickle down my arms, my shoulders. I closed my eyes, inhaled the faint scent of shampoo, tried to feel… nothing.

For a few minutes, it worked. My thoughts quieted, and the world outside the glassy curtain of the shower became just… warmth and water.

But then the voices came back.

Soft at first, like distant whispers I could almost ignore. And then louder. Scraping at the edges of my mind, repeating doubts, fears, accusations I hadn’t thought I still carried. You’re weak. You can’t protect anyone. You deserve this.

I gripped the sides of the tub, knuckles white, trying to remind myself it was just in my head. Just in my head.

I couldn’t.

The water felt hot enough to burn, but it didn’t matter. The whispers twisted into shrill echoes, pounding against my temples. My chest tightened, my stomach curled. Every rational thought I had tried to anchor myself with dissolved under the tide of them.

I stumbled out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and padded into the living room. The sofa looked soft, safe, inviting. I collapsed onto it, burying my face in a cushion, trying to control my breathing. I counted in, counted out. 

Slow. Calm. Everything is fine.

But nothing was fine.

My heart pounded like a drum I couldn’t stop. My hands shook, my legs twitched. The voices wouldn’t stop. They circled me, taunted me, clawed at every ounce of resolve I’d built in the last few days. I tried to stay calm, I really did. I tried to tell myself it would pass. But the rational part of me was buried under the storm.

I curled up on the sofa, knees to chest, clutching the cushion as if it could hold me together. My body felt like it belonged to someone else, a stranger, trembling and panicked. And I couldn’t—no matter how hard I tried—I couldn’t silence the chaos inside my own head.

I wanted Zoey. I wanted Mira. I wanted Bobby. I wanted Celine (ironic huh). I wanted anyone who could make the voices stop, but I was alone.

And that, more than anything, made me feel like I was falling.

Pushing myself up from the sofa, pacing back and forth across the living room. Each step felt heavy, but movement helped—if only a little. I traced the edge of the rug with my toes, circled the coffee table, then back again. I needed… something normal. Something that felt like me before everything went sideways.

I finally made my way to my bedroom, rifling through drawers like a robot on autopilot. Teddy bear PJ shorts—soft, faded at the seams, comforting. A light pink off-the-shoulder top that smelled faintly of laundry soap. A cardigan, slightly oversized, that always made me feel safe, cocooned. I changed slowly, deliberately, focusing on the familiar textures against my skin, the way the cotton and fleece fit around my body. It should have helped.

It didn’t.

I padded back into the living room, curled up on the sofa, pulling the cardigan tighter around me and hugging the cushion against my chest. I wanted the normalcy of pajamas, the softness, the routine to make the world quiet again. But the voices didn’t care about comfort.

They surged louder, sharper now, circling me like vultures. You’re fragile. Pathetic. No one can help you. They echoed and twisted, clawing at every thought, every small attempt I’d made to stay grounded.

I pressed my face into the cushion, trying to breathe, trying to convince myself it was just in my head. But every inhale felt like a lie, every exhale barely enough to keep me from collapsing entirely. My legs curled under me, trembling. My arms wrapped around the pillow tighter and tighter, trying to hold myself together.

The sofa beneath me was soft, the room smelled faintly of detergent and my favorite lotion, but it didn’t matter. The voices had taken over. And no matter how tightly I held the cushion, no matter how much I reminded myself that I was safe, I couldn’t stop them.

I didn’t even notice when I started crying.

I just lay there, letting the chaos spin around me, hoping—praying—that someone would come back soon.

Then the elevator dinged.

“Rumi!” a voice called out.

Bobby.

I froze. My limbs felt heavy, glued to the sofa cushions. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the hardwood grew closer, and I could hear the concern in his voice before he even reached me.

He knelt down in front of the sofa, eyes scanning me quickly, almost instinctively, like he was checking for signs I couldn’t hide—bruises, scratches, cuts. Relief flickered across his face when he didn’t find any. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Looking into his eyes, I realized I couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not anymore.

“No. I’m not okay,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not okay in here.”

I tapped my head lightly a few times, the gesture small but desperate, trying to give shape to the chaos swirling inside me. My fingers lingered on my temple, then slid down as I wiped at my nose, feeling a sting of tears I wasn’t sure I could stop.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I whispered, the words tasting like defeat.

Bobby didn’t respond right away. He just stayed there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence, but careful not to crowd me. Then he gently reached out, placing a hand near mine, but not touching until I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Hey… you’re not alone, Rumi. Not for this. Not ever.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. The voices inside my head were still screaming, relentless, but the sound of his calm voice, steady and real, felt like the smallest crack of light in a room that had been too dark for too long.

“I… I just… I don’t know how to make it stop,” I admitted, curling into myself more tightly.

Bobby nodded, slowly, understanding without judgment. “Then we start small. We breathe. We sit together. You don’t have to fix it all at once.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted the chaos to calm just from his words, but the voices clawed still, and my hands shook as I pressed them against my face. But for the first time in hours, I let someone see me like this.

And that… that was the tiniest kind of relief.

Bobby stayed kneeling in front of me, calm and patient, like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else. His voice softened.

“Alright. Listen to me, Rumi. Just focus on my voice, okay? We’ll take it slow.”

I nodded, though my chest was still tight, my hands trembling against the cushion I clutched.

“Good,” he said gently. “Now—breathe with me. In through your nose. Ready?”

I inhaled shakily as he counted, his tone steady, like he was anchoring me. “One… two… three…” My chest burned with the effort, but I held it as he instructed, then let the air out, slow, as he counted again. We repeated the rhythm, over and over, until the frantic racing of my heart began to ease

When my breaths finally stopped hitching, Bobby shifted slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Alright. Now look around. Tell me five things you can see.”

I blinked, forcing my gaze around the apartment. The lamp on the side table. My favorite blanket draped over the arm of the sofa. The coffee mug I’d forgotten to put away. The cardigan sleeve bunched against my wrist. Bobby’s steady eyes watching me.

“Good,” he encouraged. “Four things you can touch.”

I reached out slowly, grounding myself in the sensation. “The cushion. My cardigan. The floor under my toes. And…” I hesitated, then reached for his hand. “You.”

His fingers squeezed mine lightly, no pressure, just a reminder that I wasn’t alone. “Perfect. Now three things you can hear.”

“The hum of the fridge,” I said softly. “The city outside. And… your voice.”

His smile was faint but reassuring. “Two things you can smell.”

“Shampoo… and detergent.”

“And one thing you can taste?”

I licked my lips, swallowing. “Mint… from my toothpaste earlier.”

“Exactly.” He nodded, brushing his thumb across the back of my hand once before letting go. “See? You’re here. You’re safe. The voices aren’t in control.”

It wasn’t magic. The voices were still there, but quieter now, dulled. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe without breaking.

An hour passed like that—quiet conversation, stretches of silence where Bobby just sat with me, grounding me again when the chaos threatened to swell. By the time I leaned back against the sofa, my eyelids heavy, the storm inside my head had faded to a murmur. I wasn’t whole, not yet, but I wasn’t drowning anymore either.

Then Bobby’s phone buzzed on the table. He frowned at the screen, stood, and stepped a few feet away before answering. His voice was low, but urgent. When he hung up, he came back, guilt written across his face.

“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “They need me right now. But—” He stopped, kneeling down again to meet my eyes. “I’m not leaving if you’re not okay on your own. Say the word, and I’ll stay.”

The thought of being alone again made my stomach twist, but I didn’t want him to choose between me and whatever was pulling him away. And… I was okay. Fragile, but okay.

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered. “You helped. Really. I can do this.”

He searched my face like he wanted to argue, but then nodded slowly. “Alright. But I’ll check in. Soon. Promise.”

As he left, the apartment grew quiet again, but it wasn’t the crushing, suffocating silence from before. I pulled the cardigan tighter around me, curled into the sofa, and whispered to myself what Bobby had taught me.

“I’m here. I’m safe. I can do this.”

And for once, I almost believed it.

Now the apartment felt calm for a moment—too calm, like the world had tricked me into forgetting the storm. I curled up on the sofa, clutching my cardigan, letting myself pretend I was safe. I was safe.

Then my phone buzzed.

Hey Rum, going to be out for a little longer. Be home as soon as we can. Love you!

Zoey.

A small relief warmed me, and I typed back quickly. 

All good. 

Letting the text sit there, a lifeline. And then it hit.

They hate you. They don’t want to be around you.

The whisper clawed into my skull, sharp and relentless. My stomach dropped, my chest tightened. I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to push the words away, trying to will the voices to stop. But they only grew louder, harsher, crueler.

I shook my head violently. No. Stop. Please stop.

And then my gaze fell on the side table.

The bottles. Wine, lined up like they were daring me to touch them. The world narrowed until all I could hear was the screaming in my head and the soft, sinister invitation they represented.

 knew—I knew—I couldn’t stop if I drank. I couldn’t not until the voice disappeared. But this was unbearable. Sharp, hot, cutting through every rational thought. Every nerve in my body screamed to do something. Do anything to make it stop.

My hands hovered over the bottles. Trembling. Shaking. I wanted to throw them across the room, smash them, anything—but I couldn’t move. The whispering, the screaming in my head, was like fire, burning my skull from the inside out.

I whispered to myself, barely audible, almost choking: I don’t want to. I won’t. I can’t. Please… just stop.

The pain of listening was worse than anything else I’d felt today. Every second stretched like a knife twisting. I thought about drinking, about the relief it could bring, the quiet it could give—but the truth was sharp and undeniable: once I started, I couldn’t stop. I would lose myself entirely.

So I pressed my face into the cushion, shaking. My fingers clawed at the fabric. I rocked slightly, trying to ride the wave instead of surrendering to it. Every nerve burned, every thought screamed, but I couldn’t give in. I wouldn’t.

Please… make it stop, I whispered again, and then louder, almost crying. I’ll do anything else. Anything else. Just… stop.

The bottles sat there, dark, as if they were calling my name, I couldn’t fight it anymore… 

---- ZOEY POV ----

We’d been walking for what felt like hours, aimlessly, through streets that all looked the same. The air was warm, the late sun bleeding gold into the pavement, but I couldn’t feel it. My chest was tight, still replaying every word from Celine’s office, every flicker of guilt I saw on her face, every tremble in Mira’s voice.

Mira hadn’t said a word since storming out. She was pacing ahead, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. I could tell she was seconds away from shattering.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering, before finally typing a quick message to Rumi:

Hey Rum, going to be out for a little longer. Be home as soon as we can. Love you!

My chest ached as I hit send. She’d probably brush it off, send some goofy emoji or a thumbs-up like she always did when she didn’t want us to worry. But the thought of her sitting alone in that apartment while Mira and I were out here—god, it felt wrong.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket and caught up with Mira. “Hey,” I said softly, but it cracked halfway. “You need to stop before you burn a hole in the sidewalk.”

Her pace faltered, but she didn’t look at me. Her hands were shoved deep into her jacket, tight fists.

“You can’t carry this alone, Mira,” I pressed. “You’ll drown.”

Finally, she turned, eyes sharp, wet. “What else am I supposed to do, Zoey? Just—act like it’s fine? Pretend I didn’t hear Celine say Rumi wanted to die? Pretend that doesn’t destroy me?”

Her voice rose with each word until it broke. I felt the heat of it, the desperation clawing out of her. Something inside me snapped.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” I shot back, louder than I meant to. “I’m asking you to let me in. Because I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand by while you tear yourself apart like this.”

She glared at me, but her lip trembled. “Why do you even care so much?”

And that was it. The dam burst.

“Because I love you!” I yelled, the words ripping out of me like they’d been waiting for years. “Goddamn it, Mira, I love you! I love Rumi, I love you, I love both of you, and I don’t care if it’s fucked up or messy or if it ruins everything. I can’t undo it. I can’t stop it. I’m sorry I fell in love with you, you and Rumi, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do shit about it—”

Mira froze. Her whole body went still, eyes wide, lips parted. “…You what?” she whispered.

My hands shook. I wanted to run. Instead, I stepped closer, chest heaving. “You heard me.”

For a moment, silence. Just her staring at me, like the world tilted under her feet. Then she laughed—broken, disbelieving—and her tears spilled over.

“You’re such an idiot,” she choked out. “Because I—” Her voice cracked, raw. “I love you too. I love both of you. And I’ve been hating myself for it, because it felt wrong, because I thought it would destroy everything we’ve built. But fuck it—fuck all of it. I don’t care anymore.”

Her fists unclenched, and suddenly she was in my arms, gripping me like I was her anchor in a storm. I held her just as tight, burying my face against her shoulder, both of us shaking.

It was messy, it was too much, it was everything. But in that moment, I didn’t care.

“I’ll do anything,” Mira whispered against my hair. “For you. For her. For us.”

“Same,” I breathed. My throat burned, but I meant every word. “Anything.”

We stayed like that, tangled together in the middle of the empty street, not caring who saw.

Because for the first time, the truth was out. And it was ours.

We stayed locked together in the middle of the street longer than we should have. The world blurred past, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It wasn’t until a car horn jolted us that Mira flinched, pulling back just enough to glance around.

“Come on,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Not here.”

She grabbed my hand, fingers trembling but firm, and tugged me down a side street. We ducked into a little alley behind a closed café, the kind of quiet corner no one ever paid attention to.

The moment we stopped, Mira spun toward me again. Her eyes were glossy, cheeks streaked, lips parted like she was on the verge of another breakdown.

But instead of breaking, she surged forward.

Her mouth crashed against mine, desperate, fevered. It wasn’t graceful—it was teeth, breath, the taste of tears, the sharpness of everything we’d been holding back. My back hit the brick wall and I gasped into her kiss, clutching her like she’d vanish if I let go.

God, it hurt. It healed. It was everything all at once.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead pressed to mine, we were both shaking, gasping for air.

“This is insane,” Mira whispered, a laugh breaking through her sob. “We’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I breathed. My thumb brushed a tear off her cheek. “But it’s real.”

Her hand slid up into my hair, holding me there like she never wanted to let go. “We can’t tell her yet,” she said, quieter now, steadier. “Not until we figure out what this even means.”

I nodded, though every part of me wanted to run to Rumi right now and spill everything. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Mira kissed me again—softer this time, lingering, like a promise.

And in that tiny, hidden corner of the world, it didn’t matter how messy, how dangerous, how impossible this was. All that mattered was her, was Rumi, was us.

---- RUMI POV ----

The apartment was too quiet. Too still. I hated it.

Zoey and Mira had gone out hours ago, promising they’d be back later. I told myself it was fine. I told myself I could handle being alone.

I couldn’t.

The bottle on the counter mocked me. Just one drink, I thought. Just one to take the edge off, to drown the echoes of last night’s nightmare still clinging to me.

But one drink became two. Two became three. And somewhere between three and I lost count, my body slumped against the couch, staring at nothing, the room spinning.

That’s when the knock came. Light at first. Then firmer.

“Rumi?” Bobby’s voice. Steady, cautious.

I groaned, trying to sit up straighter. “Door’s open.”

He stepped inside, his tall frame filling the entry. The moment his eyes landed on me, the glass still in my hand, the three empty bottles on the table, his expression fell.

“Shit.”

I laughed. It came out cracked, sharp, ugly. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”

“Fine?” He closed the door behind him and crouched near the couch, lowering himself to eye level. “Rum… you’re slurring.”

“So what?” I muttered, waving him off. “Slurring doesn’t mean broken. I already am.”

Bobby’s face tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just… listened.

And suddenly, the words spilled out. Too many, too fast. Like the alcohol had loosened the locks I’d kept on them for years.

“The nightmares don’t stop, Bobby. They never stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see blood. I see her face. I hear screaming. And sometimes it’s me screaming. Sometimes it’s Zoey. Sometimes it’s Mira. And I wake up—” My voice cracked. My throat burned. “—I wake up praying it’s not real, but it feels real.”

He shifted closer, slow and careful, like I might shatter.

“And it’s not just the nightmares.” My laugh was hollow, bitter. “You know what I’ve thought, more times than I can count? That maybe everyone would be better off if I wasn’t here. If I just… disappeared. No more chaos, no more danger, no more… me.”

My chest heaved, tears hot against my cheeks before I even noticed them falling.

Bobby reached for the glass in my hand. I didn’t fight him when he took it, setting it out of reach. “Rum…” His voice was rough now, breaking. “You can’t… you can’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” I whispered.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes darting toward the door. Then he pulled out his phone, typing fast before lifting it to his ear.

“Zoey? Mira?” His voice sharpened, urgent. “Get back. Now. It’s Rumi. She’s—she’s not okay.”

I closed my eyes, leaning back into the couch, shame and relief tangling in my chest like barbed wire.

And for the first time, I didn’t try to hide it.

---- MIRA POV ----

The café was quiet, just the soft clink of dishes and the murmur of voices around us. Zoey had been scrolling on her phone, looking calmer than I’d seen her all day. I was finally starting to breathe again. Finally thinking maybe we could handle this.

Then her phone buzzed. Bobby’s name lit the screen.

Zoey answered casually, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Hey, checking in? Don’t worry, we’ll—”

And then it happened.

Her voice stopped. The color drained from her face so fast it made my stomach drop. She sat up straighter, clutching the phone tight like it was a lifeline. “Wait… what? Bobby—say it again?”

My pulse spiked. “Zo?”

She turned to me, her eyes wide, wet, scared. I’d never seen her scared like that.

“She’s not okay,” Zoey whispered, though the words weren’t for me. They were an echo from the phone, Bobby’s voice spilling through the receiver, harsh and desperate.

My heart stuttered. Not okay. Not Rumi. No—no, no, no.

“Tell her we’re coming!” I nearly shouted, half-standing from my chair. “We’re coming now.”

Zoey didn’t need me to say it twice. She grabbed my hand, her grip iron, and bolted for the door, pulling me with her. Chairs scraped, people stared—we didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting home.

The street blurred around us as we ran. My lungs burned, but the panic in my chest was worse, heavier, crushing.

“What happened?” I demanded as we sprinted. “Zoey, tell me—what did Bobby say?”

Her voice broke as she answered, breathless. “She’s been drinking. Too much. He said… she said things.” Zoey’s hand shook in mine. “Bad things.”

My throat closed. Images I didn’t want clawed into my mind—Rumi alone, hurting, drowning in herself.

“No.” I shook my head violently, tears stinging my eyes. “She promised. She promised.”

Zoey didn’t answer. She just ran faster, dragging me like she could will us home by sheer force.

Every step was a prayer. Please let her be okay. Please let us get there in time.

By the time we burst through the door, my chest was on fire, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break out of my ribs. Bobby stood there in the living room, jaw tight, arms folded like he was holding himself together. One look at his face and I knew it was bad.

And then I saw her.

Rumi sat slouched on the couch, an empty glass still clutched in her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked from old tears. But now… nothing. Her face was blank. Hollow. Like someone had carved her out and left her sitting there, numb.

The sight of her nearly dropped me to my knees.

“She’s been saying things,” Bobby muttered, barely glancing at us. His voice was low, heavy with frustration. “I tried to talk her down but—” He shook his head. “She’s not fine.”

I could barely hear him. My entire world narrowed to Rumi.

Her gaze flicked up at us. For a second, nothing. Just those empty eyes.

And then, like a switch flipping, her whole face lit up. “You’re here!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and stumbling forward.

Before I could move, she launched herself at Zoey, arms wrapping around her like she was afraid she’d vanish.

“Zo, you’re so pretty,” she babbled, voice thick with drink but spilling over with a strange, desperate joy. “You’re—God, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Do you know that? You’re… you’re sunshine. You’re everything. You make me feel…” Her words trailed off into a sloppy laugh. “So lucky. So lucky you’re mine.”

Zoey froze, torn between breaking and holding her. Her arms came around Rumi tight, like she was scared to let go.

My jaw clenched. The anger still sat heavy in me, white-hot—anger at Celine, at myself, even at Rumi for hiding how deep this went. But seeing her like this, trembling and spilling love through slurred words, I couldn’t stay rooted. I crossed the room in three strides and gently pried her away from Zoey.

“I’ve got her,” I muttered, more to Zoey than anyone.

Rumi blinked up at me, dazed, smiling that fragile smile.

Without thinking, I scooped her up into my arms, bridal style. She was light—too light—and her head dropped against my shoulder with a soft sigh.

“You shouldn’t…” she mumbled, half asleep already. “Shouldn’t carry me. I’m heavy.”

“You’re not heavy,” I whispered, my throat raw. My arms tightened around her. “You’re not heavy at all.”

But inside, the fire burned. I wanted to scream. To rage. To shake her and make her see how much she mattered, how close she was to tearing everything apart. But I didn’t. Not now.

Right now, I just held her.

I adjusted my grip on her, trying not to let my hands shake. “Alright,” I said softly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s time for bed, Rumi.”

Her head lifted a little from my shoulder, eyes glassy but warm. She blinked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Then, with this lopsided grin, she whispered, “Mira… you’re soft. And you smell nice.”

I felt the breath leave me in a sharp, unsteady laugh. God, she had no idea what she was doing to me. I tilted my head down, brushing a strand of her hair back. “Okay, princess,” I murmured, letting the word slip out before I could stop it. “Let’s get you to bed.”

But when I met her eyes—wide, hazy, and unbearably vulnerable—I froze.

She leaned forward suddenly, closing the small space between us. Her lips pressed against mine, full and unhesitating, a kiss that stole the ground right out from under me.

For one second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. It was real, the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, the sheer weight of everything I’d been holding back.

And then, just as quick, her body went slack in my arms. Her head dropped back onto my shoulder, unconscious, the kiss broken as if it had never happened.

I stood there in the middle of the living room, holding her close, my lips still tingling. My chest was a storm. Anger, fear, love—all colliding in ways I didn’t know how to untangle.

Carefully, I adjusted my hold and whispered against her hair, “You have no idea what you just did to me, do you?”

Then I started for her room, carrying her as though she might shatter if I let go.

---- ZOEY POV ----

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All I could do was watch.

Rumi’s words—slurred and clumsy but dripping with that raw honesty she could only seem to manage when she was drunk—hit Mira like a punch. “Mira… you’re soft. And you smell nice.”

Mira froze, the faintest pink dusting her cheeks before she forced a careful smile. “Okay, princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

And then it happened.

Rumi leaned up and kissed her. Fully. Bold, messy, real. I swear I felt the air spark between them. Mira’s eyes went wide, her whole body locked up, but she didn’t pull away. Not for that brief, stolen moment.

My heart slammed so hard it hurt. Watching them—it was like every secret thought I’d buried, every dream I’d been too afraid to admit out loud, had just walked into the room and made itself real.

And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Rumi sagged against Mira, unconscious, lips parted like she’d just burned herself out. Mira stood there, trembling, holding her like she was glass.

I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to keep myself from exploding. God, it was hot. Too hot. I’d thought about it, of course I had—fantasies that curled in the back of my mind when I let them. But seeing it? Seeing Rumi kiss Mira like she belonged to her, and Mira nearly shatter from it? It was more than fantasy. It was truth.

I wanted this. All of it. Both of them. Messy, tangled, complicated—it didn’t matter. They were mine. And I was theirs.

Mira whispered something against Rumi’s hair before shifting to carry her, bridal style, toward her room. I stayed rooted, my throat tight, every nerve in me buzzing.

For once in my life, I was speechless. But inside, I knew. There was no pretending anymore.

I wanted a life with my girls. Both of them.

Next Chapter>>>

[anisswife]

⏾ .ᐟ NOT ALL BAD PT 2

PAIRING darth vader x fem!reader ┃~ 1.8k words

SYNOPSIS in which leaving flowers around the place for darth vader to see turns into moments of softness butan something way more needy WARNINGS fluffy smut?, darth vader has a soft spot for reader, mdni, sex, darth vader without mask, burnt!vader, d in p, soft sex, not to explict, softy vader, i might have forgotten something… FROM ME so… i’ve never written anything like this before, i mean… i guess we all know my smuts aren’t good either… but i tried (why tf this made me wonder if his dih is burned… emmm)—beginner writer, tips and opinions appreciated; english is not my first language

main masterlist ┃ request ┃ star wars masterlist ┃ part 1

“stay here today” he commanded in a soft voice.

YOUR EYES WIDENED as those words left his mouth. you didn't think he'd want you to stay. i mean… he was already acting weird enough with being so… nice?

that was not like him. i mean… obviously…

“stay” he repeated his words, as if hearing your inner turmoil, a fight between wanting to lean into this weird feeling of warmth and safety he was giving you and a knowledge of who he was and what he could do if you anger him “i won’t hurt you, it’s a promise”

“why…” you wanted to say something, but what exactly can you ask him? why he wants you to stay? why is he so nice? why you suddenly feel so weird around him?

“because you’re different” his answer was one to all the turmoil in you, yet it gave you another one. what meant different and what will he do with this?

but there was something more. something very unusual for his voice. it changed, got… softer, now not only to your feelings but to ears too. you could feel the difference and it hit you hard in the heart. in a good way.

“what means different?” you mumbled, your heart telling you that you can trust him and ask him many things you’d never before dare to ask a darth vader, but your mind yelling at you to stop, to fear him and what he will do if you piss him off. but heart won over consistency this time, leading to your stomach crunching painfully when you realise how bold and risky were the words that left your mouth just now.

“you make me feel… like him again” he spoke, stepping close to you, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek very gently “his softness is pouring through me when my eyes land on you…” even his speech was different. more humanly again.

“it’s… a good thing” you mumbled, believing his words. believing that it was anakin speaking though his broken body. he was still somewhere there, buried deep under the thick layer of what the dark side did with him and it was making you feel safe. made you know that he was not hurting you now, and not ever.

just something about him and how different he was to you now than to everyone made you feel like you can treat him like no different to you.

“relax” he said, his gloved hands resting now on your shoulders “you’re safe”

your eyes bore into his mask, a sudden need to know what’s under it overcoming your body. you were curious… but also… you had a feeling? you had a feeling that it was something he didn’t like or… you couldn’t quite place a finger on your thought, but you felt like you gotta help him with it whatever it is.

a bit unsurely, you reached out your hand to grab the bottom of his mask with your gentle hand, letting him stop you if he didn’t want you to lift it.

“you’ll regret this” he said in a soft voice, one of his hands coming to wrap around your palm, stopping you from lifting the mask “your pretty eyes shouldn’t see such horrible things”

“i want to” you said, “nothing will scare me. it will stay between us. i promise” your pleading eyes looked up at him, a promise sealed in them that you truly won’t tell anyone or get scared “please”

a loud, long growl whistled through the mask—a sigh; long, low sigh. “fine” he finally agreed, slowly unclipping parts of his mask, slowly revealing what’s under.

burned, bald head. scars and melted skin on his scalp and face… and those red eyes. he looked…horrible, but somehow you didn’t got scared. no… you felt sympathy.

you smiled, a genuine, soft smile playing on your lips as your hand went up to gently ran your fingers over his cheek.

he flinched at first, moving his face away from your hand, eyes wide as he started it in shock, before he leaned into your hand like touch starved. cause he was, more than he cared to admit.

“it’s okay” you whispered, letting his face nuzzle in your palm as he held it with his own to make sure you won’t move your hand away.

with a risky thought, you wrapped your arms around his torso in a warm, soothing hug. “let it out. feel your heart again” you don’t know why those words left your mouth, but you just felt like he should hear them and it seemed like you were right cause he leaned into your hug with twice as much effort, seeking as much comfort as he could.

“don’t go” he coughed out, needing his mask again.

“shh, i’m here” you said, urgently grabbing his mask and helping him into it again. “you’re okay” you mumbled.

tonight you stayed with him, and he held you whole night, confessing all the worries of his life. previous and present.

the next day, he barely let you go to do your chores, helping and cleaning around the death star.

⋆˙⟡

at noon, you were assigned to clean the room where they had previously held a few jedi. you were cleaning up, the floor, swiping all the dust and dirt into one place when you saw something in the corner of the room, left behind the jedi—as you guessed.

“A99” you head a familiar growl behind you. bath vader “jedi use it to breath underwater” he explained softly, kneeling beside you “you should just throw it out, it’s useless here”

you nodded your head slowly, looking up at him—or rather at his mask—as you gave him a smile.

but instead of throwing the breathing machine to the trash bag, you put it in your pocket. you could feel vader’s questioning look through his mask but he didn’t ask questions.

“come with me” he said, gently grabbing your hand and leading you out of the room, assigning a different maid to finish your work as he walked with you to his quarters.

as expected, just as the doors closed, his demeanour shifted from fearful to soft. something only you could see in him.

he pulled you into a hug, sitting down comfortablely somewhere. even tho he usually didn’t use a bed, he requested for one to be put into his chamber exactly for this cuddle sessions—cause who would say no to darth vader?

he holds you, watching as you took out a small tool box and the breathing machine, your tongue stuck out at the side of your lips as you work on the device, doing something that he didn’t really understand. but it was nice to watch you do it anyway. it was weirdly comforting.

“done” you mumbled to yourself, before your eyes darted to him. “try this. it should… pump air through your nose for some time now”

he looked at you, the movement of his head letting you know he was confused on what you mean without using words. “trust me” you said, making him finally agree.

a bit sceptically at first, he began removing his helmet, placing it beside his body on the bed, revealing his face to you again. it was not what he was scared of anymore, he didn’t mind. he was just unsure if the machine you created would work. would it be that easy? if so, why didn’t he come up with it?

he took the machine from you, the modified divide now having the two tiny tubes he placed in his nostrils so it wouldn’t fall form his face and it would pump air into his lungs—if it’s working of course.

he let it stay on his face, not touching it with his hands. it stays on no matter how hard he shook his head. test one approved. he took a breath finally and… it worked. when he was taking a breath in, the civics helped him pump air into his lungs…

his eyes widened in shock but also happiness? without thinking he grabbed your face and put his lips against yours, before he quickly realised what he’d done and pulled away “i—“ before he could say anything, your lips were on his again, this time you initiating a soft kiss.

you were not scared nor disgusted. you could never.

he leaned into the kiss, slow and loving, nothing like vader could be to anyone else. you were different, you made his heart soft.

the kiss became more needy with each moment, hands starting to dart out over each others bodies, slowly removing garment after garment as you two were lost in the kiss, letting all the emotions into it. all the softness and love.

his gloved hands pulled your shirt up, pulling it over your head before his lips found yours again, your hands were also roaming, touching his burned body with gentleness, touching his metal limbs, showing him you’re not scared.

your clothes and his suit were soon spread out all around the floor, his body over yours on the bed. his lips tracing lower and lower to your cleavage, burying his face in it as his metal hands grabbed your hips gently.

“it’s okay” you said, encouraging him, showing him you want the exact same thing as he does.

he looked up at you, a small smile displaying on his lips for the first time ever.

he was gentle. super gentle as his dick lined up with your entrance. he looked up again, just to make sure it was really okay and when you nodded, he kissed your shoulder, slowly sliding into you, his lips trying to soothe the pain he knew would be there.

“fuck” you mumbled the curse like a prayer, pain and pleasure mixing together as he slowly moved on and out, each thrust hitting deeper than the previous until he bottomed out.

he paused, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he waited for a sign that he can move, not wanting to hurt you. you let out a long breath as the pain subtracted, being exchange with an overwhelming pleasure. “now” you signaled him, making his lips twitch up more as he started to move again, slowly and lovingly.

each of his moves was thought through to not hurt you at any point. to not cause pain but pleasure and you fucking loved that.

it was a slow dance of bodies to the edge that you both hit together.

he groaned as that happened, steadying his movements for a moment, listening to your delightful sounds that were music to his ears.

he slowly pulled out of you after, grabbing some clothe he found nearby, gently cleaning you two, before laying on the bed beside you, pulling you against him and kissing your cheek

“my baby” he said in the sweetest voice you could ever hear coming from darth vader “i love you”

[erin-bo-berin]

Wrath

When you challenge Beron Vanserra after he insults your mate one too many times, you find out just what kind of creature he truly is and a secret that’d been hidden in the ugly depths of darkness sees the light of day.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: angst, canon Eris trauma theme, Eris trauma scene, violent scene, mentions of blood, mate fury, Beron being horrible, Beron being abusive, it has a more soft ending I promise

A/N: Shout out to my friend @isntshebeautiful for randomly mentioning this idea in a casual conversation. Once it stuck in my mind, I couldn’t get it out and had to write it down because I could picture it so vividly. Also, sorry about the pain this might bring. It hurt to write. 🥲 Now, back to writing more of my happier and sexier For Autumn series.

You’d spent centuries knowing what Beron Vanserra was like—or so you thought.

You knew he was awful, knew he was evil, something he didn’t try to hide. He was cruel. The things you had knowledge of him doing.

Things he did to his youngest son once upon a time, all the way down to attempted murder.

So, nothing should’ve surprised you when it came to the male.

You’d known the family for most of your life, but it wasn’t until recent years that you became a part of the family.

Even if that wasn’t the honor one would think it is.

It came as a surprise to no one more than you and your mate that you were actually mates. You’d known him for so long and had had no inkling. But one day—maybe at the perfect moment, when it was supposed to happen—the bond had snapped.

It was ironic as it took that happening for you to realize you’d fallen in love with the male at least half a century ago. Probably more if you’d paid better attention.

He was the best thing to ever happen to you.

He was strong, brave, courageous and had a good heart despite what he showed the world. He was cunning, calculating, and thorough. Charming, cocky and smug too, but there had always been more to him than just that.

He was a different male when he was with you than he was with most people.

He was soft, he listened to you, he encouraged you.

He called you little flame because despite you not possessing fire magic like he did, he claimed you were just as fiery as the magic that was in his blood.

Eris Vanserra was many things. Heir, son, general, mate.

But one thing he was not, was reckless. He knew when to take advantage of a situation, when to keep quiet, when to poke a sensitive area and when to keep his cards close.

He’d learned that the most with none other than his father, himself.

You had no idea prior to mating his eldest son, the way Beron actually treated Eris, until one specific afternoon.

You were horrified to know that this would’ve been a secret Eris would’ve taken to his grave, something he’d have never told you about. While you understood why, it was still a hard pill to swallow. Beron, on the other hand, likely wouldn’t have ever revealed it either because he had a reputation to uphold. One, where clearly some of the people of the Autumn Court thought better of him than he actually was.

Beron was unfairly harsh. He was gruff, cold hearted and acted like he’d never known love a day in his life. He probably hadn’t. The term, the action, the verb was probably foreign to him.

Which is why he likely underestimated the fact that you would do anything for your mate. The love of your life.

Even if it meant protecting Eris, despite whether he needed it or not.

It’d only been two years since the mating bond snapped into place, but you’d seen and dealt with enough of Beron’s behavior for a lifetime at this point. Most of the time, you wisely kept out of it.

Today, you were not wise.

“You may be my heir boy,” Beron spat the last word with distaste, “But that doesn’t mean I accept you questioning my authority. Nor, do I accept shoddy workmanship in areas that you’re at least halfway decent at. So unless you get up off your sorry, entitled, spoiled ass, you can expect me to correct you and question you at every turn. You still answer to me you know.”

You had no idea what you’d walked into but you’d bristled at the hatred, the condescension, the poisonous words being thrown at your mate. Eris stood the portrait of calm, looking unruffled, at least on the outside. He was so damn good at not showing anything outwardly, sometimes even you couldn’t tell what he was really thinking.

Eris stood like he’d heard this all before. He probably had a hundred different ways. It was likely a same story, different day type of scenario.

You might’ve bitten your tongue once again if Beron hadn’t uttered his next statement.

“I can think of many things that would waste my time and space much less than you.”

Of course it was said loud enough to be heard and not as an offhanded comment meant for himself. No, Beron had meant for Eris to hear it and had meant every word. Meant the insult that laced the barb, that he thought his son was worthless.

It felt like your head exploded, the rage in your body reaching a fever pitch.

“Hey! Don’t you dare talk to him like that. I don’t care if you’re the fucking High Lord. He is your son and whether you like it or not, you’re still a father before you’re a High Lord. So maybe try and act like one and show some damn respect. Maybe while you’re at it you can take that stick out of your ass. Although that would probably be dangerous for you because the way I’m feeling right now? I’d take it and stick it back up your ass so far you’d feel it in your fucking throat. That’s not even considering what nice little tricks I can do with my dagger. So if you want some respect? Try showing some first, asshole.”

This time, it was your face that was a mask of cold indifference. You didn’t care if he was your father-in-law, the High Lord. You refused to let him go unchecked in his shitty behavior, especially towards your mate.

While a spark of pride briefly shone in Eris’s eyes, it quickly fizzled out as Beron sat, unmoving, assessing, face an unreadable mask of his own.

Eris paled further than his normal complexion, lips tense as he pursed them. A twitch in his jaw gave away just how tightly he was clenching it.

It was like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You soon found out why.

You weren’t scared of Beron. You could handle whatever he deemed as a suitable insult, lobbed at you. You’d heard plenty in the short few years in your residence here, you were immune to them.

But it wasn’t mere words or insults that he relied on today.

“Kneel, son,” he emphasized the word as if reminding you that he’d heard that part of your little outburst loud and clear.

“Remove your shirt. A dozen for her words.”

You blinked, trying to process the turn of events, but a sickening feeling clawed at your stomach as you watched your mate lower himself to the floor, knees touching the hard ground. His fingers unbuttoned his shirt.

“No. No! What are you doing?”

You were panicked before it ever really sank in what was about to happen.

You watched Eris’s shirt come off and there, with just the right light shining on his back, did you see the hidden scars. Ones so faint you hadn’t managed to see or identify until now, despite the many, many times you’d been intimate. Or seen his bare back. Now, they were practically spotlighted by more than just the sunlight streaming through the room’s windows.

But by the monster who now held a leather whip in his hand.

“NO!” you screamed.

Beron seemed to tune you out completely as he spoke to Eris, who sat, kneeling stiffly, not showing an ounce of reaction to his father’s voice or what was to come.

You thought you might vomit everywhere.

“You’re in luck today as I’m feeling rather generous,” Beron said as his boots thudded, walking around to the backside of his son, “I oughta give you twice as much for her attitude, alone.”

“Please!” you begged, absolute panic slamming into your body, “This is my fault! I will take whatever punishment! Eris has nothing to do with this!”

Neither of them even looked your way.

Your heart was pounding, your breathing too quick. You had to stop this. Why couldn’t you stop this?

The loud crack of the whip was deafening in the air. For a second, you thought the anguished cry came from your mate.

You didn’t realize it had come from you.

You’d been rooted in place too long. You went to run toward him, to stop this madness but realized you couldn’t move. It wasn’t from your body unable to work properly though. You were being held back by hands and arms that you had no knowledge of who they belonged to. You had no idea when another person had even approached behind you.

Beron must’ve called in one of his guards and you’d been none the wiser.

The second crack rang in the air, sounding just as harsh as the first.

A ravaged scream tore from your throat, your mate’s name on your lips.

“Eris! Please! STOP IT!”

The scream of your last two words was so hauntingly agonized it would’ve given anyone chills of dread and horror. It felt like it had been torn from the depths of your soul.

Nothing stopped it as more cracks came.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

You’d lost count of how many there’d been. All you could focus on was the blood running down your mate’s back. You were sobbing. Heaving, gut wrenching, chest aching sort of sobs.

You were raging, screaming, crying. Your throat burned from your primal shouts. Tears were running hot down your cheeks, blurring your vision. You fought hard against the rough, foreign hands that held you. You fought like hell. You needed to get to your mate.

It should’ve been you.

Anger and guilt melded in one and you converted the latter into the former as you shrieked and howled. You likely sounded like a wild animal. You felt like one, trying to protect what was yours.

Eris sat there, stoic, taking the beating with little reaction from him. He didn’t react to either the lashings or your heartbreaking screams of agony.

You felt like you were screaming for the both of you.

When the whip came down again, another shrieking cry tore from your lips as you once again thrashed against the guard that held you back.

“Please!” you pleaded, “Stop it!”

You felt like you were shouting into a void. You had no idea how many times you begged the male, how many times you’d screamed for Beron to stop hurting Eris.

All your fault. All your fault. This was all your fault.

Beron didn’t move an inch. In fact, he looked pleased with himself as he glanced over at you. As if the more reaction he got from you, the more it spurred him on.

He was making a point.

Teaching you a lesson.

With every strike, he was saying, You open your mouth against me like that again, this is going to be your punishment.

He knew nothing would be more painful for you than having to watch Eris like this.

With all the strength you had, you reached inwardly. You desperately tried to tame the beast of panic, terror and protectiveness that spawned from the love you felt for the male that was kneeling mere feet away from you, blood dripping down his back. Strands of his red hair were sticking to it, a sickening contrast of the bright red blood against the beautiful hue of his hair.

The beast within you howled and wailed, the primal instinct needing to be acted upon, but you closed a mental fist around it, like snuffing out a flame. Your face fell instantly, screams coming to an abrupt halt and you stopped fighting, going limp in the arms that held you. It was probably an eerie sensation to hear you go so instantaneously quiet.

It was the only way for this to be over quicker.

Beron wanted a reaction and you refused to give it to him from here on out.

With all the strength you could muster, you forced yourself to no longer react as the final strikes landed on Eris’s back. Inside, you were screaming, but you didn’t let it show now.

When it was over, Beron stalked out of the room without a second glance at the son that he’d left bloodied. You waited until Beron—and whoever had been restraining you—were well and truly out of the room before flying across it and dropping to your knees in front of your mate.

A choked sob stuck in your throat at the sight of him.

Beautiful, beautiful Eris.

He’d stayed defiant the whole time. He hadn’t fought, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t given into the need to show any weakness. His head had remained high as he took all dozen lashes for you.

Now, though, his head was bent forward, red hair falling to frame his face, giving into the part of him that was good, that was humanlike. That was hurting and in pain. The part he refused to show in front of his father.

Your hands cupped his face and tilted it up, his amber eyes dull. They sparked to life a bit when they took in your face though, the flame of defiance still in them. You swore he tilted into your touch, just the slightest.

“Eris,” you breathed, voice cracking.

You didn’t know how to apologize, how to say you were sorry that you hadn’t known. How you hadn’t realized Beron would do this, had been doing this to his son. Instead, it was Eris who shocked you with his whispered words.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know if he meant he was sorry you had to witness that or sorry he never told you his deepest, darkest secret.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you said, firmly, the heat of anger in your voice.

His arm came up weakly, hand resting against your back, palm pressed against the middle of it, fingers spread wide. As if even touching you would help him through this better than anything else would.

“I’m proud of you,” he rasped.

You didn’t ask him what for. You knew he meant for recognizing what was really happening. For figuring out the way to handle Beron that you were sure Eris had figured out, long ago.

His face was still cradled in your hands, pain still lacing his handsome features, but he looked more alert, more serious than he had been moments before.

“I love you,” Eris whispered.

Your heart nearly cracked at that. As you both knelt in the middle of this godsforsaken room where unspeakable things had just occurred, you held your mate. You didn’t care if you had to hold him all night, if you had to hold him upright with all the strength you possessed and then some, you would.

“I love you too.”

Your voice was quivering, raw and broken from more than emotion alone. You’d screamed so much you practically had no voice left, but it relayed just how much you meant the sentiment. The love you had for him that words alone would never be able to fully express.

His amber gaze met yours fully. He’d let you see just why he was doing all he was against his father, today.

You understood everything you saw in his gaze.

The pain, the anger, the fear, the desire to want better, the need to end this reign of terror.

And you knew what you had to do.

You’d help tend to his wounds. Make sure he’d heal alright. Learn how better to hold your tongue around Beron. Never show him weakness again.

You knew every time you felt Eris’s scars under your fingers, saw them across that broad, muscled back, it would be just another reminder. A motivation, of sorts.

You’d bide your time.

No one would ever face the wrath of you like Beron Vanserra would.

You vowed it. One day, you promised yourself.

You’d kill him.

You’d kill him yourself if you had to.

Tag List: @lilaclichh @batboyslutt @seasttarr @lomahdu @alexof90s @smol-grandpa @achelliescomedown @isntshebeautiful @less-spice @ravencharming @melsunshine @kittiness12 @she-reads768 @garricktavisfanclub @asteria33

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.20

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER SUMMARY — Your heart cracks open, and you end up admitting more than you should.

CHAPTER WARNINGS — unhealthy coping mechanisms, risky behavior, emotional distress

WORD COUNT — 3.5k

You hummed at the steaming bowl of soup placed before you, its delicious aroma curling through the sunlit air and wrapping around your senses with the scent of home. You’d missed this, even though it hadn’t been long since your last visit. Smiling, you met your mom’s kind eyes as she settled into the seat across from you, mirroring your joy in the gentle curve of her lips.

“It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said. “Have you been well?”

You picked up your spoon. “Yeah. Work eased up, so I’ve had more time for things, like seeing you. But you already know that.”

“I do, but with how fast things move, I need to stay up to date.” She reclined in her chair and smoothed a hand over the frilly apron she wore, one of many in her ever-growing collection. For reasons you’d never fully understood, she collected them like some people did merchandise. “Especially with you, young lady. You move from one thing to the next in the blink of an eye.”

“Mom.” You shot her a disapproving look as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A blissful sound escaped you as the intense flavors danced on your tongue. “Oh, this is just as heavenly as I remember.” Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Please, please come over sometime and make this for me. I’ll do anything. Visit you every day, or whatever.”

Your mom laughed, light and heartwarming, like windchimes swaying in a soft breeze. “Honey, I would, but your fiancé treats your kitchen like it’s sacred ground.”

“My…fiancé?” You blinked owlishly, staring at her like she wasn’t real. You had no clue what she meant because you were single. At least, the last time you checked.

“Hmm?” Her brows knitted in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“I think so. You mentioned a fiancé, but I’m not—I’m not even in a relationship?”

“What? W–what do you mean you’re not? You have the ring right there. You even set the date!”

She grabbed your hand and lifted it. Your eyes went comically wide as she tapped a nail against the sunset-hued gems. They shimmered in the sunlight sneaking in through the thin curtains of the living room.

It was beautiful, this supposed engagement ring, but you had no memory of receiving it. No memory of who it came from, either.

“Who, um, am I marrying?” you asked, feeling insane for even saying it. Who in their right mind didn’t know who they were supposed to marry?

Your mom shook her head, taken aback, confirming something was seriously wrong. Then she squeezed your fingers, her concern seeping into your skin. “Did something happen between you and Katsuki? Are you two not—”

“Who? Katsuki?” Something crept along the edges of your awareness, leaving your stomach hollow. There was only one Katsuki you knew, and that was… “Bakugou Katsuki? He’s my fiancé? The guy I’m marrying? The guy who proposed to me and put this ring on my finger?”

Slowly, she nodded.

“No way,” you replied, scoffing. “That’s impossible. He’s already…married.”

Clarity exploded in your skull like fireworks, shifting reality, reshaping it, piece by piece. Gasping, you shoved back from your seat. The chair clattered to the floor as you lurched to your feet. One hand gripped your head, the other sent the bowl of steaming soup flying.

But nothing burned. Nothing spilled on the table or floor.

It wasn’t there.  

It never was.

None of this existed.

The staggering truth punched the air from your lungs, and you stumbled back, reeling from the shock. Your heart pounded, faster and faster, as if slowing down would mean its final thump. 

Your mom rose from her seat, her voice soft and maternal as she said your name. You looked at her. Stared like never before, and wished you hadn’t. The sight made your lungs ache. Each breath stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until you clutched your throat, fighting for air.

She wasn’t solid. She wasn’t living or breathing.

She was…an echo of what once was, her presence fading like the colors in a photograph abandoned by time.

The ground beneath your feet shuddered. The walls quaked as cracks spiderwebbed through pale plaster. Glass shattered around you, the shards catching warm sunlight like a kaleidoscope before they embedded themselves in your flesh. Blood ran down your arms in thin rivulets, clinging to your fingertips.

When the first drop hit the floor, she began to bleed.

Cruel crimson soaked her frilly apron. It stained her ghost, her memory, and stabbed you with its grievous sword, straight into your soul.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, honey. It always ends like this.” Her voice trembled, sorrowful tears carving paths through the red staining her cheeks. “But this time…it’s not about me and your father. It’s about him.”

Your hand drifted to your chest, finding the familiar pendant warm against your skin. She nodded, with a sad smile on her lips and a thousand unspoken apologies in her eyes.

“Katsuki cares. You know he does, even if you’re denying it. He wouldn’t do what he does, don’t you think?” She glided closer, pressing cold, sheer palms to your cheeks. “He’ll probably get angry, but not hateful. You did what you had to do to save her.”

Overhead, the ceiling cracked, and chunks rained down, shattering into fragments across the floor. Dents appeared in the hardwood.

“Of course, my subconscious would say what I want to hear.” Bitter laughter bubbled up, echoing in the midst of the collapse. “You’re right. I did what I had to do, but it doesn’t change the truth. I’m not her savior, or her hero—I’m her buyer. And I can barely stomach it, let alone Katsuki, when I tell him.” You reached out. Your fingertips met no resistance. “I’m sorry, Mom. I am what I’ve always been.”

“N-no,” she sobbed, pulling you into an embrace you couldn’t feel.

“I’m sorry you and Dad drew the short stick. Maybe—”

“No!”

“—you’d still be alive if you didn’t have me.” Grim resignation tugged at your mouth. “Maybe you two would’ve lived happily in Yokohama. Somewhere with a pretty view of that Ferris Wheel you loved so much.”

The ceiling gave way completely, gaping holes tearing open in the floor. As harsh, blinding sunlight engulfed the space and cast her ghost in a pale glow, the building shuddered. Your legs wobbled from the instability, but with your heart throbbing, pierced by resurfacing grief, you couldn’t steady yourself.

You dropped to your knees before her, gaze lifted when it should have been lowered.

“Do you think I’ll ever stop being a disappointment?” you asked.

Her apparition burst into thousands of kaleidoscopic particles. A moment later, the ground crumbled.

You fell.

The air’s howl sounded like mourning wails, blending with the groans and creaks of the collapsing building. Your skin prickled. The contrast was visceral. Death and destruction all around, and above, the sun blazed, its light consuming every trace of darkness it found.

Strangely, a haunting calm wrapped around you like a mantle the longer you fell through the chaos.

Stranger still, you didn’t scream, unlike the other times.

Your hand pushed forward through the resistance, the ring catching the sun’s rays. What a joke. You stared at it, and all you wanted to do was laugh. It was never meant for you, never would be. But you had to give credit where credit was due: to your mind, for making you believe it was for one delusional second.

As the thought burrowed into your bones, heat surged through your ring finger. Sharp, and searing, and smoldering your veins like thick magma. Something knotted in the center of your chest. You thought it was your heart, but it felt deeper. Deeper than conscious comprehension.

Ivory, radiant threads unfurled from the gems, flailing wildly as you continued to fall. The sky darkened. The sun vanished, replaced by the largest full moon you’d ever seen. But then, it distorted, warped as if an invisible force had begun devouring its essence.

Your lips parted in surprise. Wider as you realized the building was gone. No rubble. No ruin. Just…void.

“Wh—”

You slammed into soft ground. Red petals exploded upward—the last thing you saw before everything went dark. Before whatever swallowed the moon, it swallowed you too.

Your eyes snapped open to the first signs of dawn creeping through the tall windows of your bedroom. You jolted upright and flung the blanket aside as a dull, achy pain tore through your sleep-laden body, scattering your thoughts. Adrenaline surged. Blood roared in your ears, drowning everything else.

Breathing became a battle, your mouth letting out short, rapid bursts of air that felt far from enough. There was pressure on your chest, a crushing heaviness that filled you with irrational fear. And on your tongue, the unmistakable taste of metal bloomed, weird and wrong.

Your bedroom’s walls began to close in and thin the air, but you didn’t wait for them to trap you in their asphyxiating silence. You sprang from the bed, ripped open the door, and stumbled into the open space of your apartment.

It had been so long since you dreamed of her, and yet it still managed to flip your whole world upside down; at least your dad wasn’t there this time to twist the dagger. Nevertheless, you hated it, the way seeing her ghost made you feel—weak with fear, trembling because of vulnerability, choking on grief that shouldn’t wreck you as badly as back then.

But what you hated more was him being the reason.

You were your own worst enemy. Instead of easing the loss, your mind weaponized it, antagonizing your heart with scraps of what could’ve been.

No running from the heartbreak. When it happened, you’d take it and take it and take it, without breaking. Because the outcome was never meant to be any different. The separation was fate, not choice.

You shoved the terrace door open and rushed outside, desperate to escape the feelings reverting you to a younger version of yourself, someone who didn’t belong in your present. You gasped as the freezing autumn air shocked your already frazzled nerves, your only attire the flimsy robe you’d thrown on hours ago before diving under the covers to hide from the world.

Like a well-deserved punishment, you welcomed the cold and ran for the balustrade.

Your hands fisted around the freezing steel as you leaned into it. From the safety of your apartment on the top floor, the view had always been breathtaking. Now, as your arms slid farther apart, it wasn’t stolen breaths you experienced, but the thrill of danger, the heightened risk that something could go wrong. Your insides felt like they were in free fall.

Terrifying, but liberating in a way not many would understand. You had no one to blame but her. Her coping mechanisms followed you into adulthood. Unhealthy as fuck, and responsible for so many of your decisions, impulses, and actions.

Because of her, you confronted fear head-on, exposing yourself to it until you conquered it. Running was forbidden; only fighting was allowed. And if you had to, faking it to make it was the only way forward.

In moments like these, when the cityscape reflected the face of death, you could almost hear her giggle and kick her feet. She kept score. Every time death failed to claim you, it was a win.

Your win.

Your eyes began to flutter shut as you tipped your head back, letting yourself relax, embracing the triumph. You wanted to savor it with her, but then you were yanked back. 

Your balance vanished, along with the city, swallowed behind the balustrade. A scream climbed up your throat and tore from your vocal cords, but it lasted only a moment. Your voice was quickly muffled, your face smushed against something that smelled strongly of peaches.

Something that moved. Up and down. Fast.

Breathed.

A person.

You were close to uttering Ayumu’s name, but peaches weren’t his fragrance. Inhaling, you detected another scent, and your body numbed from how fast your heart soared. The name slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, breaching every possible boundary you’d set.

“Katsuki.”

A sound, caught somewhere between anguish and anger, hit your ears as his arms locked you against him, molding every dip and curve of your body to his. “Goddamn it, Truthie. You can’t be doin’ this to me. You can’t. You just fuckin’ can’t, you hear me?”

Your mom’s words rolled through your mind like dense mist. Words you’d called bullshit on. Words you’d reduced to your subconscious giving you what you wanted to hear, dismissing the possibility that perhaps they were what you needed to see.

Katsuki wouldn’t be here if you meant nothing. He wouldn’t hold you like this, so tightly, as if the safety of his arms alone could cleanse you of misery. As if he wanted his scent to fuse with your skin, your clothes, so the world wouldn’t mistake what you both weren’t: strangers. As if he needed the beat of his heart to complete yours, an intimate proof of what existed—against your every protest—between you.

Denial trembled on your lips. Tears welled behind your screwed-shut eyes. Your cold cheeks were drenched in seconds, stinging salt washing away the lie you'd alchemized into truth. And wordlessly, in the iron clutch of your fingers on the back of his peach-scented sweater, you admitted it to him.

You wanted him right where he was.

More than anything.  

More than anyone else.  

Even with your hands this dirty.

The fragile threads holding you together unraveled, and you came undone in his embrace. Tattered scraps of your heart drifted to the floor with the first raw cry that tore from somewhere deep in your soul.

Katsuki stayed quiet, but his voice was in the way his fingers tangled in your hair, in the way he buried his face into your shoulder. I’m here. I got you.

You felt it and cried harder.

He was. He always had been. That tiny voice in the back of your mind, sometimes louder than your own, pushing you to aim higher, daring you to be better. That invisible presence that brought comfort just by existing somewhere out there.

You didn’t want to—  

“Lose you.”

“Huh?”

Your hand moved from his back to his head, hovering for a beat before settling. Your fingers wove into his thick hair, soft like feathers, but slightly coarse, keeping from seeing your puffy eyes and the rest of your messy face. You couldn’t let him. The spur of honesty would fizzle out if he did.

“I’m going to lose you. And it doesn’t matter that I don’t want to.” You inhaled and bit your lip. “I can’t lie about what happened. One way or another, you’ll find out. Best if it’s from me.”

Katsuki’s breath caught as his body went stiff with tension, but his heart…his heart went into overdrive. Powerful drumming that jolted your ribs. “Why?” he asked.

You let out a questioning hum. Why what? 

Despite your best effort to stop him, he managed to raise his head and find your watery gaze. “Why don’t you wanna lose me?”

Bravery waned the longer you quietly stared at him, but the truth still buzzed on the tip of your tongue, charged and insistent and annoying.

“Why?” he insisted, his warm, humid palm on your nape pulling you closer. You didn’t think he realized just how close.

Hopeful curiosity swirled in those intense eyes of his, coaxing swarms of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. Your mouth parted on a shaky exhale. Ticking moments halted, long enough for you to go crazy knowing that tipping your chin was all it would take to brush your lips against his.

You thought the aphrodisiac in Madam’s den was bad.

This was worse.

Your feelings were intoxicating your mind, drugging your heart with optimism and belief in a future you were certain it was doomed.

“I like us, even though it’s—”

“Inappropriate.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, and stole a glance at his mouth at the same time he did yours. “It is very inappropriate. But you and I…we, uh…we’re fun. I guess.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s…” The focused way he looked between your eyes disrupted your train of thought. His attention hypnotized you. “I wish you’d stay.”

“What makes you think I won’t?” He swiped a stray tear from your cheek with his knuckles.

That snapped you out of the haze.

Here it was.  

The moment of truth. 

The moment of loss.

Anxiety coiled tight in your stomach, strangling every last fluttering butterfly in cold blood. The chill spread through your veins, numbing you to the bone.

“Sweetheart? What’s—Who—?”

Your eyes popped open in horror at the sound of your best friend’s voice. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He whirled around, giving you a clear view of Ayumu standing frozen in the terrace doorway. A bag from your favorite bakery dangled from one hand, a drink carrier with two paper cups in the other. The smell of freshly baked goods and cappuccino hit your nose, and you nearly dry heaved.

Fuck.  

A million fucks.

“B—Ba—Bakugou?!” Ayumu’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted between you and Katsuki in total disbelief. “What is he doing here?!”

Responding? Reacting? You didn’t have a second to do either.

Katsuki moved with unfair speed, grabbing Ayumu by the shirt and slamming him against the nearest wall. The bag hit the floor with a loud crinkle that made you cringe. A beat later, the two cups followed, spilling cappuccino across the stone tile at their feet.

“Who the hell are you?” Katsuki snarled, voice twice as deep and lethal.

“Let him go!” You rushed in, hastily wiping the evidence of your breakdown from your face. He didn’t flinch. “Now.”

Your command landed on deaf ears. He was zeroed in on Ayumu like a predator locking onto a threat encroaching on his territory. Hostility rolled off him in waves, poisoning the air and whatever you’d just shared with him. Your heart closed off, iced over as irritation took root in its place.

Puffing out a breath at the emotional whiplash, you smacked a hand to his steel-like bicep and tugged to no avail. “Let. Him. Go,” you bit out each word. 

A heartbeat passed. Then another. 

“For fuck’s sake. Let my best friend go, or so help me, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Your best friend?” His aggression snapped toward you now, narrowed into a murderous glare. “You mean your partner in crime, huh? He knows, right?” That glare cut back to Ayumu, joined by a cruel, taunting smirk. “You the guy watchin’ her back?”

Neither you nor Ayumu uttered a word. It wouldn’t have made a difference. You were caught red-handed. The real question was how the hell was Katsuki even here?

You sorted through scattered memories of last night and came to a jarring conclusion. You’d been so out of it, so indifferent and no fucks given, you’d let him follow you. Into the building. Into the elevator. All the way into your home. Not exactly risky, since nothing incriminating was out in the open, and the chances of him finding your secret room were basically zero.

So where had you fucked up?

…

You’d forgotten to text Ayumu.

But how the hell were you supposed to know Katsuki would stick around?

You brought a hand to your forehead, ready to rub away the incoming headache, and paused when you noticed the bandage wrapped around your palm.

“No balls to admit it? Fuckin’ hell.” Katsuki scoffed, incredulous. “You even aware how piss-poor a job you’re doin’ protectin’ her?”

Ayumu was one of the calmest people you knew when it came to confrontations. All smooth words and charming smiles, even in the face of the angriest people.

You’d only seen him lose it once, but not many could stay composed while tied up and surrounded by captors, watching their ride-or-die storm the place with nothing but a Quirk and a lot of fury. Particularly, when their captors’ target was, in fact, their ride-or-die person. He’d been taken to lure you out.

This, right here, was the second time.

Ayumu’s expression darkened until there was no softness left in his features. He yanked Katsuki’s hand off his shirt and shoved him hard in the shoulder, breaking your grip in the process. You stumbled into the terrace sofa. Another shove landed square on Katsuki’s chest.

“Says the guy doing a piss-poor job managing his own life.” Ayumu’s voice dripped ice. “My best friend is safe. Can’t say the same about your family.”

Katsuki’s face instantly blanched.

“Enough!” You jumped between them, first glaring at Ayumu, then swinging it to Katsuki. “Both of you, cool off, or I’m kicking you out. Do not test me.”

You shoved them both, full force, pushing them back a step and forcing space between them. Then you turned and stormed off, their stares scorching holes into your back the entire way.

As always, screw your luck, especially when it came to timing, men, or feelings.

a/n: Weird dream...👀

taglist: @lunaryasha | @tomiokasecretlover | @fiselle | @5oftkitty | @lousypotatoes | @alexiavettel | @meikoo

[mpregdelight]

A Team of His Own

Jackson and Blake were friends since elementary school, but by high school they had drifted apart. Jackson found a new group of friends, the jocks, Jackson chose to get involved in sports in high school whereas Blake was more of an intellectual. As senior year rolled around, Jackson was captain of the baseball and swim teams, and Blake was head of the math team. The two lived in different worlds, occasionally Blake would try to say hey to Jackson in the halls of the school only for Jackson to pretend like he didn’t know him. This trend continued until one day Jackson approached Blake.

Jackson: “Hey buddy, what’s up, how’s it going?”

Blake: “Oh so you do know who I am then.”

Jackson: “Hey, don’t be like that, come on, we go way back man.”

Blake: “Well you sure don’t act like it.”

Jackson: “Look man I get it, I’m sorry, I was a dick to you, I promise I won’t be a dick to you anymore.”

Blake: “You can save it, I already know you are failing math and you need a tutor or you’ll get kick off the teams.”

Jackson: “Oh, you know?”

Blake: “Yeah and I figured about now was when you’d come crawling back.”

Jackson: “Woah, I’m not crawling anywhere.”

Blake: “Don’t act tough, I also know that you got turned down by like 3 other people. You’re running out of options and time, I might not kill you to act like it.”

Jackson: “Okay, fine man I get it, will you help me out or not?”

Blake: “Fine, but you better not act like you don’t know me after this. Meet me at my house after swim practice.”

Jackson: “Still live in the same house?”

Blake: “I literally live a few doors down from you how do you not know that.”

Jackson: “Okay, jeez, sorry, I’ll be there.”

The time came and finally there Jackson was, blake led him upstairs to his room and they began their study session in earnest. Blake was baffled at how incompetent Jackson was at doing even basic algebra, but he was also baffled by Jackson’s physique. As the tutoring session drug onwards Jackson couldn’t help but notice that Blake was staring at his arms and chest which were prominent through his tight fitting shirt.

Jackson: “Yo are you checking me out?” he said jokingly.

Blake: “What… uh… no, what are you talking about” as his cheeks turn red and he stammers through his words.

Jackson: “Bro I was just joking, but holy hell you actually were checking me out.”

Blake: “No I wasn’t, I was just staring off into space.” turning even redder than before and getting even more flustered.

Jackson: “Here you want a better look?” he jokes as he takes his shirt off.

Blake: “What are you doing, I wasn’t checking you out.”

Jackson: “But you’re not looking away either, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, I know I have a nice body, I just didn’t expect you to notice.”

Blake: “Uhh, uhm, we should get back to work.” now visibly shaken.

Jackson: “Holy shit dude are you gay, I can see what looking at my body is doing to you.”

Blake hadn’t noticed due to the intensity of the situation, but he had become hard, his generously sized cock pushing out against his pants.

Blake: “Just shut up, why are you even looking down there.”

Jackson: “It’s hard not to notice when it’s that big.”

Blake: “This is why I didn’t want to tutor you one on one.”

Jackson: “Oh my god, you have a crush on me don’t you.”

Blake: “Fine, Jackson is that what you want to hear, fine, yes I’m gay, and yes how could I not, you were my best friend for so long, and then slowly but surely I watched your bo…” his words cut off by Jackson’s mouth as he leans in and starts kissing him.

Blake pushes off of Jackson much to Jackson’s dismay.

Blake: “What are you doing?!”

Jackson: “Did you ever stop and use that big brain of yours to think maybe you aren’t the only gay guy at school?”

Jackson leans back in and begins kissing Blake once more, this time with no resistance from Blake. Jackson grabs Blake’s hand and places it on his chest breaking away to say “Go ahead and feel around to your hearts content.” Blake now begins to explore Jackson’s muscular physique with one hand, and then eventually with both. After many many minutes of intensely making out, Jackson stops and looks at Blake before reaching towards his body. Jackson rough in his touch begins to paw at Blake’s bulge until finally he can’t take it anymore, he has to see it for himself.

Blake also notices the large bulge in Jackson’s gym shorts, and begins to work his way down Jackson’s chiseled body, caressing each ab along the way. Finally arriving at Jackson’s waistband, in unison they each push past the other’s pants and underwear to reach the promised treasure on the other side. Jackson gasps as he feels the entirety of Blake’s member and Blake is taken aback by the fact that Jackson’s meat is on par with if not larger than his.

With the tension in the room at an all time high Blake pushes all the stuff of the bed as Jackson lays Blake down and begins rip his pants off. With blake now in nothing but a T-shirt and his glasses, Jackson can see the full magnitude of Blake’s manhood. Jackson wastes no time and licks the stuff rod from tip to sack stopping to give his balls a good licking. Then Jackson takes Blake’s cock by the hand and shoves the first few inches in his mouth, Blake had never experienced anything like this sensation before, the feeling of Jackson’s mouth wrapped around his cock, the feeling of his tongue stimulating his shaft. Jackson goes on to give Blake the blowjob of a life time, even swallowing Blake’s huge load.

Jackson: “Now it’s my turn!” he says in a greedy and lustful voice.

Jackson stands up and removes his shorts, standing only in his boxer briefs with the prominent outline of his massive cock on full display. As Blake lays on the bed drinking in the visage of the guy he’d been crushing on for years, Jackson climbs on top and begins to dangle his own rod right infront of Blake’s face.

Blake: “I’ve never done this before, but I’m gonna do my best.”

Jackson: “Oh god, are you a virgin?”

Blake: “Yeah.” he lets out in a pitiful and defeated voice.

Jackson: “Well let’s fix that.”

Jackson begins to line up his member with Blake’s mouth, and blake begins to do his best to prepare to take Jackson’s 10 incher. After a few minutes of Blake playing with the head with his tongue Jackson decides he wants more.

Jackson: “Open wide!”

Jackson proceeds to insert a bit of his length at time, allowing Blake to acclimate to it before oushing deeper. In a process that took nearly 20 minutes, Blake was able to take nearly 7 inches of meat in his mouth before gagging and choking on it. Jackson pulled back out and in a stern voice said: “Now turn over, I want to see why that ass can do!”

Blake slightly terrified to take Jackson’s massive meat slowly moves to his stomach, his ass slightly elevated towards Jackson.

Jackson: “I’ll go slow since this is your first time!”

Jackson does his best with what he has to lubricator his massive member which is drenched in Blake’s spit and a whole ton of his own pre-cum. He spits on his dick and Blake’s ass before inserting a finger into Blake’s virgin hole, and then he readies himself.

He pushes into Blake, parting his extremely tight hole with his massive head, and he continues to drive forward. He gets in about half way before Blake begins to squirm in pain.

Jackson: “Shit, you got any lube around here?”

Blake: “No, we could use some baby oil though.”

Jackson: “That’ll have to do, go get it.”

Blake returns a minute later and the two pick up where they left off. Jackson applies a massive amount of baby oil to his cock and Blake’s ass, and then goes right back to where he was before. Blake still slightly squirming from Jackson’s size and Jackson continues to push in. After another 5 minutes of slowly pushing in, he finally reached full penetration. Jackson without warning begins to move, the sudden movement catching blake off guard but sending waves of pleasure through his body. Jackson begins to pick up the pace, and within minutes he is pounding Blake’s ass who by now is screaming with sounds of pain and pleasure.

Jackson: “Hair bro I’m glad you’re enjoying it but keep it down, your parents will hear.”

Blake: “They aren’t here, they are out of town.”

Jackson: “Say less.”

And with that Jackson picks up the pace even more and the moans of pain and pleasure get louder. Another 5 minutes and Jackson is ready to bust.

Jackson: “God damn you’re so right, I’m gonna cum already!”

Blake: “Cum in my virginity ass Jackson, do it.”

Jackson lets out a loud grunt as he ruts into Blake’s cheeks once more, and filled Blake’s boy womb to the brim with thick sticky cum.

— 4 months later

Blake had called Jackson over because he needed to talk to him. Blake hadn’t been to school in over a month and Jackson assumed this was a booty call of some kind. Jackson knocks on the door and Blake answers, peaking just his head around the door.

Jackson: “Bro it told you, that was just a one…”

He is interrupted by Blake fully opening the door to reveal his massively distended belly.

Jackson: “Fuck bro what happened, you look like you ate a watermelon whole!”

Blake: “Come in.”

The guys went up to Blake’s room and Blake closes the door.

Blake: “Look I should have said soemthing sooner but… I’m pregnant, it’s yours, or should I say they’re yours.

Jackson: “What the fuck Blake, Jesus you look like you are 7 months pregnant!”

Blake: “Well that’s because your babies are huge!”

Jackson: “You keep saying they and babies, you’re telling me a knocked you up with twins?

Blake: “No Jackson, I’m saying you knocked me up with sextuplets!”

Jackson: “What, how many is that?”

Blake: “6, you put six of you big babies in me, and now we have to figure out what to do.”

Jackson: “6 babies, you’re having 6 of my babies?

Blake: “Well hopefully we are having 6 of our babies.”

Jackson: “What the hell, this is a lot to process, I’m gonna be a dad to 6 babies, I haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

Blake: “Well neither have I and I probably won’t now.”

Jackson: “Bro I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you up, much less with 6 babies.”

Blake: “Well here we are anyways, besides it’s not entirely your fault, obviously I had a part in it, but now we are in this together hopefully.”

Jackson: “I may be a jerk, but I’m not gonna be a deadbeat, I’m here for you.”

Blake: “That’s all I’ve wanted to hear for so long.”

Jackson: “Can I uh… can I…”

Blake: “Now who’s the one getting flustered… go ahead and touch it, they’re your babies too.”

[dream--shrine]

Snape and Lily: finding their place in the wizarding world

If Lily cared for Severus why did she marry James?  If Severus cared for Lily why did he join Voldemort?

The parallels I examine here are the motivations behind the choices Snape and Lily make at the end of their time at school and just beyond.

Lily is hardly mentioned at all in the narrative. We mainly see her through other people’s perceptions of her, and circumstantial clues.

Often I see the two of them compared as like, Snape made a bad decision that was ultimately understandable due to a desire for self-preservation, based on his circumstances, VS Lily said fuck you to her best friend of ten years and fell instantly, deeply in love with someone she had openly hated almost as long for no other reason than just being callous and cruel, that her decision of who to marry had no thought behind it other than “James was hot and rich”. I think this does her a huge disservice and that the motivations of the two best friends are much more similar than people give them credit for.

NB: I’m approaching this with my interpretation of book canon, where I got the impression James is not a great person and we don’t see any direct evidence of his having changed after leaving school besides people saying “He’s changed”. Certainly he has some red flags for abusive behaviour, for the purpose of this meta I’m just addressing why she might have chosen to marry him and not trying to say how James was as a husband either way. He might have been a great guy, who knows. Ultimately I’m asking why choose to forgive Snape for the choices he made at 18 and not Lily, when those choices have very similar driving forces.

Timing We don’t know exactly when Snape takes the Dark Mark but probably sometime soon after leaving school. However the foundation building towards this decision certainly happened while still at school.

Similarly Lily marries James probably the year after leaving school, having finally agreed to date him in seventh year. We actually don’t know if they got married before having Harry. Certainly sometime within Harry’s first 8 months - 1 year of life at the very latest, since there are wedding pictures of a big party that would have happened before they went into hiding. But considering the conservative nature of the wizarding world, and the probable attitudes of both their parents, its more likely they got married either the year after school or early in her pregnancy (before showing) at the latest. 

Foreknowledge Would their experiences at school be indicative of life after leaving?

Was Lily misled about the worst parts of James? Yes, canonically. (Lupin and Sirius both admit this to Harry in OotP.) James was on his best behaviour during their seventh year, and they were still chaperoned at Hogwarts under the eyes of the teachers and all their friends, with separate dorm rooms. 

Was Snape misled about the worst of Voldemort? Likely, at least to some degree. Sirius says his own family didn’t really see the full picture until it was too late, including Regulus, which seems to imply there was some level of obfuscation. Certainly the DEs would have on some level tailored their approach to recruiting to what these vulnerable young people wanted to hear. And Snape’s motivations would have been different to a blood supremacist like Regulus yet they both joined up around the same time.

Was it to their benefit not to dig too deeply into any doubts or fears they may have had about James/Voldemort? Absolutely, yes, in order to keep going with their choices.

Background Both Lily and Snape came from a “less than” background compared to their peers in the wizarding world:

Class/Wealth We know in detail about Snape’s disadvantages. I think there’s a misconception that because Lily did not come from the same level of abject poverty as Snape did, that she was in a much higher class than he was. But their worlds were close enough that they met on the same playground, and Petunia knew of Snape’s family. The distinction Petunia makes between them isn’t the exact same as the one James makes.

Blood Status Lily was Muggleborn in an increasingly intensifying wizarding war where her blood status made her place very precarious. Snape was a half blood with one Muggle parent which in this blood quantum system seems to place him only one step above Muggleborn.

Merit I think sometimes it’s easy to conflate Lily with someone like Hermione since they’re the characters both singled out for being Muggleborn as well as studious and high achieving. But Hermione’s parents are well off (no issues shopping for supplies, buys Crookshanks, ski vacation, etc). Lily has a far more precarious situation. She seems to have both worked hard and had natural aptitude, was a prefect and Head Girl, member of the Slug Club. She was working very hard to make a place for herself in the wizarding world and yet I think both she and Snape were astute enough to recognize that the WW is not a meritocracy (I have read some great metas on this), especially by the end of their tenure at school. Snape went to Hogwarts thinking one thing and would have been disabused of this notion soon enough. He doesn’t appear to have striven for public recognition the way Lily did, maybe believing he would need to rely on himself alone to get ahead, but I think this is a parallel where they both realize they need to do something beyond being smart and talented alone.

Familial Support The wizarding world appears to be fairly conservative when it comes to families. Women always take their husband’s last name, at least in the Hogwarts class that we’re privy to. They have children quite young. Outsize importance is placed on family name and dynasty. Neither Lily or Severus has familial support within the wizarding world. And no family is a very lonely place to be when you’re just becoming an adult.

It had to be very tempting to be offered an instant, rock solid place in the wizarding world. A pureblood name, a family, status. A place in the DE, even at a very low level, maybe a promise that merit would mean something there.

Could they both have made a different decision, yes, of course, they could have gone out into the unknown world without protection and rely on themselves alone, but that doesn’t sound very appealing as an adult and certainly not to someone barely past childhood.

From the prevailing attitude at the time (widespread fear among even established adults and families) it seems like they might both view the chance of being a casualty of the war as pretty high for either of them without making the choice they did. They’re both looking for protection, belonging, certainty in an uncertain time. Both are trying to cement their place in the world, not slip through the cracks. 

To me, I have sympathy for someone as disadvantaged as Snape joining the Death Eaters regardless of his later redemption. This eventuality was a result of a lot of factors mostly beyond his control. And I feel the same for Lily. She was doing the best she could with the information she had. We don’t have any sense of her interiority in canon so we don’t know her feelings or thoughts. We don’t know what James said or did to convince her he’d changed. In canon we certainly see he had people willing to stretch the truth or lie for him. And once out of school we don’t see any evidence of other friendships for Lily besides James and his friend group (this itself is a red flag to me but I digress).

The difference between Snape and Lily’s stories is that he’s given a chance to live almost twice as long as she does. She dies at 21, he at 38. So we see what he does with the time given to him, how he redeems the misguided choices he’s made, starting right before the time she dies, motivated in great part by his relationship to her.

But Lily isn’t given this chance. She dies before any story much beyond childhood even starts. So we don’t get to see how her life would have played out. And I am not saying she would have had to make any different decisions later in life to deserve redemption. I’m saying both she and Snape deserve that initial sympathy for making hard choices, maybe wrong choices, when they are still kids. And that the reasons behind their choices show how similar they are, and reinforce why they might have gotten along so well in some ways, and been unable to understand each other in others.

The end!!!! If you made it this far thank you for reading all that!! Hope it made any sort of sense at all. I wrote this for the Sneta Fest Day 3 prompt "Relationships/dynamics/parallels", and I hope I stayed close to the parameters.

[stvrrlau]

           MY BOYFRIENDS IN A BAND , huening kai .

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇，❝ huening kai is in a band. ❞

1 280────hueningkai! ⋆ f!reader! ✶ fluff , angst if you squint , set in the 2000s date wise , kai is an extrovert in this , yn has bad mental health (thought wise) stvrrs notes.ᐟ should i make this a series....? i have ideas hehe guys i SWEAR im working on the heeseung fanfic i literally have all the scenes planned just pls wait 4 me ok??????? 💔💔 we're so close 2 100 followers!! i just wanna say thank u 4 putting up with my antics and 4 reading my work i appreciate it sm <33 i hope u stay 4 a while ^^ smth special planned 4 when we hit 100!! TAGLIST IS OPEN!! pls consider checking out my library if u enjoyed this !! REBLOGS+LIKES+COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!!!!

ʜᴏᴍᴇ , ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ .

YN

          “𝐌𝐘 boyfriends in a band!” i said happily, a bright smile on my face. my friends just stared, jaws dropped in shock. they couldn’t believe it.

“WHAT!? HOW?! HOW LONG?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US?!” one of them exclaimed, frantically shaking my shoulders.

“i just—i can’t believe this..” the other said, calmer.

yeah.

i couldn’t believe it either.

⸻

two years ago, i joined my current school.

i didn’t know anyone. not until he came up to me.

⸻

march 25 tuesday 2008.

the steps were cold. i had gotten used to them though, after sitting here for the first week of school, i had accepted that this would be my place.

afterall, what did i expect?

transferring from my old school where i wasn’t exactly the most popular, was sure to have a lasting effect on my reputation here.

it was colder now.

i tugged at my sleeves, wishing i had brought something warmer. maybe—maybe if i actually had a friend, i wouldn’t be sat out here, alone, in the cold.

maybe.

i pulled my knees to my chest, hoping it would provide some warmth—even if there wasn’t that much of it.

but as i sat there, i realised i wasn’t cold anymore—i was numb. numb from the cold. numb from the wind. numb from the loneliness.

what was the point? maybe i was cast out for a reason—a purpose. a purpose i didn’t know i had, but probably deserved.

“hey! are you okay?”

my ears perked up at the sudden voice, and i quickly looked up.

the voice got closer, and i could finally see him.

him.

he stood in front of me, slightly out of breath, hair tousled, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. he looked—worried?

worried?

about me?

“m-me?” i finally mustered, after realising i had been ogling him for quite some time.

the stranger nodded.

“yeah, i’m fine, no need to worry about me.” i mumbled, unsure on how to feel. this is the first time someone’s felt worried about me.

well, the first time after a while.

the stranger raised his eyebrow. he didn’t seem to believe me. 

“you look cold. why are you alone?”

i bit my lip. yeah, i was cold. yeah, i was alone. no, i didn’t know why.

“what’s your name?” he asked, his tone suddenly soft. 

that threw me off guard.

“wh—what?”

he grinned, “is your name what?”

i shook my head, suddenly embarrassed. come on, i couldn’t even answer a simple question?

“n-no—my name is yn.” i mumbled, turning my attention back to the ground. the stranger was throwing me off.

“yn, huh?” he repeated, as if testing the name out, “pretty.”

my heart beat a little faster than usual. odd.

“i’m huening kai, but you can just call me kai,” kai smiled, “it’s really cold out here, how are you not shivering?”

i shrugged. “i got used to it.”

“you should come inside. me and my band are practicing. you can come watch if you want, it beats being out here in the cold.”

go…inside? with him?

i raised my head. he wasn’t laughing at me.

was he being honest?

“i swear we’re not that bad.” he said, giving me a lopsided grin.

i licked my lips. should i? did i deserve this kindness? did i deserve his kindness?

“okay.”

⸻

march 26 wednesday 2008.

i was back in my same spot. the steps.

it was still cold, but i was a little warmer now.

huening kai—or kai as he told me to call him—had made me warmer.

he was sweet. and kind. kind enough to let me join him yesterday. i didn’t expect it to be a recurring thing though—which is why i was outside on the steps again.

that same numb feeling was beginning to take over my body again.

“yn!”

huh?

that sounded like kai.

“are you coming?”

i glanced up. kai was smiling, waving me over, trying to save me from the cold again.

he wanted me to stay with him and the band again?

i nodded, slinging my bag over my shoulder and following him inside.

i should say something.

“i don’t wanna seem like a bother—you don’t have to look out for me. i don’t mind the cold.”

kai paused. “would you rather be out in the cold?”

i opened my mouth the speak. no i wouldn’t. i would rather be inside. with someone. with him.

“no.”

“then you stay,” he smiled, “with me.”

with him?

“—and- and the band of course.”

ah—yeah.

that was a dumb thought.

“come on, the guys said you were fun to be around.”

maybe.

maybe it was better inside.

⸻

april 7th monday 2008.

school was better.

i now spent most of my time with kai and the rest of the band members—and i even made some friends!

it was strange.

they actually liked being around me.

we had shared interests, hobbies and humour. soon, school became my favourite place.

and kai became my favourite person.

at times, i thought we could be something other than friends. something more.

it was a foolish idea, i despised myself for ever taking kai’s kindness for granted—kindess i didn’t even deserve.

and yet.

i couldn’t help it.

my heart raced, my mind was fuzzy, and my body felt weightless.

it was an unusual feeling. a feeling i didn’t think i deserved to feel. 

⸻

april 8th tuesday 2008.

“place your feet here—no, not there, wait what are you doing with your hands—”

kai’s exasperated tone just made me laugh harder. i mean—it was his idea in the first place to try and teach me how to play the drums. his expectations may have been slightly too high.

“kai,” i giggled, hearing him sigh for the nth time, “i don’t think i can do this—”

“nonsense,” he said, cutting me off, “you have the best teacher, of course you can! let me just..”

kai was silent for a moment, deep in thought. hand against his chin, eyebrows knitted together, mumbling something under his breath.

how could he be so pretty just like this?

i felt my pulse quicken again, and i scolded myself for thinking those things. kai wouldn’t want me to think of him like that.

“it’s easier if i stand here..” kai murmured, suddenly very close.

when did he get behind me?

why did i suddenly feel stiff?

why was his cologne so strong? 

why did he smell so good?

“put your hands here.”

“h-here?” i stuttered, placing my hands nowhere near where he was pointing. get it together yn, this is humiliating.

“no,” he whispered, his hands now over mine, guiding them to the correct place, “here.”

everything seemed to move in slow motion.

kai kept his hands over mine. when i looked up, he was a lot closer than expected. his breath was ghosting over my face, making me shiver.

i didn’t dare move.

“is this okay..?” i whispered.

“this—isn’t about the drums, is it?”

i shook my head.

“good.”

and with that, kai closed the distance between us, his lips pressing against mine in a soft confession.

his hands left mine to cup my face, spreading warmth through my body as he held me close.

my head felt light and i couldn’t tell if it was from the proximity of kai, or the lack of air, or both.

either way, i didn’t care.

it felt right.

⸻

“so!? who is it!? which member!?” my friend asked again, practically shaking in anticipation.

i smiled. “...the drummer.”

“HUENING KAI?!”

yeah.

my boyfriend was huening kai.

the drummer.

my drummer.and when i watched him on stage, i thought back to that girl on the steps—cold, lost, alone—until he found me.

perm taglist ;; @douqhnxtss @cielinas @mrsjjongstby @cutehoons02 @ohmyhaewon @page-yerin

ㅤㅤㅤ© stvrrlau ♡ 2025

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Range Of Motion | H.S.

Chapter 3: “It’s Not About The Pain”

Word Count: ~2,500

POV: Harry Styles (first person)

Pairing: Harry Styles x Original Character (Julie Evans)

Setting: London, October 2023 — Harry’s second and third session at Julie’s office

Summary: Harry’s second and third appointment with Julie strip more away than he expects. The work is slow, controlled, and painful — not just in his shoulder, but in the truths she lays bare. He’s not broken, she tells him. He’s healing. Patience has never been his strength, and the silence between them is harder to sit with than the pain itself. But as Julie refuses to flatter him or look away when he cracks, Harry begins to realize that maybe the hardest part of recovery isn’t the body — it’s learning to stop fighting himself.

Some mornings feel like they never quite start. Not properly, anyway. Like time is just dragging itself forward without my permission. This morning’s one of them. The light coming through the kitchen window is thin and dull, like someone dimmed the world overnight. My tea’s gone cold on the table, forgotten. Half a piece of toast sits on the plate, untouched except for one absent-minded bite. I’ve been sat here long enough to watch the steam vanish from both.

The guitar leans in the corner where I left it last night, neck angled like it’s waiting for me. I thought I’d play. Just a few chords. But every time I reach for it, my stomach twists, and I leave it where it is. Six weeks ago, it would’ve been the first thing I touched after getting out of bed. Now, I can’t bring myself to hold it more than a few minutes. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it knows I can’t use it the way I used to. Like it knows I’m not the same.

My shoulder aches, though not as sharply as yesterday. That should count as progress. But it doesn’t feel like progress. It feels like standing still, stuck in place, watching everything blur past me.

I rub my hand over my face, dragging my palm down over stubble I didn’t bother shaving. I tell myself I’ll feel better once I’ve seen her again — Julie. Two sessions in and I’m already counting the hours until I’m back in that little room, with her cool voice and steady hands and that bloody lavender smell.

It’s not attraction. Not really. Not yet. It’s something else. Something that feels more dangerous.

The tube’s nearly empty, save for a couple of people with headphones and the faint smell of yesterday’s rain still hanging around. I tug the brim of my cap lower and keep my hood up. It’s automatic now, like armour. The closer we get to Whitechapel, the more I feel my chest tighten. Not nerves, exactly. Not dread either. More like anticipation I can’t explain.

Her street looks the same as yesterday — grey brick, damp pavement, quiet. Like a pocket of the city that exists out of time. The brass plate by the door catches my eye again.

J. EVANS – P.T.

I stand there longer than I should, hand hovering near the buzzer. I don’t know why. I’m not stalling because I don’t want to go in. If anything, I’m stalling because I do. The lock clicks open a second after I press.

Julie doesn’t smile when she opens the door. She doesn’t need to. “Morning,” she says, tone clipped but not unfriendly. Just efficient.

“Hey,” I reply, stepping inside.

The place smells the same — lavender oil with something sharper underneath, like antiseptic. Wood floors. A space stripped of anything unnecessary, but not cold. There’s a small purple mug on her desk, the same one from last time. Still only one.

She watches me set my coat aside, then: “Pain today?”

“Less than usual.”

She nods, makes a note. Her handwriting’s fast, nearly illegible, but deliberate. “Any trouble sleeping?”

I huff a laugh. “Define sleeping.”

That earns me the smallest flicker of reaction — the corner of her mouth almost quirks. Almost. “Lie back,” she says, gesturing to the table. “We’ll start with passive movement.”

I climb onto the table, lowering myself slowly. She steps closer, gloves already on, and within seconds her hands are on me. Steady. Firm. Guiding. Testing. I don’t flinch this time, but the burn sparks quick and deep. She lifts my arm carefully, rotates it, presses along the joint. Her touch is neutral. Clinical. But I feel every bit of it.

The silence stretches. I’ve never been good at silence. Not this kind, anyway. On stage, silence is power — the pause before a song, the break between lines where you can feel thousands of people holding their breath for you.

This silence isn’t power. It’s exposure.

“You ever loosen up, Jules?” I ask. “Or is that just for special clients?”

Her eyes flick to mine briefly before she adjusts my arm. “You don’t want me to loosen up. You want me to fix your shoulder.”

I grin, even though my arm’s on fire. “Blunt. I like it.”

“You’d hate it if I lied.”

She’s right. I would.

“Does anyone ever tell you you’re intimidating?” I push, trying to break something in her expression.

“Only the ones who are used to being flattered.”

That lands harder than I expect, straight through my chest. I swallow, turning my eyes to the ceiling. She moves my arm a little higher. Pain spikes. I hiss. “Fuck…”

“Too much?” she asks evenly.

“No. Just hold on.”

She waits. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t back off either. Just stays steady, like she knew I’d get through it if she gave me space. And I don’t know why it pisses me off, that she can stay so calm while I’m gritting my teeth against fire.

“I’m not used to being looked at like I’m broken,” I mutter.

Her hands still. Just for a second. Then she looks at me properly, level and unflinching. “You’re not broken. You’re healing. But you’re not patient. And that makes it harder.”

The words hit me deeper than I want them to. Not because they’re cruel. Because they’re true. My throat feels tight. I close my eyes, exhale slow.

“Breathe through it,” she says quietly.

So I do.

The rest of the session passes in near silence. Her voice cuts through only when it needs to: “Relax your trap.” “Exhale.” “Let the joint move, don’t fight it.”

I follow. I let her guide me. I don’t like that I do, but I can’t help it either. When she finishes, she helps me sit up. Her hand brushes my back — light, functional, but it lingers in my skin after she pulls away. “There’s progress,” she says. “But only if you let yourself slow down.”

“I don’t know how to do slow.”

Julie tilts her head slightly. “Then you’ll have to learn. Or you’ll never play again.” It’s not said as a threat. Just fact. And somehow, that’s worse.

“You always this comforting?” I ask, trying to deflect.

“I’m not here to comfort you.”

That one lands too. I look at her, searching her face for something else. Anything else. “Why’d you take me on?” I ask finally.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t fidget. Just meets my eyes and says, “Because you showed up.” That’s it. That’s her answer.

And somehow, it’s enough.

She gives me instructions before I leave. “Light band stretches. No weights. Don’t chase the ache.”

“I’ll behave,” I lie.

She arches one brow but doesn’t call me out.

As I pull my hoodie back on, my eyes catch on the book sitting face-down on her desk. Spine worn. The Body Keeps the Score. I don’t ask. Just clock it.

The air outside is damp, heavy with the smell of rain waiting to fall. Same street. Same sky. But it doesn’t feel the same. My shoulder still aches, but less. The tightness is softer now, easier to live with. She didn’t fix me. Not yet. But she didn’t flinch either.

And maybe that’s what I needed more.

I stop by the corner shop on my way home. Grab the same oat milk, the same apples. The rhythm of normal things. The small repetitions that make a day feel like a day.

Jeff’s text buzzes as I step back into the house:

JEFF

How was it?

ME

Fine. She’s good.

He sends a thumbs up. I don’t tell him about the silence. About the way it filled me more than it emptied me.

I shower. Stretch. Try to nap but end up staring at the ceiling instead. My phone slips from my hand onto the mattress as I scroll myself numb. Her voice keeps circling back.

Then you’ll have to learn. Or you’ll never play again.

I used to think healing was just time. Just waiting. But maybe she knows better. Maybe healing’s something else entirely.

Maybe I’m starting to believe her.

Later that night, I light a candle I didn’t even remember buying. Not for ambience. Just something to do. Something to watch burn in the quiet. I pick up the guitar. Not to play. Just to hold it. The weight feels different. Not lighter. Just more honest. I sit with it in my lap, fingers curled around strings that don’t sing. It’s not about the pain. It’s about what I do with it now.

And maybe — just maybe — it’s not something I have to do alone.

The candle burns down low, wax pooling at the bottom of the glass. I keep staring at it, listening to the tick of the radiator pipes, the faint traffic outside, the silence in between. It’s strange how loud silence feels when you’ve spent years drowning in noise. Most days on tour, I used to crave this — an empty house, no one pulling at me, no voices screaming my name, no cameras waiting when I stepped outside. I told myself quiet was the dream. But now that I have it, it feels like being left behind.

I shift the guitar in my lap, strumming once, just to see. The sound rattles awkwardly, too sharp, not the way it used to vibrate through me. My shoulder tenses instantly, a stab of ache running down into my arm. I grit my teeth. Stop. Put it back down. The silence swallows it whole. I lean back on the sofa, hand over my face, and groan into the stillness. “Get a grip,” I mutter.

But the truth is, I don’t know how.

When I finally crawl into bed, the sheets feel too big. I shift, roll over, try to find a position where my shoulder isn’t screaming. I settle on my back, staring at the ceiling again. Tour beds never felt this empty. There was always someone moving around outside the door — crew, security, fans humming in the distance. That constant pulse of life. Here? Nothing but the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. I close my eyes and all I see is her. Julie.

The way she said “You’re not broken. You’re healing.” Like it wasn’t meant to be comforting, but it was anyway. The way she didn’t look away when I cracked. Didn’t pity me. Didn’t rush to fill the silence. Just let me sit in it. That’s what I can’t shake.

The next morning, I drag myself through the motions — coffee, shower, another half-hearted stretch routine she gave me. My muscles complain, but in a way that almost feels good. A reminder that I’m still here, still working. I set the resistance band down after a few reps and rub my shoulder. Progress. That’s what she said. But I can’t tell if it feels like progress, or just a reminder of how far I have to go. The clock ticks louder than it should. I’ve got hours until my next session with her, and it already feels like I’m waiting for oxygen.

By the time I get back to Whitechapel, the clouds have broken, spilling a thin shaft of sunlight across her street. The brass plate gleams brighter today, almost warm. I buzz.

She opens the door in the same no-nonsense way as before. “Morning.”

I step in, glancing around her office again. Same lavender scent, same wood floors. But I notice something new this time: A framed photo tucked on the bookshelf, half-hidden behind a row of anatomy texts. Two women, laughing, arms slung around each other. One’s Julie, younger, hair looser, eyes brighter. The other I don’t recognize. I don’t say anything. Just file it away.

“Coat,” she says, already setting up. I shrug it off and climb onto the table.

Her hands are on me again within minutes, guiding, pressing, stretching. Every touch is controlled, deliberate. But I feel the heat of it anyway, sinking deeper than just muscle.

“How’s the guitar?” she asks, voice even.

The question catches me off guard. It’s the first time she’s asked about my life outside the injury.

“Haven’t managed much,” I admit. “Couple chords. Doesn’t sound like it should.”

“It will,” she says simply, adjusting my arm. “If you let it.”

“If I let it,” I echo. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It isn’t. But fighting it won’t make it easier.”

I huff a laugh, more bitter than amused. “Not much else I know how to do.”

Her hands pause briefly against my shoulder, then resume. “Then maybe it’s time to learn something new.”

I lie there in silence, her voice echoing in my head. Learn something new. Like it’s that simple. Like unlearning years of running headfirst at everything is just a choice I haven’t made yet. I want to ask her how she knows that. Why she talks like she’s been through it herself. But I don’t.

Instead, I ask: “Why don’t you ever ask me anything?”

Her eyes flicker to mine. “Do you want me to?”

“No. I just…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “I’m used to people… prying. Wanting pieces of me I can’t give.”

“And you think that’s what I’d do?”

I shake my head quickly. “No. That’s the thing. You don’t ask for anything. And I don’t know if that’s… easier, or harder.”

She holds my gaze for a beat longer than usual, then goes back to her work. “It’s not about easy or hard. It’s about doing what helps.” And somehow, that answer knots me up more than anything.

The session ends the same way — her calm, my quiet. But when I leave, the sunlight feels warmer. I walk slower this time, letting the city breathe around me. Every step reminds me of her voice, steady and unshakable.

You’re not broken. You’re healing. Maybe I almost believe it.

Back home, I pick up the guitar again. I strum once, twice. The sound’s still raw, still clumsy. But I don’t put it down this time. I sit with it, pushing past the sting, breathing through the ache like she told me. It’s not perfect. It’s not even good. But it’s something. And for the first time in weeks, it feels like enough.

That night, sleep comes easier. Not full, not deep. But easier. And in the quiet between waking and dreaming, I think of her again.

Julie Evans. The woman who doesn’t smile, doesn’t flatter, doesn’t ask. The woman who, somehow, makes me feel seen anyway.

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[miniatureteaset]

Baked With Love

(Vil x Trey x Leona)

1.1k

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Thank you @kaltain-1 for the idea that I have agonized over for how long XD

.

No one was quite sure how exactly the baker from the Queendom of Roses managed to earn himself a relationship with a world famous actor and supermodel, as well as a prince of the Sunset Savanna, but one thing is clear: no one messes with the Sugar Daddy. 

It started as Trey bringing small treats to his fellow third years. He’d gotten some new baking materials: some new baking sheets, some new pans, a new whisk. Trey decided he’d make a few things for his classmates. What better way to celebrate the addition of new baking materials than seeing the looks on their faces as they dig into such delicious treats?

He knew some of his classmates tended towards some rather strict diets, while others simply had specific preferences. It was a fun challenge for him to make treats that adhered to certain people’s preferences. 

The first time went over rather well. A few people came, liked what he made, and left. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Well, aside from the fact that a certain lazy lion who was notorious for not showing up to anything actually came. What was more, Leona had even *complimented* Trey on his baking, even if it was in a completely unserious manner. 

Despite his ‘completely unserious’ compliments, Leona still came to the next gathering. Those meat pies seemed to have him in a chokehold. 

Now, Vil took a bit more convincing. Rook had come to a gathering or two, quite delighted by the sweet treats. And hearing that Trey was working on low sugar and low calorie alternatives? Of course he had to convince Vil to accompany him to the next one. 

And for someone with such a refined palate…Vil was notably impressed. So much so that he had even made a request. 

Which of course, Trey happily obliged. It was such a wonderful experience for him to think of other ways to make those sweets of his. The joy of not only finding out the correct proportions through experiments *and* seeing the delighted expressions of those who eat his treats was such a rush of an experience for him. 

And that look of delight on Vil’s face…

Well, it was just as sweet as any of the treats Trey served. 

It was only a matter of time until things started happening during his gatherings. After all, NRC students were notoriously lacking in the ‘cooperation’ department. 

Soon enough, people had begun fighting over the sweets. And not too long after, Trey’s peaceful dessert gatherings had become a food fight battlefield. Cakes thrown across the room from one direction, macarons and cupcakes coming from the other in retaliation. 

Of course, Trey had tried to calm everyone. 

But when his mediation tactics were left unheard by the masses…

A quiet so palpable one could hear a pin drop (or a cake, as did happen) settled over the room as the ‘pampered prince’ and the gorgeous supermodel commanded silence. 

“Can’t you see I’m tryna enjoy some meat pies and silence here?”

“All of you are disgraceful. One should have more poise than this.”

And soon enough, everyone who had participated in the war of Trey’s confections was now working on cleaning up, each of them with a watchful gaze (glare) on their backs: either Leona or Vil. 

Trey watches from the side, rather impressed with their ability to get people in line. They *were* housewardens, so it stands to reason that they would have a bit of practice keeping people in line, Trey thought. But even so, Trey couldn’t help but be impressed. 

Soon enough, the whole place is spotless, under the supervision of the two housewardens. 

Trey approaches the two of them, looking around at the cleaning students. 

“You guys didn’t need to do that, you know.”

“I couldn’t let my new nap spot get ruined. ‘Sides. Your pies ain’t half bad.”

“As boorishly as you put it…I must concur. I have grown quite fond of your macarons.”

Trey laughs, looking between the two of them. “I was just about to use Doodle Suit to turn everything into slime so they’d stop throwing it…”

It didn’t take long after for Leona and Vil to essentially become the guardsmen of Trey’s gatherings. Ever watching to maintain the sanctity of their new resting place. Whenever they had unruly guests, either Vil or Leona would take care of them, and as payment, got extra treats. 

And even as the novelty of Trey’s latest baking accessories wore off, Trey found himself inviting the two of them over for treats on more than one occasion. He needed to pay them back for all the times they’d kept his gatherings from devolving into chaos, after all. It certainly wasn’t that he was starting to *like* their company. 

And all the times they had accepted definitely weren’t because of the fact that they were starting to like his. 

For some time, it was just the three of them. Every once in a while, Leona and Vil would bicker about random things, but it would remain civil enough. They had treats to eat, after all. 

Trey would happily bake snacks of all kinds for the two of them. And everything Trey made were devoured at varying degrees of fervor. And all the while, conversation fills the room about anything from classwork to complaints about other students to random things they saw during their day. 

It was a wonderful reprieve of the world for all of them. It was an unlikely trio, but no one could deny that it was certainly a powerful one. And not necessarily in magical power. 

The last people to figure out that the three of them were dating were the trio themselves. After feeding each other cake, glaring at anyone who dared cross the others, taking naps together, it was a shock to anyone who heard they *weren’t* dating. 

But soon enough, the conversation came. Rook had observed that Vil was unusually excited to go to Trey’s gatherings. Ruggie had noticed the same of Leona. Even *Riddle* had noticed something was going on with Trey. 

It started with awkward glances, their usual boisterous conversation having gone flat once they had all realized what it was. None of them wanted to admit it, but they all knew the conversation had to happen. 

When Leona finally realized, he refused to leave his room for a while. Not because he was pathetically whining about his realization. Nope. He would never admit that. 

Vil was a little more poised about his pathetic whining. He only whined about it for a few hours before he started putting together a makeup and skin care package for Trey based on his skin tone and type. 

Trey denied it right up until their next meeting. When he realized, he just sighed, pushing the door open with a few ideas for treats for them. 

And soon enough, news of the relationship spread. After all, two of them were incredibly famous, and the other was just…some guy. 

And even when Vil would bicker with the others about unkempt appearances, or Leona would bicker with the others about nap times, they all seemed to have a shockingly healthy relationship. Each of them protected the others in their own way, taking care of them in their own way. 

Even if Trey was just the baker from the Queendom of Roses, the world famous supermodel and Sunset Savanna prince both made it abundantly clear that he was more than that. 

(Trey's just

sitting on magic

trust)

[squishycat330]

@tmntforeverinmyheart 22: “they won’t take you away from me ever again”

I didn’t capture Leo’s reaction to well. He's kinda shocked, concerned, and confused, He was in a 3 month coma after all. I enjoyed the this one They look nice.

12: “you don’t have to be strong all the time”

I actually haven’t seen that Episode yet. Tho I really liked the idea of Raph crying in to Leo’s shoulder so~ I really like the poses and expressions of the first one here

Leo was placed a little off on the first one making him look a bit taller. he’s not supposed to be that way. Either way I loved drawing that one

I don’t really like how this one came out but I LOVE the rug under them it’s from the concept art of Mikey’s room and it looks so good and So cute! Mikey’s gotta really messed up scratch on his knee. It’s like the worst pavement + alien laser scrape a turtle can have.

I apologize it took so long I didn’t have energy to draw them digitally, but I got myself to do it last night. (Even tho they don’t look the best) I honestly believe that excluding a few errors in the traditional drawings they’re relatively better then the digital ones it’s why I included them here.

extra: that I really love the look of. Seriously their adorable here

This one is my favorite

some of the things you’d requested where actually really nice ideas that I’d be open to drawing I just didn’t because I haven’t seen those scenes/episodes therefore I can’t do them proper justice. I know you said I could pick and chose but the ones I did pick weren’t the most creative ones (on my part) since two of them are parallels of Leo and Raph.