#paper and fire reread

[sspace-aart]

rereading paper and fire bc my library didn't have ash and quill so here are some more the great library sketches :)

i saw @jellsmells draw glain w a rlly short haircut and overall very masc and it legit opened my eyes fr so idk anymore how i'll draw her but we'll figure it out

[moe-broey]

This cannot continue. <- Internet went out again and not knowing what to do w myself I just read manga all day.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧・l.m

—there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: AP US History and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・minho x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・academic rivals to lovers, sexual tension // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.5k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・thigh touching, squeezing, and kissing, very slight bruising, cheating on tests, slight language, he gets on his knees, this is lowkey freaky, no actually Minho gets on his knees and kisses your thigh.

𝐚/𝐧・guys i'm kinda shy about this bc it was not supposed to be this freaky, but I had this thought like four months ago and it just kind of...unraveled 🙈 idk how I feel about this I like the idea of it but I feel like it flows weird idk might just be a me problem plus I needed to get it out of my drafts so 😗

If you really think about it—it isn't your fault that the curriculum was impossible to learn, the school board was practically begging you to cheat.

Besides, the whole testing system was pointless anyway. You couldn’t accurately quantify knowledge with a few bubbled answers. And if your teacher hadn’t made this test 40% of your grade, you might’ve actually been able to understand. But no— the stress alone had made sure of that.

For a second, you naively convince yourself you actually have a chance. Then you read the first question—and realize you're royally fucked.

It isn’t just one thing; no, the universe spreads a thick layer of icing all over your 'I’m fucked' cake, because not only is the test 100 questions of pure agony, but you’re sitting next to none other than Lee Minho—Yale's wet dream and your life long rival.

He shifts beside you, bubbling in the answers with infuriating ease. It was enraging—how calm he was, how even though his eyes were trained on the paper in front of him, it still felt like he was making calculated moves against you.

You grind your teeth, reading and rereading the questions until you go cross-eyed. It just didn't make sense. Why were there so many dates? Who were all these people? Why couldn't you seem to remember anything? The ink on your thigh screams at you, itching to pull up your skirt and color all the correct answers.

It was stupid, completely idiotic to even consider giving in to the temptation, but you had no other choice. You couldn't fail this test. You steal a glance at Minho, making sure he’s still peacefully, obnoxiously distracted with being perfect, before sliding your skirt up to reveal the answer key you wrote last night. With a deep breath, you fill in the correct answers, stealing paranoid glances at the teacher every other question.

You're almost done. Just a few more. But then—a tingle runs down your spine.

You could practically taste the smirk on his face the minute his gaze lands on your thighs. You stiffen, holding your breath as if that might magically make you disappear. Unfortunately, your efforts are to no avail.

Minho must have been waiting for a moment like this for years—a classic got'ya moment. It was perfect, practically presented to him on a silver platter. You clench your eyelids and except the worst, for him to stand up and announce to the class your humiliating defeat, to strut up to the teacher and flush your entire life away.

And yet, the moment passes by. His gaze never wavers, instead it gets heavier—needier, fire licking up your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek as he leans in—so close, too close.

"Is that what I think it is?" That cocky little bend in his lips grows as he watches you fumble to yank the skirt back down, shooting him a nasty side-eye.

"No," you say steadily—almost convincing yourself.

"No?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, but there's something else there, something strained. "Then let me see."

"No." You scoff, pulling your leg away from him. He presses his tongue against his cheek, both frustrated and annoyed.

"So fuckin’ stubborn." His voice drops, and suddenly, the space between you vanishes. His fingers capture your thigh, prying them apart with a hot, deliberate pressure. Your breath hitches—the heat of his palm seeping into your flesh, spreading up, up, up.

You want to gasp, to smack his hand away, and scream bloody murder; but the other part of you, the other small microscopic part of you relishes in his touch—leaving you dizzy and breathless.

His hand never moves, even as he copies the answers down—his fingers a steady pressure against your soft flesh. You hate the way your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs like thunder.

You twitch—just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to squeeze hard. You fight not to gasp, your stomach twisting with something you don’t dare name. He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. You feel it.

Don’t you dare move.

You don't breathe—not until he's already finished the work, releasing your thigh and walking up to the teacher; sliding his test into the professor's hands with an infuriatingly perfect smile. The teacher returns his smile ten times brighter, both pleased and impressed, bowing politely to dismiss him back.

It takes five seconds before your brain catches up with your body, jaw dropping in utter disbelief—Minho was the first one to turn in his test, making him the first to get a perfect score, therefore putting him slightly above your soon-to-be perfect score—which means he beat you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit. Minho doesn’t spare you a glance as he slips back into his seat, swiveling around with a smirk on his face and his tongue in his cheek.

"What, 'that,' are we talking about? My undeniable victory, or how slow this class is?" Minho muses, throwing his feet onto the desk, and tipping his chair back as if the whole scheme was a piece of cake. You were ready to punch him square in his freakishly perfect jaw.

"You are unbelievable—" You don’t get to finish your scornful sentence before the bell rings. The class erupts from their seats, filing to the front. There was so much you wanted to do, but you couldn’t—your hands were tied, tight, painfully behind your back. So instead, you do the only thing you can: turn in that stupid test.

When you get back to your desk, you find Minho leaning against his, a cocky smirk still playing on his pretty pink lips.

"Oh, you're just loving this, aren't you?" you spit venomously, stuffing supplies back into your bag with a little extra vigor. Minho cocks his head, standing up a little straighter. "Loving beating you? Yeah, you could say that."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "You couldn’t have done it without the answers I wrote on my thigh." At the mention of your thigh, Minho’s gaze tilts downward. His entire demeanor transforms—once cocky and proud, now washed away in an instant—something softer taking its place, something you couldn’t quite place.

Gently, disarmingly, Minho brings his palm to your waist, guiding you to sit on one of the desks behind you. "What—" you begin, but he beats you to it, asking, "Did I do this?" Confused, you look down at the mark in question—darkened fingerprints ghosting over your skin where his fingers had pressed a little too hard.

You swallow. "I didn't notice it."

"Does it hurt?" he frowns, gingerly brushing the bruise forming on your thigh. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, almost as if he's actually concerned about your well-being.

"Yeah, kind of," you wince, but you don't move from his soft touch. His lips press into a thin line, the slight furrow of his brows deepening with guilt.

"What, you wanna kiss it, make it feel better?" you joke, a weak attempt to ease the tension. He pauses for a moment, then, in one swift motion, drops to his knees before you.

You gasp, a quick, trembling breath that melts the words in your throat. His eyes stay locked on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy as he inches closer, mouth nearing your thigh. You hold your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. He takes his time—two agonizing seconds stretching into hours. His breath is hot against your skin, before his lips finally brush the bruise, leaving a gentle kiss in its wake.

"There, all better," he says, standing back up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, nonchalantly. He doesn't say another word, simply waltzing out the door like he didn't just leave you a spaghetti noodle, all slippery thoughts and wobbly limbs.

You stand there, jaw in the center of the earth, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it threatened to crack. The class had filed out ages ago, leaving you to regather your thoughts in sweet silence.

You still feel his lips, hot and gentle, against the flesh of your thigh—reliving the moment over and over and over again. You couldn't bear to look at him, weeks into the future, still dizzy and disoriented, struggling to focus with him so close beside you. Minho knew, no matter how much you hated that thought. Minho knew, he saw how your grades started slipping, how slowly your comebacks started getting shorter, sweeter, a little bit more flirtatious.

That was his plan the entire time; because, even on his knees—Minho held all the pieces.

cookie owns this. thank you.

RAAAA its been a hot minute since I've posted something but I hope you liked this (if you did seriously consider reblogging with tags it helps my motivation and self-esteem so so soooo much.

[animamii]

even while locked up, Toji will make Valentine's day special for you. He already has a letter sent to you every day leading up to the 14th. Some of them sweet, romantic. Others just straight up dirty. He also has Shiu get you some things, spending the money he has in an offshore bank account.

February 1st

There's a ring at your doorbell, and you sleepily open the door.

"Shiu!" You happily greet before you realize he's holding one of those giant ass bouquets of roses. One of those ramos buchones with the pretty gemstones and your initial spelled out with baby's breath. Flashy as hell. "What's all this?"

"Jus' read the damn letter," he nods to a red envelope, a cigarette dangling out his mouth but away from your precious gift. Toji would kill him even from the inside if he were to find out Shiu got even the slightest of ashes on his girl's gifts. You take the envelope, tracing your name written in Toji’s bold, messy scrawl. You barely close the door before sliding your finger under the seal.

Didn’t forget, baby. I never do. First day, first gift. You better love it. Had Shiu pick out the biggest, most ridiculous thing I could find. My princess only deserves the best, right?

February 2nd

The letter today is simple. Too simple.

Baby, I hope you didn’t think I’d only spoil you with flowers.

Your stomach twists in anticipation. Later that day, you hear a knock. This time, it’s a delivery service. You sign for a package, confusion written all over your face—until you open it. Inside is a velvet box. You slowly open it, and it catches the light, casting rays of color—a necklace, a gold figaro chain with a diamond pendant. Looking closer at the pendant makes your breath hitch.

His initials.

You press your lips together, heart thudding. The note beneath it is shorter this time.

Wear it. Every day. I���ll know if you don’t.

February 3rd

On your front porch it a tiny pink box with another letter perched on top. You open the box first, the whole collection of a lip gloss you wear, one Toji said was his favorite because he loves the scent and the taste when he kisses it off your lips.

I was gonna wait, but fuck it. You know I don’t have patience. I’ve been thinking about you too much, baby. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. All I can think about is that pretty mouth of yours.

You don’t even finish reading before you slam the letter shut. Your face is on fire. He’s ridiculous. But your fingers linger on the page, gripping it tight. You’re not going to reread it. You’re not.

February 4th

Another gift. This time, it’s a designer perfume. You spray it on your wrist out of curiosity, inhaling the scent—rich, warm, deep. A little spicy yet still sweet. Just like you. A folded note is stuck in the packaging.

This is how I want you to smell when I have you under me.

You hate the way your breath catches. The way you tighten your grip on the bottle, as if that’ll stop the way his words sink under your skin.

February 5th

Shiu hands you the next letter without a word. You expect something dirty again, but instead—

You been eating, baby? Sleeping? You better be taking care of yourself. I’ll be real pissed if I find out you’re not.

You blink at the paper, stomach twisting. You don’t even like that he makes you feel this way. Cared for. Wanted. As soon as you look up, Shiu hands you the bags from behind his back. It's takeout from the place you always went to with Toji. Your favorites are inside, every single thing down to the drink. You knew Toji meticulously picked out each menu item. In the other bag Shiu hands you is self care items. Your creams and serums and even the face masks you force Toji to wear with you.

February 6th

You shouldn’t be looking forward to these letters as much as you do. But you do. This one is short.

You dream about me? Bet you do. Wonder if you wake up wet, missing my hands.

You rip it up, toss it in the trash.

Then, minutes later, you dig it back out, smoothing out the pieces.

You hate him.

February 7th

Another knock at the door. Another gift. This time, it's a dress—silky, short, scandalous.

The note?

Wear this when you come see me.

Your breath catches. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet, hasn’t even implied it. But now, it lingers in the air.

February 8th

A different kind of letter today.

If I was there right now, what would you do?

You should throw it away.

Instead, that night, you sit on your bed, staring at it in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, heart pounding in your chest.

February 9th

A small box sits outside your door in the morning. This time it's a velvet pouch. You pull the string, letting the contents slide onto your palm—an anklet, delicate gold with a tiny charm dangling off the chain. This one matches your necklace, his initials are on this one too. You don’t even hesitate this time. You clasp it around your ankle immediately.

This one's gonna be dangling over my shoulder soon.

February 10th

Shiu shows up again. Another box.

Inside? Lingerie.

Red. Lace.

The note is just one line.

Think about me when you put it on.

February 11th

You better be missing me, baby. I know you are.

This time the gift is a whole outfit. One of those flowy white maiden-style off the shoulder dresses, pretty sandals, and even an innocent enough white bra and panty set with cute little bows.

It doesn't go with the letter, which leaves you a tad bit confused.

February 12th

This letter is filthy.

Explicit enough that you don’t even know how he got it past whoever checks his mail.

You have to sit down after reading it.

And take a very cold shower.

February 13th

Another envelope. You open it, expecting a letter. But nope. Just a single ticket to Italy for February 15th. Weird.

February 14th

A single rose sits outside your door, a final letter tucked beneath it.

You should know by now to lock your windows, ma. Don't know what kind of scary men could climb through your window.

What the?? Slowly you turn around, and there he is, in the flesh. All smug and cute like he knows he did a damn good job at surprising you.

"Happy Valentine's Day princess."

[bueckii]

͏✶ FIRE AND DESIRE. | PAIGE BUECKERS.

synopsis… you’re nervous after getting talked into a date with someone else. paige, who’s been in love with you for years, offers to show you how kissing should really feel.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content warnings. # 6k words. slight angst. slightly suggestive. uconn!paige. best friend!paige. student!reader. college au. friends to lovers. mutual pining. jealousy. first kiss/makeout sesh. tw: a man makes an appearance for the plot. a/n: i love bun paige. anyways… first paige fanfic! i hope you all enjoy it :)

͏✶ i figure out you, you figure out me, we both a different breed, i’m followin' your lead, i ask you what you need …

finals were over. finally.

you walked out of that lecture hall feeling every heavy textbook, every sleepless night, every highlighter-stained page you’d read and reread since january falling off your shoulders all at once. the last exam was pretty fucking brutal, a three-hour stretch of silence and anxiety that clung to your skin like sweat, and when you scribbled the final answer in the last minute and handed that packet over, it felt like exhaling after months underwater.

it’s been a while since you’ve gotten relax fully, usually spending the night staring at the soft glow of your laptop at 2 a.m. when your eyes were too tired to focus but your brain refused to quit. you hadn’t gone out, hadn’t let yourself relax, hadn’t even realized how tightly wound you’d become until now as you stepping out into the afternoon sun.

the breeze hit your face, warm and a little humid, and you blinked against the light like you were seeing campus for the first time. everything around you buzzed as you glance over to a group of students laughing way too loud, to someone blasting music from a speaker, to a couple kissing under a tree like they hadn’t just suffered through biochem together, probably.

and then you saw her.

paige was leaning against the railing just outside the building, decked out in her uconn basketball gear like she always was—navy blue nike tech fleece, matching sweats, and her blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun.

she held up a coffee and a small paper bag (probably a sweet little pastry) with both hands, lifting them up as soon as she spotted you.

“yo, there she is,” she grinned, a silver chain glinting under her hoodie as she tilted her head.

you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face, breath caught in your throat for a second, then laughed as you shook your head.

“how long have you been waiting?” you asked, walking towards her.

paige pushed off the railing, walking over like she had all the time in the world, one brow raised and mouth tugged into that goofy little smile she always seems to wear.

“just got here,” she teased, handing you the coffee. “how was it? you good?”

you took the cup from her, fingers brushing against hers for just a second too long you—warm skin, calloused in places from years of basketball.

“thanks… it was fine,” you muttered, already feeling the heat seep through your palms. “i’m just glad it’s over. finally.”

paige looked at you for a moment, then licked her bottom lip, eyes scanning your face the way she always did when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

you shook your head again, smiling into the cup as you took a sip, and tried not to notice how good she smelled—like cologne and clean laundry and something that always made your stomach twist just a little.

it was just paige. your best friend.

paige watched you while you weren’t looking.

you didn’t catch it—not fully—but if you had, you would’ve seen the way her smile slipped just a little as her eyes trailed over your face, lingering on the curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fluttered when you blinked down into your coffee, the soft breath of relief you let out like you were finally alive again.

and then, too fast for you to notice, she cleared her throat and looked away, pressing her lips together like they hadn’t just parted like she wanted to say something real.

“aight, come on,” she said, nudging your shoulder lightly with hers before stepping off the curb.

you walked in beside her automatically, like you always did.

“what’s in the bag?” you asked, glancing at it with a curious smile.

paige looked over at you, then back at the bag like she’d forgotten she was even holding it.

“mm,” she hummed, eyes squinting from the sun. “just a lil’ somethin’ sweet.”

you raised a brow, surprised. “is it for me?”

“obviously,” she said simply, flashing a grin. “’cause you don’t ever treat yourself. figured i’d help.”

you laughed under your breath, looking away before she could see the flush rising in your cheeks.

you assumed it was nothing. paige always did little things like this.

the two of you walked like that for a while, side by side, and all the while, the blonde was trying not to look at you the way she actually wanted to.

she’d been in love with you since the first time you met, and it was stupid, really—how fast it hit her. you were pretty. that was the first thing she noticed when she saw you in the gen ed class a couple years ago. gorgeous. soft-spoken. kind. and smart as hell. and you didn’t exactly know her yet. you didn’t really care for sports that much then until you became friends with her. you’d almost never missed a home game when she was playing.

and for paige, since then, she’d been completely, helplessly stuck on you.

but you were focused. you always had your head buried in a book or a study guide, always chasing the next goal. relationships and dates weren’t exactly a priority for you. and paige respected the hell out of that.

maybe that’s why she never said anything. never let it slip how much she thought about you, how your laugh always had the power to make her laugh, how your lip curled when you were deep in your thoughts, how you’d always manage fall asleep on her dorm bed when you guys were supposed to be studying and she’d sit there quietly to watch you with a smile before pulling her blanket over you. she’d make sure to set her alarm clock early enough so you don’t miss your classes.

she’d convinced herself being near you was enough.

and maybe it was.

until it started to feel like it wasn’t.

she was about to say something when you reached the steps outside the student center—nothing big, just ask what you were doing tonight, maybe see if you wanted to chill at her place, lowkey so she could selfishly keep you to herself a little longer—and she’d just opened her mouth when—

“oh my god, there you are!”

you barely had time to turn before riley, a friend of yours, appeared out of nowhere, practically bouncing with energy. her braid whipped behind her as she rushed up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder like she hadn’t just taken her last final an hour ago.

“finals are done!” she shouted like she was announcing it to the whole quad. “you’re coming to the party tonight, right? you’ve got to.”

you blinked, caught off guard.

your eyes flicked to paige instinctively, checking to see if she was gonna say something first. but she froze—her lips pressed tight into thin smile as she looked at riley.

riley grinned between the two of you and bumped your hip.

“c’mon, paige, tell her! she never even goes out. i swear this girl hasn’t left her room to go anywhere else except the library or a basketball game since freshman year.”

paige laughed a little—tight, forced.

“uh… yeah. nah, you guys should celebrate. y’all deserve it.”

she regretted it the second it left her mouth.

her stomach turned because you looked—just for a second—disappointed. like you’d been hoping she’d say something different. something just for you.

you nodded slowly, lips twitching as you were trying to figure out how to react.

“yeah, i’ll… i’ll think about it,” you said.

“yes! i’m texting you later, you better not bail!” riley clapped her hands, oblivious. then she turned to paige with a playful squint, “shouldn’t you be at practice, bueckers?”

“oh shit,” paige muttered, snapping her head down as she fumbled for her phone with one hand, nearly dropping the paper bag in the process. she thumbed the screen awake and squinted at the time. “damn… i was supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

you looked at her, half-smiling. “go. geno won’t be happy.”

but paige didn’t move.

not right away.

she stayed turned toward you, jaw tight, her hand coming up to scratch the side of her head softly like she was trying to work something out in her head. her eyes found yours again.

she nods her head, finally deciding to follow your orders with a smile.

“yeah,” she said, her voice low—just for you. “okay.”

something in her tone made your breath hitch—not quite flirty, not quite serious, but something in between.

then her phone buzzed in her hand—twice.

probably a teammate. maybe geno.

she cleared her throat, finally stepping back with a quiet groan, dragging her hand down her face.

“aight. i gotta dip,” she said, backing up toward the sidewalk. “but make sure to eat that thing i got you, okay? i’m not tryna hear you skipped lunch again.”

you lifted the paper bag slightly and gave her a soft nod.

“thanks, paige.”

her lips curved into a grin. “anytime, ma.”

then she turned and jogged off, hood slipping back over her curls, her long strides already pulling her into the distance.

͏✶

you ended up going to the party.

you hadn’t planned to.

the party wasn’t really your scene. it never was.

you’d shown up mostly because riley wouldn’t let up, blowing up your phone all evening. so you threw on a simple dress, a little bit of your usual makeup, and told yourself it was just for an hour. two tops.

the party was already packed by the time you showed up. the living room of whoever’s off-campus house this was had been turned into a humid jungle of music and bodies, red solo cups stacked like pyramids on every surface, and someone yelling every ten minutes for no reason.

you stuck close to riley at first, sipping something fruity drink she handed you without asking, trying to find your footing in the crowd.

you weren’t really built for this scene, not in the way riley was.

you ended up near the kitchen, tucked into a quieter corner where the music didn’t shake the floor. that’s when he found you.

matt.

you remembered him from your sociology class last semester—he sat two rows behind you, always had clean notes. nice guy. maybe a little shy, always had a pen tucked behind his ear, and he asked solid questions during lectures.

but riley, standing a couple feet away with her drink in hand, kept giving you that look saying… go on. flirt. say yes.

you roll your eyes playfully.

“hey,” he said, a little surprised but genuinely happy to see you. “i didn’t think you came to stuff like this.”

you shrugged, smiling politely. “i usually don’t.”

“well… glad you did,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you. “finals were hell, huh?”

you nodded, both of you laughing a little at the shared trauma. it was nice, the way he talked—easy, casual, nothing pushy.

but of course, riley popped up next to you halfway through the conversation.

“nice to see you finally hitting it off with someone,” she said with this knowing smile, eyes bouncing between the two of you.

you shake your head, cheeks warming. “we’re just talking.”

“mmhm,” riley said, bumping her hip into yours. “no, this is good. don’t mind me—just pretend i’m not even here.”

matt chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, yeah. i was just asking her about post finals plans…”

“great question,” riley cut in like she was your hype man. “she has no plans. she’s free. totally available.”

“riley…” you shot her a look, somewhere between please stop and i’m going to kill you, but she just grinned. she meant well—she always did. she just thought you needed a little push.

you turned back to matt, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “uh, anyway… how’d you think you did on that sociology final?”

he answered, and you listened, but the whole time you felt like your thoughts were somewhere else.

somewhere… or with someone.

but when matt, looking a little nervous, said, “so hey, uh… i was thinking—if you’re not too busy now that exams are over… maybe we could go see a movie this friday?”

you froze. not out of fear. just confusion.

your eyes darted to riley. she gave you a thumbs-up like you were about to step onto a stage.

your heart beat once. then twice.

“uh… yeah,” you heard yourself say. “sure. that sounds nice.”

fuck.

his eyebrows raised and he smiled. riley grinned wider than you’d ever seen her grin. and you should’ve felt proud. excited, even.

so why did your chest feel tight?

why did it feel like you’d done something wrong?

͏✶

you didn’t text paige right away when got back to your dorm.

you laid in bed for a while, makeup barely rubbed off, the party still ringing in your ears. your dorm was quiet now—your roommate gone for the weekend, the halls dead silent except for the occasional door shutting or someone’s music humming through the walls.

after a minute, you grabbed your phone, thumb hovering for a second before you gave in and opened the chat.

you: what are you up to?

you stared at the screen, heart already fluttering like you were fourteen again, like you hadn’t just said yes to some guy two hours ago.

the three dots appeared almost instantly.

paige: just got back from getting crumbl with the team. coach ran us hard today not even gonna lie

you smiled to yourself.

you: you tired? i can let you sleep lol

paige: nah i’m good. i’m tired but i like talkin to you. what’s up

you: riley dragged me to the party

paige: wow that’s impressive tbh soooooo how was it??

you paused, biting your bottom lip.

should you say it? it wasn’t a big deal. right? best friends tell each other these things.

your fingers hovered. then you typed.

you: so matt from my sociology class asked me to go to the movies with him sometime i said yes idk i think i just panicked

you waited.

and waited.

you saw the three dots pop up. your heart skipped. then the dots vanished.

you frowned, shifting in your bed, phone warm in your hand. a few seconds passed. they popped up again.

then, gone.

your stomach twisted.

then finally, they came back again.

paige: oh that’s cool

you stared at the screen.

three little words. dry as hell. no playful joke. no “u better tell him i’ll beat his ass if he messes it up”—none of the usual teasing, none of the softness she always texted you with, even when she was dead tired.

that’s cool.

you blinked, rereading it like maybe it’d change if you looked hard enough. your chest felt weird. not heavy exactly—just… unsettled.

you typed something. deleted it. typed again. deleted again.

you: yeah he seems pretty nice i guess

no reply.

you watched the screen like it owed you something.

and then, after a long pause—

paige: that’s good

nothing else.

why wasn’t she saying anything else? you could tell she was holding back. you could practically feel it through the screen.

and for some reason, that made your throat tighten. because you didn’t want her to be distant. you didn’t want her to just be cool with it.

on the other side of the campus, she wasn’t cool with it at all. not even a little bit.

she was laid out in her bed, one arm slung over her eyes like it could block out the heat crawling down her neck. her phone rested on her chest, screen still lit up with your message.

matt from my sociology class asked me out… i said yes.

“man, what?” she muttered to no one, heart pounding.

she was jealous. of course, she was.

but she should’ve seen it coming. should’ve known somebody else would shoot their shot eventually. you were smart, funny, gorgeous. hell, paige could barely go five minutes around you without wanting to touch your hand or kiss the corner of your mouth just to see how you’d taste when you smiled. honestly, she’s pretty proud of her strength.

so yeah. of course some dude was gonna ask you out.

but fuck, it hurts more than she’d like to admit.

she couldn’t even be mad at the guy. not really. but the thought of him sitting next to you in a dark movie theater, brushing fingers over the popcorn bag, leaning over to whisper something… kissing you—fuck, that made her want to throw her phone across the damn room.

she didn’t know how to say it, though. didn’t know how to tell you it bothered her without sounding upset.

she sat up, rubbed her hand down her face, then grabbed her phone again and stared at the chat.

yeah, he seems nice i guess

her jaw clenched.

she typed a bunch of things before sending a message.

you really like him?

deleted it.

typed again.

he’s not even your type tho.

deleted that too.

she tossed her phone to the side the second she finally sent a message and laid back down, arms crossed over her chest. she’d wanted to ask you to hang out tonight. just the two of you.

jealous was an understatement.

she felt miserable. she wasn’t even mad at you. not even close.

she was mad at herself.

for waiting too long. for playing it cool too well. for pretending she was fine just being your friend when every second spent next to you made her want more.

the idea of anyone else getting to have the version of you paige had been in love with since the moment you said hi to her felt wrong.

you didn’t even know what you were doing to her.

and the worst part?

she couldn’t even say it.

because you were just friends. best friends.

͏✶

it’d been three days.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

you figured maybe she was just tired. practice, finals, team meetings, whatever. she’d said she was swamped. you told yourself she’d come back.

but then she didn’t.

you didn’t see her the next morning, or the one after that. no lazy walk across campus together like usual before classes, before practice.

just a couple dry texts saying “slept thru my alarm lol” or “coach called an early practice. my bad.”

you wanted to believe it. but it didn’t feel right.

paige wasn’t the type to flake. she’d shown up for you more times than you could count—when you were sick, when you were stressed, even that one time you almost cried in the middle of midterms week and she literally skipped film review to sit with you in the library and make you laugh.

so this felt weird. is it because of matt?

you stared at her last message.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to say what you really wanted to say or just brush it off like she clearly wanted you to.

but the truth was, it was starting to piss you off a little.

because you didn’t do anything wrong.

because it felt like she didn’t care.

or like she did, but chose to hide it from you.

you wanted her to just say whatever was on her mind.

something you thought a best friend would want to know.

you had wanted her to care a little more.

but you weren’t gonna chase someone who didn’t want to talk to you.

you tossed your phone onto your bed and let out a frustrated breath, arms crossed tight over your chest as you sat back in your desk chair, the silence in your dorm suddenly louder than ever.

if she was mad, she should’ve just said it. if she didn’t want to hang out, she should’ve just said that.

because paige always seemed to speak her mind.

now, she wasn’t.

so you decided to go see her.

you didn’t really think it through.

you just stood up, grabbed your hoodie, slipped on your shoes, and walked out. you honestly had no idea what you were even gonna say when you got there.

the walk to the girls’ basketball dorms wasn’t long. you knew the route like the back of your hand by now. you’d been there more times than you could count—movie nights, study sessions, lazy nights where paige would half-doze off on your shoulder while some random netflix show played in the background.

but tonight was different. honestly, you just… missed her. you missed her more than you were upset. and you didn’t know how to say that.

you made it to her floor, knocked softly.

you heard movement inside. muffled voices. the creak of the door.

it opened slowly, and there she was—paige, standing barefoot in sweats and a loose uconn tee, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun on her head like she’d been napping.

she blinked at you, caught completely off guard.

“oh, hey…” she breathed, voice a little scratchy. “what are you doin’ here?”

her eyes scanned your face like she was trying to figure out if something was wrong, if you were upset, hurt, mad—anything.

but you didn’t say anything yet. you just looked at her. and she looked at you.

“oh, shit—” jana piped up from behind her, lounging on the bed with her phone still lit in her hand. she looked between the two of you with a raised brow, then smirked like she knew exactly what was going on. “i’ll head out.”

paige turned, “uh—”

“it’s okay, i’ll go annoy kk and aubrey,” jana said quickly, already grabbing her charger. “y’all… have fun. i will be bak to sleep, though.”

she squeezed past you with a grin and a knowing glance before disappearing down the hall.

paige rubbed the back of her neck, stepping aside so you could walk in. you did, slow and quiet.

the room was a little messy—hoodies tossed on her desk chair, a gatorade bottle half-drank on the nightstand, her slides kicked off at the foot of the bed. the tv was playing something muted, but paige picked up the remote and shut it off without a word.

she turned to you, hands on her hips now. her eyes were tired, but they softened the second she really looked at you. and that look alone made your chest pull.

“you okay?” she asked, quieter now.

you nodded slowly

“i just… haven’t seen you.”

paige pressed her lips together, jaw flexing for half a second. she looked down at the floor, then back up at you.

“yeah,” she said. “i know. my bad.”

she meant it. you could see it all over her face.

paige sat down slowly on the edge of her bed. she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, eyes fixed on the floor, trying to avoid your eyes.

you stood there for a second, unsure if you should sit too.

but you did—right beside her, the mattress dipping as you sat.

you spoke first.

“you said you’ve been busy?”

paige didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed on the floor. her foot tapped once. twice.

then, finally—

“uh, yeah,” she said. “i’m sorry.”

you glanced at her, taking in the slope of her shoulders, the small furrow between her brows.

“are you mad at me?”

paige let out a dry little laugh, not unkind, just tired.

“no. never that.”

you waited. gave her space to say more.

and after a moment, she did.

“i just been… trying to stay in my lane, i guess?” she said, afraid of saying too much. “you’ve got shit going on. i don’t wanna mess that up.”

you tilted your head. “mess what up?”

she shrugged. “i mean—someone asked you out. that’s… that’s good, right? you deserve that. somebody to treat you nice. do all that movie and dinner shit.”

your heart twinged a little.

“we’re not even—” you started, then sighed. “it’s just one movie, paige. it’s not serious. really.”

she nodded slowly, still not looking at you. but her jaw clenched again.

“yeah… still. i don’t wanna be all up in your space if you wanna, you know… see where that goes.”

you stared at her then, finally realizing—she wasn’t just being distant. she was pulling away to protect something. maybe you. maybe herself. maybe both.

you reached over, nudging your shoulder lightly against hers, “you’re never all up in my space. i… i actually didn’t like not seeing you.”

paige’s lips pressed together to form the tiniest smile. her voice was almost too soft to hear.

“yeah?”

you nodded.

“yeah.”

she swallowed hard, fingers playing with the drawstring of her sweats.

she was scared.

maybe that’s why she hadn’t said anything.

why she bit her tongue that night you texted her about it. why she ghosted you a little.

because the truth was—paige was scared as hell.

not scared of you. not even scared of rejection.

she was scared of losing you. she’d rather stay quiet than lose you completely.

this friendship meant too much. you meant too much.

and yeah, she’d wanted more for a long time. she’d dreamt about it almost everyday. stubborn little dreams she kept buried deep, like kissing you goodnight on the nights you stayed over, or holding your hand without needing a reason. she’d replayed the sound of your laughter, the way your smile looked, the way you looked at her and imagined what it would feel like to press her lips against yours. to feel you beneath her fingers, her palms, hands that were calloused and bigger than yours.

but she really didn’t wanna fuck it up.

because if you didn’t feel the same way… if you looked at her and only saw your best friend…

that would be it. no do-over.

so paige sat next to you, heart pounding in her chest, blue eyes locked on the floor, still pretending like everything was normal.

you sat quietly there for a moment, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your knee brushing lightly against paige’s.

so you glanced at her, your voice barely above a whisper, “i’m nervous about it, actually.”

paige looked up, finally meeting your eyes.

the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease, but her eyebrows raised slightly like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. like she thought you’d be excited, glowing, already picking outfits and… all that.

“the movie?” she asked, trying to be casual.

you nodded slowly. “the whole thing. just… going out. with a guy. like that.”

she didn’t say anything right away. and if she was trying to keep her face neutral, she was failing just a little.

you kept going, letting the words fall out before you could overthink them.

“i’ve never really done any of it. dating. being out with someone. i think the last date i went to was in high school… and i can barely even remember any of it. i’ve had crushes, sure, but nothing ever really… happened.” you breathed in through your nose. “and now i said yes and i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

paige’s licked her lips, but she didn’t speak. her eyes scanned your face like she was memorizing it.

“i mean, what if it gets awkward?” you mumbled. “what if he tries to kiss me and i… i don’t even know how to—”

you stopped yourself, cheeks burning all of a sudden.

paige blinked. sat up straighter, her brows raised even higher now.

“you never kissed nobody before?”

“i have, stupid.” you blurted out fast, but glanced away soon after, embarrassed. “just… not like… that.”

she leaned back a little, nodding slowly. she didn’t tease you. didn’t laugh. but something in her chest cracked open, just a little.

now, all she could think about and look at were… your lips. how soft they looked. like they were calling her in.

all she wanted to do was be the person you felt safe with.

you were still staring down at your hands, thumbs twisting the fabric of your sleeve, when paige said it.

she didn’t know what made her say it.

“i… i could show you?”

and then it was like all the oxygen got sucked out the room.

you looked up, eyes wide, lips parting just slightly.

and paige—

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

she blinked, sat upright like she could somehow backpedal physically—

“i didn’t—i-i mean—” she let out a breath, raking a hand over her face. she laughed, but it was awkward and nervous and too high in her throat.

you didn’t say anything. you were just looking at her.

and that was somehow worse.

she sat forward, elbows back on her knees, face in her hands for a second like she could disappear there.

“yo, ignore me. it’s late… i-i just—i don’t know what i’m saying—“

she was talking fast now, trying to fill the space, trying to pretend like her heart wasn’t racing and her palms weren’t clammy and her lips didn’t suddenly ache.

god, she wanted to throw herself out the window.

i could show you. what the fuck was that?

she rubbed the back of her neck, still not looking at you, her voice dropping to a grumble.

“sorry… forget i said anything.”

and then—so quietly she almost missed it—paige heard you whisper:

“…okay.”

her head shot up like she wasn’t sure she actually heard you right. eyes wide, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.

“what?”

you were already rambling, the same as she was, like the words were tumbling out before you could stop them.

“i mean—not like for real for real, just—just to, like, try. not a whole thing, i just—I don’t know—i mean, only if you want to. obviously. if that was a joke, then—then forget it—”

“no,” paige cut in quickly, almost too quickly. “no, i wasn’t playing.”

her voice cracked just slightly at the end, and she cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. her heart was pounding so hard she thought you might hear it.

“you sure?” she asked softly.

you nodded, just once. small. shy.

and her stomach flipped.

paige let out the tiniest breath as if she’d been holding it since you walked through the door. her shoulders dropped just a little, and the corner of her lips tugged up, that slow, crooked little smirk curling on paige’s lips as if she’d just remembered exactly who she was.

your face flushed instantly the moment you saw her smile, and paige bit back a grin, watching the way your lips parted.

the nerves from a moment ago vanished, replaced that same confidence she carried everywhere with her.

you squinted at her, giving her a look, “you’re being cocky.”

paige’s eyes flicked to yours, her grin widening before she shook her head quickly—lying straight through her teeth.

“i’m not,” she said.

she absolutely was. and she knew it.

you raised a brow, and she chuckled—deep and a little smug now, clearly loving the way you were already squirming.

then she scooted closer on the bed, so close now her thigh pressed against yours. her arm slid behind you slowly, palm resting flat against the mattress just barely behind your back. her fingers curled like they were thinking about reaching for your waist, but she didn’t rush it.

she was warm beside you—close enough for you to smell her perfume, feel her breath, see the way her lashes lowered when she looked at your lips again. her fingers tapped lightly against the bed behind you, brushing your lower back. her touch was barely there, but it was all you could think about.

paige leaned in just a little more, her breath brushing warm against your cheek, before murmuring softly.

“close your eyes,” she whispered.

you did. slowly.

and the second your eyes fluttered shut, paige froze. just for a moment.

her breath caught in her throat. her heart kicked hard against her ribs.

holy fuck.

her eyes roamed your face—so close, so trusting, your lips parted just slightly, your chest rising and falling like you were bracing for something you didn’t even understand yet. and somehow, somehow, you wanted her to be the one to teach you.

her fingers flexed against the mattress, resisting the urge to wrap around your waist like they wanted to. her throat was dry, her head spinning. she couldn’t believe this was happening.

she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing thoughts, but it was no use.

is this really happening?

she tilted her head, just a little, lips hovering.

paige was already going through it before you even closed your eyes. you, sitting on her bed, in that big oversized hoodie swallowing your frame but not enough to hide the fact that you were wearing a skirt underneath, knees brushing hers when you sat down next to her.

you looked so good it made her chest ache. but it wasn’t just how you looked—it was you.

and now, you were sitting in front of her, eyes closed, waiting.

you looked so pretty like this.

god.

it took everything in her to keep it together.

paige reached up with one hand and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

she smiled.

then, finally, you felt her lips brush yours.

paige kissed you slow. and sweet. her lips felt like the softest thing you’d ever touched. you could feel the warmth radiating from her mouth, and the slight tremble beneath her lips that told you this made her nervous just as it made you.

her other hand drifted down without her realizing it, settling gently on your thigh.

you responded without thinking, your hand creeping up to rest over the fabric of her shirt at her chest. your fingers hesitated for a second, then your fingers slid up, tracing the curve of her shoulder before reaching around her neck.

paige’s breath hitched slightly against your lips, and you felt the tiniest tremor in her body, surprised by how close you’d gotten.

she was nervous—damn near shaking—but also so fucking sure of every little thing happening.

you taste so good.

all those nights she’d imagined this moment played over and over in her head, every detail perfect, every touch just how she dreamed it would be. she’d wondered what it would feel like to kiss you—really kiss you—not just in her daydreams but for real.

and fuck, it’s even better than she imagined.

paige pressed her lips a little deeper, letting the kiss deepen slowly, humming against your lips. and, just as her mouth moved softly against yours, she felt it.

a tiny, breathy gasp escaping you, so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence. the faintest, tiniest moan, barely there, against her mouth.

it was so small, so delicate, paige almost thought she’d imagined it.

her breath hitched. her heart slammed against her ribs.

paige’s fingers dug just a little into your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto, inching slightly underneath the fabric of your skirt.

and paige knew, right then, she was completely, utterly, deliciously addicted to every part of you.

she wanted more. needed more.

fuck—

she pulled back just slightly, her breathing shallow and ragged.

she knew she was getting carried away. losing control faster than she wanted to admit.

so she paused, her forehead resting softly against yours, eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“can i keep going?” she whispered against your lips.

you blinked slowly, your breath still fluttering from the kiss, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. the warmth of paige’s hand, rough and calloused from years of basketball, on your thigh sent a shiver up your spine.

you met her eyes and nodded almost softly.

“yeah,” you whispered back, barely more than a breath. “please.”

your fingers twitched, fingertips scratching the back of her neck.

paige’s smile deepened, her eyes sparkling with something fierce and tender all at once, and without another word, she leaned in again and—

“yo, can i come in now or what?”

jana’s voice called from the other side.

you and paige pulled away from each other instantly, breath catching in your throat, your hand falling from her neck as her palm slid quickly off your thigh.

paige blinked, dazed, like her mind hadn’t even caught up to her body yet. her lips were still parted, her eyes still locked on yours like she couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

then she turned toward the desk, slowly, glancing at the clock glowing on her nightstand.

1:27 a.m.

she shut her eyes tight and dropped her head forward, letting it hang for a second as she exhaled hard. not at jana. just at the timing. at the fact that her favorite kiss in the world had just been cut short.

damn it.

“i-i should…” you started, voice shaky, still catching your breath, “i should probably go.”

paige looked up at you, her heart twisting. she didn’t want you to. not yet. but she nodded anyway.

“yeah… yeah, okay,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck.

you stood up slowly, brushing your hands against your skirt, then looked back at her, lips parting, unsure of what to even say after all that. your cheeks were still warm and your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“t-thanks for um…” you paused, swallowing. “for showing me.”

paige looked at you then. she nodded once, lips tugging into a lopsided smile.

“anytime,” she said, a little hoarse.

she pushed herself up on her feet, her hand brushing against her sweats like she wasn’t sure what to do with it now—whether to reach for you again, or just let you go.

she shifted her weight awkwardly, glancing at the door, then back at you, a little hesitant to speak.

“do you want me to walk you back—”

but you were already shaking your head, offering her a small, flustered smile as you stepped toward the door.

“n-no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, eyes darting anywhere but her. “i… i can walk on my own.”

paige’s mouth opened slightly like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t push. she just nodded, once.

“aight.”

and she watched you reach for the door, her chest still rising and falling. her fingers twitched at her side, wanting to hold you there.

but she stayed still.

and when you glanced back at her one last time, paige just looked at you—eyes soft, jaw tense, heart full of a million things she still couldn’t say.

“get home safe,” she said gently. “text me when you’re in.”

you nodded again, your hand tightening around the doorknob.

“i will.”

you opened the door just as paige stepped up behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her all over again.

and there stood jana, arms crossed, one brow lifted, clearly waiting.

“well damn,” jana said, smirking as her eyes darted between you and paige. “finally.”

you gave her a soft smile, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks, “hey, jana. sorry, i didn’t mean to take up your room this long.”

jana just waved a hand, stepping aside so you could pass, “don’t worry about it. i was just getting a little sleepy. i think p. boogers over here forgot we have practice early tomorrow morning.”

you gave a quiet laugh and tucked your hands into the sleeves of your hoodie, glancing back one last time. “goodnight, guys.”

paige held the door open, silent, her eyes glued to your back as you walked down the hall. she didn’t say anything. she just stared. and watched as you disappeared around the corner. only when she couldn’t see you anymore did she finally close the door.

then she dropped her forehead against the wood with a groan. long. loud. half frustration, half complete emotional combustion.

jana raised an eyebrow from across the room, already toeing off her shoes, “so y’all kissed or what?”

paige reached blindly for the nearest pillow and launched it at her.

“shut up.”

jana caught it, laughing as she plopped onto her bed.

“ooh, y’all kissed.”

“yo. shut. up.”

masterlist | © bueckii.

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[gravegoer]

reader knoes sevika is always busy and leaves her post-it notes PLZZ ur writing is so fire iloveu

A Little Love .☘︎ ݁˖

thank you !! i love this because i love post-it notes. also, i have a bunch of fics in the roster rn, so expect to see your ask soon, hopefully

masterlist

Sevika wasn't usually home, often out on a mission or cleaning up for Silco, so you started to compromise a bit.

Sometimes, you make her lunch, and she protests every time you do so, saying her co-workers giggle at her for the cute lunchbox and organized meal. But in reality, she loves it, smiling to herself while she eats lunch after a long day.

And you had the bright idea to put a note for her to read with it.

"Don't push yourself too hard today, Love you ♡"

Her brows furrowed as she took the note off the lid of the lunch and shoved it in her pocket, making sure nobody else saw.

After she completed a successful mission, she would pull it out, smiling while she read it. (Its a little dirty but its okay)

This was only the beginning.

When she got up earlier than you to get to work, she was met with a post-it on the fridge.

"Dont skip breakfast today."

She huffed to herself, shaking her head and pulling the fridge open to grab an apple.

She grabs the small paper and puts it in her pocket before returning to your room to plant a small kiss on your head.

It was a particularly rough day on the job, and all she had to remind herself of you was the two papers in her pocket.

And trust she is rereading it as often as she can, she might as well be studying your handwriting.

When she got home, you were already asleep. But this was expected since it was well past midnight.

She stepped into the bathroom to freshen up, tugging her dirty clothes off to hop in the shower.

Her eyes trailed up the mirror, meeting with a soft pink note.

"Hello gorgeous ;)"

At that, she let out a throaty laugh at your mischief, grabbing it to throw on top of her pile of clothes.

You awoke while she was climbing into bed, delivering a warm kiss to her lips, "You saw the note?"

Sevika nodded, smirking at you, pulling you into her chest gently.

This time, it was her turn. Before she left, she wrote you something on a torn piece of paper. (Its the thought that counts)

"I'll be home early today. Wait for me"

This was a gateway to your everyday sticky note conversations

You left notes on her mechanical arm.

Notes on her weapons.

Notes in her cold spot in bed before she got home.

She left notes on your forehead before she left.

Notes in your bag.

Notes on the toilet when you wake up to take a piss.

Her pockets are full of little post-its, once she dropped one, and Silco picked it up, delivering it back to her with a grin.

From then on, she kept them in her nightstand drawer. She's embarrassed..

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25 @thesevi0lentdelights

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Breaking Point Chapter 4

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

7.2k words

First / Prev

Summary: Akainu realizes he has been duped, Whitebeard has a conversation with the mystery caller, and you are left facing your most dire foe yet. Boredom.

Warnings: choking, suicidal ideation, brief mentions of anxiety, depression, and self harm, descriptions of past child abuse, invasion of privacy, brief pregnancy mention

I made some major changes to chapter one since the last update, so please make sure to go reread it if you haven't already. Enjoy the extra long chapter lol

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

A trench was going to be imprinted upon the deck at this rate. Akainu couldn't stand still. Not when his mind was racing in every direction all at once.

Those pirates are fucking late. 

Akainu stops sharply and shouts up to the crow's nest, ��Can you still not see them?”

“No, sir! There's no one around for miles!”

His blood may very well be literally boiling. A vein in his forehead throbs uncomfortably, and he can hear a faint sizzling coming from somewhere on his person. 

A hesitant, meek voice calls out to him, “The wind is pretty weak today, sir. Maybe they're just running behind because of that?”

“That didn't stop us from getting here on time!” Akainu snaps at the marine. He stomps closer to the man, easily matching his hasty steps back until he is towering over him. “They are damn near five hours late, and you want to blame it on the fucking wind?! What's next? Did they stop at an island because they were hungry, too? What other excuses are you going to make for those things?!”

“I-I-I wasn't trying to excuse them, sir, I promise!” The marine is bent backwards over the railing in a desperate bid to put some distance between them. “It's just- I have a kid at home, too! I know that I would be worried sick if I was in your shoes, so I was trying to say something encouraging!”

Akainu grabs the man's neckerchief and yanks him closer, not caring to notice that he was choking him in the process, “I don't need encouragement, I need those damned pirates to keep their end of their deal and get here already!”

“I'm sorry, sir!” The marine was clawing at the fabric around his neck and wheezing. 

Such a pathetic display. Whatever. He wasn't worth the effort of dispatching. Akainu shoves him away, nearly sending him over the railing and into the sea. 

The seething Admiral turns to face the bridge, “Return to port, they aren't coming.”

Surprise flashes across the helmsman's face. “Are you sure, Admiral?”

“Positive.” Akainu strides to where his private office is, “The longer we waste time here, the more time they have to scheme. We are returning at once.”

He doesn't wait for a response. His crew knows better than to disappoint him. He can hear a flurry of boots hitting wood as everyone rushes to unfurl the sails and raise anchor. 

It's only because he's on a ship that he can't afford to sink that he's able to keep his magma in check. He can feel the flow of it under his skin, just begging to be unleashed. But, alas, he would be stranding himself in the ocean if he did. 

He's too fired up to even consider sitting down right now. He rips open the drawer that his transponder snail is in and tunes it to the desired frequency before sending out the call. It rings twice, then the gruff voice of his superior answers.

“Let me guess. They never arrived.” Despite the conversation having only just started, Sengoku already sounded exasperated.

Akainu inhaled deeply in a vague attempt to calm himself. “They didn't. They violated the terms of our agreement.”

“Pirates didn't keep their word? How surprising. Should I tell the papers about this?”

Sarcasm was the last thing that Akainu wanted to put up with right now. His hand tightens around the receiver and he spits out, “This isn't a joking matter. My (Y/N) is still with them, and I haven't been given any proof of life since the initial communication.”

“I'm aware.” The sound of papers being shuffled followed by pen on paper trickles in from his side. 

Teeth grind against each other painfully to the point that he should be concerned about cracking a molar, but he can't be bothered to focus on such a thing. “Is that all you have to say? That Emperor is holding a Commodore hostage, and all you can say is that you're aware?”

“An ex-Commodore.” Sengoku says plainly, as if it was nothing of note. Like he just fired a janitor. “I've already taken the liberty of terminating their position and reallocating their unit.”

“You can't be serious. You better not be serious.” The nails on Akainu’s free hand dig into the varnished wood of his desk and smoke begins to rise. 

“I am. You were made privy to my stance on this matter beforehand. (Y/N) abandoned post and got themselves captured. That isn't the kind of behavior I want to see in an Ensign, much less a Commodore.” The sound of a pen being dropped can be heard. “And just in case you need to be reminded, my decision still stands on not permitting any action against Whitebeard. A civilian isn't worth that effort or trouble.”

The wood of his desk smolders, then catches to fire. “Do you honestly expect me to do nothing about this? Am I just supposed to leave (Y/N) in the hands of pirates and not do a single fucking thing to retrieve them? Is that genuinely what you are expecting of me?”

A deep sigh can be heard through the receiver. After a bout of silence, Sengoku speaks again, “I understand that this is your child, and that you have a duty to them as a parent. But, you also have a duty to the Marines. You have a duty to not upset the delicate balance between us and the Emperors. There is only room for one of those duties to be your top priority. 

“I'm not going to reprimand you for being distressed, but I hope that you will make the correct decisions going forward. You're an excellent Admiral, and I want to help you where I can, but I can't continue covering your ass when you let your desires and impulses control you. You need to be wholly dedicated to the greater good, and let's be honest here, (Y/N) is no longer a part of that category.”

Sengoku allows him time to stew in what was said. To take it all in and try to force himself to come to terms with it. But he can't. This isn't right. You have always been a star soldier. You've given your life to the cause, and now you're getting chewed up and spit out because you were overpowered by a fucking Emperor. 

“If it's any consolation,” Sengoku pauses as he carefully chooses his next words, “I anticipate that (Y/N) will be released eventually. Of all the pirate crews that could have abducted them, the Whitebeard pirates are about as tame as one can hope for. They don't have a history of executing hostages. Once they realize they've gotten as much out of this situation as they can, I'm sure (Y/N) will be released without incident.”

Loath as he was to admit it, Sengoku had a point. If a crew like Beast pirates had gotten ahold of you, it would practically be guaranteed that you would die in their custody. The Whitebeard's, as powerful as they were, didn't pose the same risk level. The worst that had ever happened involving them and Marines outside of direct warfare was the occasional conversion, but he knew that you would never fall for such a ruse. You were far too independent and intelligent to be tricked like that. 

But even if you were released, that still begged the question, “Will you reinstate (Y/N)’s position once they've been returned?”

“What?” Sengoku sounds completely flabbergasted, “No. Where did you get the idea that I would? I already explained why (Y/N) is no longer fit for the Marines. Were you not listening to a word I said the other day?”

“I heard you, but that doesn't mean that I agreed with it. You aren't being fair. Anyone of their skill level would have lost against those pirates. I know my soldier, and I know that they have what it takes to do good for the Marines. You can't cut their career short before they've even reached their maximum potential.” Akainu exhales sharply and drags his hand down his face, “What would they even do if they weren't a marine? They would have nothing.”

The sound of Sengoku drumming his fingers makes it through the transmission. “(Y/N) is a sharp individual, I know that they would succeed in anything they applied themselves to. I did them and you a favor and labeled them as an honorable discharge. They should have no trouble finding employment elsewhere.”

That answer wasn't good enough. Akainu didn't want you to wander around until you found something else to do to get by. He wanted you to stay in the Marines and do what he knew you were meant to do. This is all so frustrating, he feels like he's talking in circles. 

Without thinking, he barks into the receiver, “What's the damn point if they can't even be a marine?”

The drumming coming through the line stops instantly. “Pardon?” He can hear Sengoku's chair creak, followed by a hand slamming down on the desk, “The damn point is that you'll have your kid back alive and well! The point is that you won't be left to wonder what became of them as your mind fills in the blanks with nothing but worst case scenarios! You could stand to be a little more grateful for the fact that you have a very good chance of being able to see your kid again!”

Indistinct words are grumbled under the Fleet Admiral’s breath. He inhales deeply, then lets it out. He speaks clearly and concisely, “I'm done with this conversation. Do not bring this up to me again.” The line went dead.

This didn't feel real. It was like a nightmare. He's worked so hard to get you to where you were, and now Sengoku has callously ripped it all away based purely off assumption. Was his life's work not good enough to be worth fighting for? Was he insinuating that Akainu had raised a useless marine?

Did he have any idea how bad this would make Akainu look?

There's a tug on his hand. His transponder snail is trying to escape the flames encapsulating the desk but is being held back by the receiver still in his grasp. 

… It would be inconvenient to have to make a trip just to acquire a new one. 

Akainu picks up the snail and drops it onto a nearby shelf. He stares at the burning desk with apathy. Was there anything important in it? Probably not. Some paperwork at most.

Glass cracks and then shatters loudly. His eyes dart over to the source of the noise. A framed photo of you that was taken after your recent promotion to Commodore. Oh, shit! He lurches forward to try and salvage it, but he's too late. The picture singes and curls in his hands as flames consume it. 

Your emotionless face distorts, then vanishes as it's reduced to a pile of ash. 

—

Everyone had left the room upon Whitebeard's request to do so. Now it was just him, the transponder snail, and whoever was on the other side of this transmission. 

Whitebeard situates himself comfortably and speaks in the commanding voice expected of someone of his status, “We're alone now. You can speak.”

There's a beat of silence, then a stern but feminine voice comes through, “Captain Whitebeard. I appreciate you agreeing to speak with me regarding this urgent matter.”

“It isn’t often that someone from Totto Land wants to speak to me. May I know whom I'm speaking to?” He was running all of the voices of Big Mom's children that he knew through his head, but none of them were a match. It could be one of her daughters that he hadn't met before, or maybe his memory simply wasn't as sharp as it used to be. 

“You may have heard of me under the alias of Ms. Edmonds. I used to work with various pirates by giving them insider information on the Marines, but I've worked exclusively with Charlotte Linlin for some time now.”

Whitebeard had heard the name floating around several years back. A former disgraced marine turned informant, either out of spite or genuine necessity based on who you asked. The question still stood on why she was so insistent on getting in contact with him, and what exactly his most recent addition to the ship had to do with it.

“Is (Y/N) still aboard your ship?” Her voice had a noticeable tinge of desperation to it. 

His arms cross over his chest and he leans back in his chair. “They are. They’re on the deck with my sons as we speak.”

A loud sigh of relief comes from Ms. Edmonds. Seemingly encouraged by his response, she begins speaking at a fast pace, “Whitebeard, I must implore you to not return (Y/N) to Marine custody. I am prepared to pay whatever ransom you deem necessary. Treasure, medicine, I could even connect you with new potential crew members. Just name it, and I will make it happen.”

“I have already decided that (Y/N) won’t be going back to the Marines.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, then a quiet, “Huh?”

“(Y/N) made it clear that they didn’t want to go back. I’m not in the business of forcing people to do things against their will, much less a child.” Whitebeard leaves the explanation vague. Ms. Edmonds hasn’t shown her hand yet, so he has no reason to either. She’s given him no reason to divulge precisely why he’s made the decision that he has. “What I want right now is to know why you are so invested in that child. I take it Big Mom is interested in them?”

A few theories are swirling in his mind, but one was especially prominent. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if Big Mom was interested in getting a turn using you as a bargaining chip. Linlin loved having leverage over others, and she no doubt knew that she could get a lot out of having you in her custody. 

If that is the case, she is going to be sorely disappointed. He has zero intention of putting you in harm's way or triggering another attempt. You aren't going anywhere.

There is a lengthy pause as Ms. Edmonds mulls over her next words, and Whitebeard doesn't rush her. 

She lets out a deep breath, then finally breaks the silence, “I'm their mother. I'm sure you've heard the… unsavory rumors about me. I was dishonorably discharged when the affair I was having with my superior came to light after I discovered I was pregnant during a medical exam.”

A bitter chuckle comes through the connection, “They raked me over the coals. Called me every name in the book and told me I had no right to my own child. They took (Y/N) from me the second they were born. I've never so much as held them.”

None of this had been what Whitebeard had been anticipating. Her story was extreme, so much so that he was dubious of how honest she was being. Especially since she had yet to give a real name. “Do you have any proof for this story?”

“I do.” Her words are firm and confident, “I managed to snag my file before I was thrown out on my ass. It includes details about everything I described to you. It will be under the name of Portgas D. Louise, and I can send it over to you right now if you will let me.”

Whitebeard wasn’t sure which struck him harder. Her having the same surname as his son, Ace, or the fact that she just admitted to having the Will of D. And if this tale turns out true, that would imply that you do as well. If he had to guess, you didn’t even know this about yourself.

This situation is becoming increasingly complicated by the second. It’s an insane story, but something in him is telling him that it’s true. He concedes, “Yes, I would appreciate it if you could send it to me at your earliest convenience.”

The woman, who he now knows to be Louise, can be heard shouting orders to mail the file to Whitebeard right away. The voice of the other person is too far away to be made out, but he does pick up on the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Thank you so much for being willing to entertain this. If it’s not too much to ask, I have another favor to request from you.” Louise’s voice is tentative as she asks.

“Go ahead.” Whitebeard can about guess what she’s after.

“I need to see my child. It may have been a bit presumptuous, but I have already begun preparations of a ship to make the voyage to get to yours. Can I trust that I will have your continued cooperation and that I’ll be allowed entry onto your ship?”

Whitebeard lets the question hang in the air as he thinks it over. It will likely be a few days before the evidence gets to him, but if Louise is coming all the way from Totto Land, there will be a wide margin of time for him to lose them if the proof proves itself to be illegitimate. He nods to himself and answers, “Yes, you will have our continued cooperation so long as the evidence confirms your story.”

She lets out a loud sigh of relief, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Think nothing of it.” At this point, he had as much of an interest in seeing this woman as she did in seeing her child.

Just as he was planning to end the communication, Louise speaks up again, “... How is (Y/N)? Are they well?” Ah. He had admittedly been hoping to avoid this question. He pauses to try and gather his thoughts, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Her voice takes on a more urgent tone, “What’s wrong? Are they hurt?”

“Not physically… but I’m not sure that I can say that they are well, either.”

Louise urges him again, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s upsetting.”

That gives her pause, but she presses on, “My life has been upsetting. Tell me what’s going on with (Y/N). I’m their mother, I have the right to know.”

“Very well,” Whitebeard relents. He takes a moment to attempt to find the most delicate way to say what he needed to, but there simply isn’t a nice way of putting it. He’s just going to have to come right out and say it. “When we were still planning on trading (Y/N) for safe passage to and from an island, they became despondent. After they were told that they would be back with their father soon, they went into a panic. They managed to wrestle a knife away from someone… and then they attempted to end their life.”

Silence. He can’t even make out the sound of her breathing anymore. After a few seconds, he hears some shuffling and the flick of a lighter, followed by a long inhale. She exhales shakily, and her voice tremors just as much, “How hurt are they?”

“Ace caught the blade before they could do any damage. They are unharmed, and we have them under a constant watch to ensure it stays that way. (Y/N) is in good hands, I can promise you that much.”

“Ace…” Louise mumbles something under her breath that he can’t quite make out. She clears her voice. “Okay. Thank you for informing me. I need to leave to assist with preparations for our ship. I’ll be in contact with you later.”

He reaches forward to terminate the call, but she interrupts him, “Oh, one more thing. I don’t want you to tell (Y/N) that I’m coming. I don’t know what- if anything- they’ve been told about me. I would prefer to be there to plead my case in person rather than letting them stew in whatever Akainu has told them about me.”

The call comes to an end before he even has a chance to respond. She apparently had a good deal of faith that he would honor that request. Which she wasn’t wrong about. He would. You already had too much on your mind as it stands, he didn’t need to be adding more to your plate. The transponder snail’s eyes shut, and it promptly retreats back into its shell for a much needed nap after the lengthy back and forth. 

Whitebeard leans back in his seat to take in everything that he just heard. While he still wanted to see the proof for himself, he already felt certain that Louise was telling the truth about who she was in relation to you. Frankly, the bigger question to him was who she was to Ace. 

And what Big Mom was hoping to get out of this.

—

There have been many complicated hurdles in your life. Brutal training sessions, unforgiving missions, merciless foes, but now you’re facing a whole new beast.

Boredom.

Due to how heavily structured your life was as a marine, you were never left wondering what you should do. Everything was already pre-established ahead of time, and there wasn’t a single second that was unaccounted for. So what were you supposed to do when that schedule was ripped away from you?

During those few weeks on the run, you had been away from your usual routine, but you were kept plenty busy with surviving and making sure your path would be an untraceable one. But now? Now you have nothing to do, and it’s driving you crazy!

It’s been two days since your capture by the Whitebeard pirates, and it has been a wild ride. 

Marco returned last night  with the medication they used you as leverage to get. True to Elise’s word, he did not proceed to immediately drag you back to the Marines. Instead, what followed was a private interrogation between you and him where he asked you all sorts of invasive questions.

At first they were pretty tame. Have you eaten? How much? What has your sleep schedule been like recently? Then it started to get more uncomfortable. Do you have a history with depression? Do you often find yourself feeling anxious?

And then he asked the question that you knew was coming. Are you having any thoughts of self harm or suicide?

All of your answers were short. This wasn’t an exchange that you wanted to entertain. You gave vague answers where you could, and outright lied when you couldn’t. None of this was any of his damn business. And what the hell kinds of questions were these? Do you have a history of depression? As if you could have done everything you did as a marine if you were depressed and anxious. How absurd.

And self harm? Please. Akainu harmed you plenty. Why would you do more than that unless it was to end it all? Of course, you still had the desire to do just that, but there was no opportunity to. These people were watching you constantly.

There was a rotation of nurses that stayed up to watch you as you slept all night. If you wanted to go to the bathroom, someone had to be with you. A humiliating experience, but at least the nurses had the decency to turn their back. You declined to bathe last night because of that whole experience. You did not want to be completely naked around these people. Fuck that noise.

Ever since your release from the confines of the medical gurney, you’ve been hovering around the nurses. You didn’t exactly trust them, but they felt safer to be around than any of the pirates. In an attempt to stave off your boredom, you’ve taken to helping the nursing staff out. Cleaning medical equipment, organizing supplies, washing laundry for the infirmary. It kept you busy last night and into the morning, but they eventually ran out of things for you to do and even went so far as to shoo you out of the infirmary with orders to “relax already”, whatever that meant.

Ah, yes. You’re just going to kick back and chill out around a bunch of savage pirates that hunt your kind for sport. Who wouldn’t do that? What a silly goose you are for your apprehensions! 

Much like yesterday, all of the pirates were being weird as all hell. The act they had going on yesterday was still in full swing. They were all pretending to be friendly with you and drag you into their games and hobbies to lower your guard. Thatch tried luring you into the kitchen under the guise of showing you how to make bread. You declined. His division had probably been lying in wait to stab you to death with kitchen knives. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. You’d much rather die by your hand than theirs, thank you very much.

The rest of the crew followed suit. Izou tried waving you over when he was making tea. A group of them tried to get you to join them in fishing over the side of the ship. Ace attempted to get you to play a game of cards with him. Admittedly, you had almost agreed to that one just to distract yourself, but you held strong.

Presently, you were sitting against the railing, staring blankly up at the sky while absent-mindedly fiddling with the seastone cuff on your wrist. Marco hadn’t taken it off. Your lackluster response to his questions were probably to thank for that. At least the IV was removed. You’d been anticipating a rush of energy and increased alertness now that there wasn’t a steady stream of presumed sedatives flowing into you, but that had yet to come. You felt just as aloof as you were. You suppose that the seastone exposure was preventing you from fully recovering.

This location choice of yours seemingly had the pirates on edge. You were still being watched closely, that much was obvious. As soon as you approached the taffrail, Namur abruptly declared that he was going for a swim. So killing yourself by diving over the edge was a no-go.

“You look bored.”

There went your peace and solitude. You look over to your left to find a Division Commander looming over you with a smile on his face. It goes to show how desensitized you’ve become that all you felt in response to a clear threat was annoyance. 

Swift-Saber Haruta. You’ve seen his face on wanted posters, and you recall him being in the crowd yesterday, but this is your first time interacting with him directly. You aren’t interested in making a good first impression. You scowl at him, “What the hell do you want?”

It does nothing to dissuade him. He laughs and hops up onto the railing, “You sound like Ace when he first got here.”

“Don’t compare me to some damned pirate.” You scoff at the observation. How insulting.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your marine pride,” his mocking tone indicated that he was anything but.

That word bothers you, too. You huff and bring your knees to your chest while mumbling, “Don’t call me that…”

“What? Are you not a marine?”

“Not anymore.” Those days were long behind you. Arguably, you never really were a marine. Not in spirit. Not in the way that someone like Garp was. You never had the passion, the drive. You put in the effort, but it was just an obligation to you. A job that you were forced to do under duress of what would happen to you if you dared to underperform.

“Oh?” Haruta inches closer to you on the rail, “You want to elaborate on that?”

“Not at all, thanks.” You lean against the bars of the railing again and close your eyes, hoping that he’ll take the hint and leave.

That doesn’t happen. Haruta lightly nudges you with his leg, “Okay, well if you don’t want to do that, how about sparring?”

“What?” Did you mishear him? Your eyes open, then narrow at him.

“Vista’s usually the one I spar with, but he’s busy, so I was wondering if you wanted to take his place?” He looks to you, and when all you do is stare at him in confusion, he continues, “You don’t have to, I just thought you might want something to do. It’s your call.”

Sparring with a pirate would be a horrible idea. Suicidal, really. Lucky for him, that’s exactly what you are. You feign confliction, then sigh, “Sure, fine. Why not?”

“Great!” Haruta drops down from the railing and holds a hand out to you. You ignore it and stand up on your own. If he’s insulted by the display, he masks it well. He nods his head to the side, “The room we use for sparring is just over there, follow me.”

You trail behind him slowly in an effort to look casual and not like you’re planning to grab the first weapon you can get ahold of and use it on yourself. He doesn’t appear to be monitoring you as closely as the others. If you make it quick, you should be able to succeed. 

As soon as you’re inside the sparring room, your mood sours. There are weapons here, but they’re all wood. Fuck. Taking yourself out via bluntforce trauma isn’t technically an impossible feat, but it would be difficult to do quick enough to be effective. You’ll either be stopped before you’re done, or you’ll just knock yourself out and have nothing more than a splitting headache to show for it.

Should you leave? You don’t really want to be here anymore.

“Any preference?” Haruta is standing by a wall lined with wooden swords.

… Well, this does beat being bored. You sigh and join him by the wall, “My specialty is hand to hand combat, but I’m well versed in many weapons.” You grab the nearest sword, one designed to resemble a cutlass. Standard issue for marines. It’s one of the first weapons you learned to use.

“Works for me.” Haruta picks up a wooden sword of his own and walks to the center of the room, “I’ll go easy on you since you’ve still got that cuff on you.”

You scoff, “Don’t you dare. I’m just as capable with this thing on as I am otherwise.” That was a boldfaced lie. You’ve been lethargic ever since it was slapped onto your wrist. But your pride couldn’t handle being seen as weak regardless of whether or not you had what could be considered a valid excuse.

The attempt to talk tough fell flat. Haruta chuckles at your response. “How feisty, you really are like Ace. Are you sure you two aren’t related?”

“Keep talking like that. See where it gets you.” You meet him in the center of the room and raise your sword into a front guard.

Haruta raises his sword, but when he fails to make the first move, you lunge at him and thrust the sword toward his chest. He easily parries and sheds the attack, then advances toward you with a strike of his own. A clean and beautifully executed riposte that has you retreating. 

His smile remains, “You’re only making my case for me by talking like that, you know?”

“Shut up.” Such a witty retort. You’re really bringing your A game here. You guard yourself against an onslaught of attacks from your opponent. Much to your chagrin, you can tell that he’s holding back. This slow speed is nowhere near what you’ve heard he’s capable of, yet you find yourself struggling to hold your own regardless.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “What? I like to talk when I’m sparring. Give me something else to focus on if you don’t like the subject.”

You feint an attack to the left, then strike from the right, making him step back and successfully regaining some ground. Sparring has never been a social affair for you, but you’d rather entertain his request than continue being subjected to him spouting off his inane observations and speculations over your heritage.

Conversational skills have never been your forte. What do people usually talk about? The weather? Themselves? You pick the latter and run with it, “How did you end up among pirates? According to your file, you used to be a prince. That’s quite the dramatic career shift.”

Haruta brings his free hand to his face and closes his eyes, “Aww, you’ve been keeping tabs on little old me?” Despite his eyes being shut, he was still expertly deflecting your attacks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. The Marines keep tabs on all pirates, especially when they’re associated with an Emperor.” You charge forward to try and overwhelm him, but he disengages you with a circle parry and sends you stumbling back. Damn it all, he’s making a fool out of you! You grit your teeth and correct your stance, “Are you going to answer my question, or are you going to deflect that, too?”

“Temper, temper!” He laughs and backs off slightly, which only enrages you further. He isn’t taking you seriously at all. “I will answer it, so hold your horses. And straighten your feet while you’re at it, you’re going to trip over them again.”

This fucker. You straighten your feet, furious that he was right about your footwork being off. Your strikes become more aggressive, but your foe remains unphased. “Did you leave to become a criminal out of boredom? Were you too good for your cushy lifestyle?”

“Eh, something like that,” Haruta stands his ground, blocking each attack with a practiced ease, “but it had more to do with my father.”

That answer wasn’t what you had been expecting. “What? Did he make you leave?” That didn’t line up with the file. The king had put in a request to the Marines the day Haruta vanished, so it would seem that he did want the prince around. He wouldn’t have offered up such a handsome reward for his capture otherwise.

Haruta shrugs, “In a sense, I suppose.” He begins countering your attacks again. “He kept saying that I wasn’t doing enough. No matter what I did, he had a problem with it. My sword fighting skills weren’t good enough, my academics weren’t good enough, my etiquette around the other nobles wasn’t good enough, nothing was. So, since I was such a disgrace in his eyes, I did him a favor and left.”

A pang of familiarity thrums through you. Memories of Akainu criticizing, but never complimenting reared their ugly head. You didn’t appreciate the reminder.

He frowns and rolls his eyes exasperatedly, “And you would think that he’d appreciate that, but no! He got mad about that, too. There’s just no pleasing some people, am I right?”

That was painfully true. It made you feel strange to hear such a sentiment from a pirate. Since when were pirates relatable? You shake your head and throw yourself back into the match. You don’t want to dwell on that, “So did Whitebeard immediately pick you up like some sort of posh stray?”

“Ha, no! I was on my own for a while after that. Around a year, I think? I got by as a bounty hunter, and that worked pretty well for me.” He retreats in small steps as he takes your flurry of attacks. “But then I got a little too big for my breeches. I got greedy and thought for sure that I could take on one of these guys. Thatch seemed like easy pickings. I thought, oh, he’s just a chef, how tough can he be?”

Your swords clash again, and he holds strong as you put your full weight into trying to make him budge. He continues speaking as if this wasn’t a strain on him in the slightest, “As it turns out: very tough. He made a fool out of me and had me disarmed and on my ass in a matter of seconds.”

Haruta pivots sharply, and the sudden absence of resistance sends you tumbling forward. Your arms flail as your torso tips forward in a desperate effort to regain balance. It works, and you right yourself and whip around, visibly frazzled. Your combatant chuckles, “I bet I looked a lot like you do right now.”

Bastard. Why must he insist on comparing you to pirates? You scramble to correct your stance. He lets you, which has you feeling more angry than grateful. You were nothing more than a joke to him. You lunge forward and cut down at him, but he easily avoids it with a fade.

“Your story doesn’t make any sense,” you all but snarl at him. “I asked you how you ended up with the Whitebeard’s, and you tell me a tale of trying to kill one of them. You wouldn’t be here if that was true.”

“Come now, do you really think me a liar? You wound me.” Oh, how you wish you could! Calling his previous move a fade had been a mistake on your end, he quickly revealed it to be an empty one when he leapt forward again. You just barely manage to parry it in time. “I’m telling the truth! After my humiliating defeat, pops offered to let me become his son. 

“I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Like you said, it didn’t make sense. He just saw me lose a fight spectacularly after trying to take the head of one of his sons, yet he wanted to keep me around? I thought for sure that it was some cruel joke or a plot to finish me off.” Haruta kept yapping carelessly, yet you couldn’t find a single opening. If you could just rip this fucking cuff off, you would be able to make him take you seriously, you’re sure of it!

“I acquiesced, but more so out of a morbid sense of curiosity than anything. For weeks I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Weeks turned to months, and now I’ve been here for years.”

This story was so baffling that you stopped just to stare at him, “And they just… let you? They were okay with what you did?”

Haruta lightly taps your sword to get you back in the game. Akainu would have taken such an opportunity to show you what exactly happens to someone when they lose focus like that. You’ve got scars for making that mistake around him. Why didn’t this pirate add to your collection of marks?

While you’re floundering in internal confusion, Haruta carries on, entirely unbothered, “I mean, I guess so? One attempt on Thatch was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Ace tried to kill pops like a hundred times, and he’s still here.”

“He fucking what?”

Rather than calling your attention back to the fight, your opponent exploits your shock. Before you can even blink, he hooks his sword around yours and breaks it from your grasp. Your weapon is sent clattering across the floor, and you fall down with it. The thin mat on the floor does little to cushion your fall, but it’s not too bad. Nothing you can’t walk off. Your pride is infinitely more bruised by this than you are.

There’s a gentle tap of cool wood on your sweat dampened neck, “Looks like I won this round.” You glance up and find Haruta grinning down at you. “You aren’t bad, but you could use some more practice. I’m guessing you didn’t keep up with sword fighting much since you prefer hand to hand, right?”

“Something like that…” It was exactly like that. Upon reflection, you’d only ever been shown the basics of other weaponry. Hand to hand combat was the only thing that you ever trained in consistently since that was also what Akainu favored. Your skill level in any weapon that wasn’t yourself simply couldn’t hold a candle to a real master.

A hand is held out to you. Haruta had a relaxed smile on his face as he waited to see what you would do. It was a stark contrast to the rage that would be plastered over Akainu’s face when you collapsed. Akainu would yell at you for the pathetic display. Akainu would kick you across the room if you didn’t get up fast enough, not caring if a rib or two was cracked in the process.

But Haruta wanted to help you to your feet.

You take his hand, and it proves itself to not be a trick. He pulls you into a standing position without incident. That doesn’t prevent you from taking a step back after he does. You aren’t about to be too lax around him.

“That was fun!” Haruta is practically beaming. It’s unclear why. You know damn well that you didn’t pose any real challenge to him. What was a full body workout for you was little more than a warmup for him. “Same time tomorrow?”

He… wants to do this again? He wants to spar with you more? Well, referring to this session as sparring was generous. He no doubt had to have felt as if he had taken on the role of a teacher, and with a very unimpressive student at that.. There was absolutely nothing for him to gain from engaging with you in this way. Yet he wanted to.

“... Sure.” You avert your eyes and pick at your nails. “If I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Excellent! I look forward to it!” Haruta slings an arm over your shoulder and brings you into his side as he makes way for the exit. You’re forced to walk awkwardly alongside him.

What the hell was he doing? You squirm against him, “Knock that off. I can’t walk with you holding onto me like this.”

Rather than relinquishing you, his arm tightens. One of his hands pinches your cheek as he speaks in a taunting tone, “You can’t? Ah, well, I suppose that isn’t too surprising. You could barely walk straight when we were sparring.”

“You asshole-” You flail in his grasp and manage to shove him away. You choose to tell yourself that it was because you overpowered him, and not because he let you.

Haruta laughs at your agitation, no remorse in sight. Piece of shit. How dare he? You storm away from him in a huff, eager to get the hell out of this room and away from him. When you look up at the door, you find it cracked open with several heads peeking through.

Ace, Marco, and Elise are all blatantly spying on you. How long have they been there? How much of that did they see? Your face heats up and you snap at them, “What are you three looking at?! Go away!”

Nonsense. This day was utterly ridiculous!

Taglist: @twotrucksinatree @tigerstarstorm @mu5hro0m @brooks-real @one-piecelover @ratchetprime211 @ithoughtthinks @simpfor2dpeoole @vinillies @selfindulgenceisthekey @deleted-1-800 @weirdothatreads @eravariety @qhevy

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday Shana!!!! 🎉🎉🎉 I’m having my yearly reread of siat and would love a little old domestic dads Remus x Sirius?

Sirius is half awake, gripping onto his morning cup of coffee for dear life while Remus reads the paper across from him, significantly more awake. It's a curse that Remus won't even let them sleep in during the the holiday break.

There's a sound not unlike a what he imagines a charging heard of hippogriff's would sound like and then the kitchen door bangs open and reheaded children pour into the kitchen, Harry and Hermione's dark heads the only exceptions.

"That's a terrible idea," Charlie says, but in a tone of voice that implies he's intrigued. He'd probably protest being included being grouped into the category of children, considering he's only eleven years younger than him and Remus.

"Can you please not tell me about these things? Ignoring all of Dad's illegal activities is enough, I don't want to add," Percy says crankily.

Tonks, her hair more reminiscent of a muggle fire truck than anything else, rolls her eyes in a way that only a metamorphagus can. "At least you have a heads up."

"I don't want a heads up," he insists. "I don't want to know about it at all."

"That's not what you said when were at school," Fred or George says. "You always complained about our pranks!"

"Because he had to clean up after them and you always tanked the house points," Bill says, walking through the door with Fleur a moment later.

Hermione sticks her entire upper body into the fridge and starts pulling out plates of steaming muffins. "As a prefect, I tell them not to get caught personally. Best of both worlds."

"Good advice, I think," Ron says, grabbing plates from Hermione and handing them to Ginny and Harry.

Sirius still has no idea what they're talking about. He looks over to Remus, who's looking at them all over the top of his paper with a smile on his face that's at least half the reason Sirius fell in love with him.

[sai-int]

I cannot get the image of rts!simon jerking off in his cell after he read her letter, and fantasizing about her; the way her letter like brought him back to life in a way and how much he thought about her while he was in prison

hope you enjoy this! sorry this took so long, i have no excuse except for the fact that I’ve just been living life and stuff.

sad to announce that this will be my last addition to the sent for you universe! thank you all for joining me on this ride. i figured this ask would be the perfect way to pull everything together, full circle.

he’d gotten dozens of letters since they locked him up.

half from strangers, half from sick little admirers. girls who wanted a piece of the infamous man behind the mask. some sent polaroids—sprawled out in front of grimy bathroom mirrors, tits pressed together under cheap lace, branding his name on their skin like they knew him.

and sure, it was flattering in the most hollow of ways. he’d had a wank to a few in the early weeks—why not? tits are tits when you’re caged up like an animal.

but none of it stuck. none of it felt like anything worthwhile.

—oh, but then your letter came.

no name he recognized. no perfume soaked into the envelope, no photo curled inside. nothing flashy. just folded notebook paper. just ink. just you.

and it gutted him.

because you didn’t offer yourself up like meat. you didn’t coo over his reputation or articulate lewd fantasies about the size of his cock. you just wrote to him. told him you didn’t know why you felt so drawn. that you thought of him sometimes.

with only your name scrawled at the bottom—no face, no body, no tits. just a ghost of a girl who somehow felt realer than anything he’d touched in his life.

he sat there on the creaky mattress—bare, worn, thin as paper—just holding it. reading it. rereading it. by the third pass, his body was thrumming—alive and electric, like a starving shark catching a single drop of blood from miles away, instincts firing before thought could catch up.

he swore he could smell your skin on the paper. feel the heat of your palm in the swirls of your e’s, the curve of your hips in the dips of your b’s.

—like he could map you—follow the ink like a trail of fingerprints, sketch your breathless little sighs between each space, each line.

then you mentioned it. soft. offhand.

“…i’ve never even been with someone before. not really. it’s not like i don’t want to… just gets harder as you get older, i guess..”

he read that line and shook.

a virgin. sweet little thing. untouched. writing him.

“big, bad ghost,”

he could’ve fucking howled.

his cock stirred in his scratchy, prison-issued sweats before he even realized it. slow and aching, the way blood rushes back to a numbed limb. not just aroused. not just needy. but possessive. like the idea of you letting anyone else take that part of you was suddenly offensive.

he tipped his head back against the pillow, teeth gritted, one hand slipping beneath the waistband while the other clenched the letter in a death grip.

his palm dragged over the stiff peak of his cock—tip slick already, hot to the touch—and he groaned into the fabric. low. animal.

he imagined your legs spread over clean bedsheets, your hand shaking as you wrote that line. wondered if you had regretted it, if touched yourself after, sweet and tentative, thinking of him.

the strokes of his fist sped up. the letter crumpling in his tightening fist.

he could see you now—eyes soft, mouth parted, hips shifting under your own touch, whispering his name like a secret. like a sin.

that thought broke him.

his hips jerked. breath hitched. and when he finally came, it was with his forehead pressed to the pillow, choking back a guttural moan, hot, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your pretty words, mixing with the ink you left there as he whispered your name like prayer.

he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the letter. not for hours.

folded it. slid it beneath his mattress like scripture.

he didn’t care if he was covered in his spend—he couldn’t throw away something so precious.

when the nights got cold, he’d reach for it like warmth.

because you weren’t a fantasy or a pair of tits, you were real.

and he was dead set on making you his.

[idkyetxoxo]

Thirteen | Until You | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2k

Warnings - Mentions of trauma

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It was another one of those nights. The kind where the darkness behind my eyelids twisted and curled into restless shapes, where sleep hovered just beyond my reach, taunting and elusive.

With a soft huff, I threw back the silken sheets tangled around my legs and eased myself out of bed. 

The air carried a crisp chill, brushing cool fingers over my bare skin but I welcomed it. It felt more honest than the suffocating warmth of my tangled dreams.

Wrapping my arms around myself, fingers brushing the thin fabric of my nightgown, I padded barefoot across the room. The quiet slap of skin against polished floors was the only sound, save for the soft sigh of the wind against the windows. 

The silver glow of the moon and the faint pulse of a lone faelight were enough to guide me.

The library was a sanctuary, even now. Especially now. I slipped inside, the scent of old paper and cedarwood curling around me, familiar and soothing. 

My steps led me, almost on their own, to the wide window seat overlooking the Sidra, its waters glistening like molten glass beneath the moon.

I settled into the cushions, curling my legs beneath me, and reached for the worn book resting on the windowsill. 

My book. The one Azriel had found for me, replacing the precious copy Daeron had so carelessly thrown into the fire. My fingers brushed the battered spine with reverence before I cracked it open to the page I had last left off.

I knew these words by heart now, each line memorised like a prayer. But still, I tried. Still, I wanted to lose myself in them.

Only... the words blurred. Slipped through the sieve of my mind. I found myself rereading the same sentence again and again, unable to anchor myself to the story.

A soft creak drew my attention to the door.

I lifted my head, heart snagging painfully for a moment, only to see Azriel slipping inside, a book cradled loosely in one hand. 

His shadows, those living wisps of darkness split away from him the moment he crossed the threshold, as if drawn to me instead. They brushed against my hair, curled around my arms, their caresses feather-light and tender, as if trying to soothe the unrest stitched into my bones.

"Can't sleep?" I whispered, my voice barely more than breath.

Azriel shook his head once, a silent admission and without a word, crossed the room. There was an empty chair not far from me but he didn't spare it a glance. 

Graceful and quiet as a falling leaf, he sank down onto the floor beside the window seat, his shoulder brushing lightly against the curve of my bent knee.

He opened his own book, the soft crackle of pages shifting breaking the heavy hush between us. 

For a long moment, I just watched him—watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his high cheeks under the moonlight.

He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't call attention to it.

I turned back to my book, the weight of him, his presence, anchoring me at last. The words began to stitch themselves together in my mind again, slow but sure.

His hair brushed lightly against my bare calf as he adjusted his position, the accidental contact sending a quiet warmth blooming through me, a tether pulling me back from the spiralling loneliness.

The question fell from my lips before I could stop it, soft and broken and desperate.

"Why are you always there when I break?"

I didn't know if it truly was a question or if it was a confession. Maybe both. Maybe neither. All I knew was that I needed to know. Needed to hear him say it.

His eyes lifted from his book. In the pale light, they looked almost endless, fathomless, with something unspoken.

His voice was rough velvet when he answered, low enough that only I could hear it.

"Because you were there after I shattered."

The silence between us stretched, heavy with meaning, until it cracked open, spilling out the things I had buried too deep for too long.

"I..." My voice wavered. I swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the fabric of my nightgown. He waited, silent and steady, his presence a quiet offering.

"I think about it sometimes," I said, staring out at the river, the words coming slow, halting. "What he did. What Daeron took from me."

Azriel didn't interrupt. He only shifted slightly closer, his knee brushing against the side of my hip, a solid, grounding touch.

I drew in a shaky breath. 

"He didn't just hurt me," I whispered. "He made me believe I was weak. That I was... powerless." I paused, shame licking up my spine. "And he was right. I can still feel the power inside me, Az—like an ember trapped under glass but I can't touch it. I can't use it."

The confession hung between us, raw and aching. My throat tightened.

"For so long, I thought it was because I wasn't strong enough. That I wasn't enough."

Azriel's hands, scarred, calloused and sure, curled into fists against the floorboards. His jaw ticked once—twice, as he struggled to contain the storm building inside him.

"It's not you," he said, voice low, rough with barely contained fury. "It's never been you."

I blinked down at him, stunned by the fierce conviction in his tone.

His eyes found mine, burning. "He drugged you," he said, each word clipped and shaking. "Years of faebane in your system, poisoning you. Dulling your magic. Making you think it was your failure when it was his cruelty."

There was a wildness in his gaze, a quiet rage that he fought to keep chained down—for me.

"I didn't know," I whispered, shame and grief and bitter relief tangling inside me.

"Of course you didn't," he said, softer now, voice breaking like the tide.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and he caught it with a knuckle before it could fall further, his touch reverent.

"I want to learn again," I said fiercely, the words spilling out of me before I could think. "I want to feel it, control it—I want it all back. I want to be me again."

His lips curved, not into a smile, but something deeper. A vow.

"Then I'll be there with you," he said simply. "Every step. Every stumble. Every triumph."

The knot in my chest, the one that had been there for years, loosened a little. The hope was small and fragile but it was real.

"Thank you," I whispered, the words trembling out of me, because how else could I possibly say it? How could I not?

But Azriel only shook his head, a quiet vehemence in the gesture.

"No," he said, voice a rasp against the night. "Don't thank me. Not for this."

"I should," I insisted, wiping at another tear. "I should."

His hand closed gently around my wrist, halting the motion. Holding me still. Holding me together.

"You saved me," he said, voice breaking on the edges. "The first day you came down those stairs, when no one else dared to look at me—you kissed my ruined hands like they mattered. Like I mattered."

A breath shuddered out of him, and he leaned his forehead against my knee, the contact soft, desperate.

"You don't owe me anything," he murmured against my skin. "Not when you've already given me everything."

I combed my fingers gently through his hair, feeling the way he leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Saved and saving. Broken and healing. Him and I.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The world narrowed to the soft brush of my fingers in his hair and the way he clung to my presence like a lifeline.

"I didn't know," I whispered eventually, voice cracking in the quiet. "I didn't know it meant that much to you."

He stayed where he was, forehead pressed lightly to my knee but I felt the way his shoulders tightened, the way a breath shuddered out of him before he finally spoke.

"It meant everything," he said simply.

I stared down at him, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "It was... it was nothing. You were hurting and no one..." I shook my head, throat too tight for a moment. "No one should ever feel that alone."

He turned his head slightly, enough to look up at me, his eyes dark and shining in the faint light.

"I was alone," he said quietly. "Until you."

The honesty in his voice hit me harder than any blow. As if all the pieces of him, the ones hidden behind shadows and silence were laid bare before me. And he trusted me enough to show them.

"I didn't do anything special," I said, the words tumbling out desperately.

"You didn't have to." His voice was low, reverent. "You saw me when I thought I was invisible. You touched me when I believed I was untouchable." 

His mouth twisted into a bitter smile, barely there. "You made me feel... alive again."

A tear slipped free before I could stop it, tracing a hot path down my cheek. Azriel's gaze followed it, but he didn't move to wipe it away this time. He let me have that moment, let me feel it.

"I didn't know," I whispered again, brokenly.

"You weren't supposed to know," he said softly. "You did it without expecting anything back. Without needing to."

I closed my eyes, pressing my palm gently against the back of his head, holding him there, close. "You would've done the same for me."

"I would tear apart the world for you," he said, fierce and low. "But you... you saved me with nothing but your kindness."

A silence settled again, heavier now, but not painful. Full of the things we couldn't say and the things we finally could.

"I was just trying to be your friend," I said, voice thick.

"You were," Azriel agreed, his mouth brushing the skin of my knee with the barest hint of contact. "And a friend was more than anyone had offered me in a long, long time."

I ran my fingers through his hair again, slower this time, memorising the way it felt, the way he felt.

And somewhere between the slow dance of heartbeats and the drifting hush of the Sidra against its banks beyond the window, sleep began to tug at me. 

It crept in carefully, like it didn't want to scare me away. 

It draped itself over my weary body, soft and insistent, until finally, even against the lingering fear that something might shatter if I closed my eyes—I gave in.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time melted into something soft and meaningless.

Azriel remained where he was, watching over me. His shadows drifted around us in a slow, contented swirl, like even they had found peace here. 

He listened to the steady rise and fall of my breathing, the way my body finally relaxed into something close to safety.

He didn't move for a long time, reluctant to disturb even a thread of the moment.

Eventually, sleep caught him too, weaving its quiet spell. He slid into unconsciousness right there at my feet, his head resting lightly against the side of the window seat, one hand still loosely curled near the hem of my nightgown. He didn't mind the hard floor beneath him. 

In truth, it was probably the best sleep he had found in years.

When morning came, pale gold light slipped through the curtains, painting the room in a soft, forgiving glow.

I stirred, blinking blearily into the new day. The space beside me was empty, Azriel was gone.

My muscles ached from the awkward position I'd fallen asleep in, and I stretched gingerly, feeling each vertebra protest the movement. 

A blanket, warm and worn soft with use, had been wrapped tenderly around my body during the night—no doubt by him.

A small, involuntary smile touched my lips.

Carefully, I lifted my book from where it had fallen against my lap. And as I did, something caught my eye—a slip of paper, small and unassuming, poking out from between the pages I had abandoned the night before.

Curious, I plucked it free, smoothing it between my fingers. The handwriting scrawled across it was immediately familiar—elegant, sharp, unmistakably his.

My smile deepened, even as my throat tightened around the sudden, overwhelming swell of emotion.

The note read simply,

"Come back to the world little star, it misses you." 

A/n - A full part of just Az and reader—we love to see it!

While it was about both of their traumas, I kept readers perspective brief because I wanted to completely focus on Az. To show how their bond/dynamic formed, and just how deeply he loves and cares for her <3

I think it's the shortest part so far but I didn’t want to add anything more. It felt right to have just the two of them, finally having an honest moment after everything.

Only two more parts left now... I’m so excited to share them, but also a little sad that it’s almost over.

As always, let me know what you thought (I know I sound like a broken record but I really do love hearing from you) thank you for reading :)

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope @lreadsstuff @urfunnyvalentin3 @dnfhascorruptedme @lovejbaby @fxckmiup

[qinche-cvmslvt]

Forbidden

Content Warning: NSFW, SMUT, Emotional Sex, Paranoia, Breaking down. Professor Sylus, Rafayel, Friendships.

Tag List: @daddysyluslittlekitten @aikonecrosis @mcdepressed290 @harutogf @kiss-the-universe @zozoparsnips @nchant6dkitty @aneertawrites @ikesimpleton @rorel1a @roselynviee

A/N: “Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”— Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Chapter 12: Last Thread

The shift was subtle at first. It started with the small things, almost meaningless if it weren’t for who he was. If he hadn’t spent the last few months memorising everything about you and watching you with a kind of reverence that turned every habit, every pause and every breath into scripture.

The first morning it was your voice. It was still soft and sweet but it was quicker now, and sharper. In class you still answered questions with your usual brilliance but your eyes didn’t seek his out after. Didn’t hold that lingering weight, that silent ‘did you like that?’ The way it always had. You stopped looking up when he handed you the worksheet. Just said thank you and stared straight ahead. You also started looking at and whispering to Xavier again.

He told himself not to overthink it, that maybe this was something else. Then the following day you left class too fast. The bell had barely finished before you gathered your things, murmured something to Xavier and walked out without even brushing his desk. Sylus knew something was definitely wrong then. When you stopped lingering behind, moving slower, or pretending to reread your assignment just to get those extra seconds to be in each other’s presence and it just kept happening.

By Wednesday, the ache had settled in his chest like rot. Because this wasn’t distance or anger. It was restraint and Sylus knew restraint better than anyone. You stopped texting him throughout the day, stopped wearing his favourite chapstick that he bought you and you stopped coming over to his apartment in the afternoons.

Sylus noticed everything and that wasn’t even the worst part. Because you were still pretending everything was okay. When you did finally come over again you still kissed him, still fell apart in his arms when you’d have sex. You still sighed into his mouth like he was your air, like you’d choke without him but afterwards, you would get dressed too fast and leave his apartment too quickly. You didn’t look back and Sylus felt his control starting to crack because he knew what else this was. This wasn’t a girl falling out of love. This was a girl trying to keep something from burning her alive and Sylus wasn’t angry. He was terrified because whatever fire you were trying to smother. You think you have to do it alone and he just knows that if you keep trying to carry it without him, you’ll burn before you reach the other side.

~

You tell yourself every morning in the mirror that you are fine and everything is okay. You brush your hair and apply chaptstick like it can seal the cracks in your smile. You pull on your uniform like it’s armour. Straightening the pleats and tucking the hem just right, as if any of that could actually cover the chaos pulsing beneath your skin.

But you had to believe the lie because Xavier was watching you now and you weren’t exactly sure how much he knew. You constantly replay that conversation in your head. The way his voice was soft and sharp. Like he was trying to catch you in a lie and beg you to tell the truth at the same time. His parting words never left you.

“You’ve never been a good liar.”

It rang in your ears when you closed your eyes, echoed down every hallway you walked. Your heard it in the rustle of paper, the scrape of chairs and that breathless second before roll call.

He didn’t shout or accuse you of anything but every word he spoke was sharp, quiet and too true. The worst part was that your silence had done all the talking for you and now you could feel it. Eyes, everywhere.

You knew that Sylus was suspecting something too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention. The slight crease between his brows and the hesitation in his voice when he called your name during a class discussion. You could see it in the way he lingered by his desk after class, waiting for you to stay, only for you to bolt with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

You convinced yourself that you were doing the right thing. You sat where you were supposed to and you started talking to Xavier again talking about homework and deadlines like everything was still normal between you two. Inside though, you were clawing at the walls. Every whisper in the hallway made you flinch. Every look held a second too long made your skin crawl and every innocent question felt like an accusation you weren’t prepared to answer.

You were struggling to sleep or eat. Your fingers trembled in class sometimes so you’d write in cursive just to pretend your heart wasn’t trying to punch a hole through your ribs.

Then you kept waiting for the moment everything would come crashing down. For someone to say it too loud. For Principal Jenna to call your name over the intercom. For Sylus’ desk to be empty one day.

Nothing happened yet. So you smiled and kept your voice steady. You tried to hold yourself together with chapstick and late nights and lies that tasted like copper on your tongue. You knew deep down you were struggling to handle this alone but you were still trying because you love Sylus too much to let him burn and you hated yourself too much to pull him into the smoke with you.

You walked through the empty hallway listening to the click of your own shoes. Everyone had already filtered out, off to the busses, cars, after-school detentions and other activities. Your steps slowed as you rounded the corner near the lockers, your hand brushing the edge of your bag like it might ground you. You took a breath because you just needed one goddamn second of silence.

“Cutie.”

His voice slid in behind you like silk over a bruise and it made you still. You didn’t turn right away, just inhaled and slowly braced yourself.

Rafayel always sounded amused, like the world was a play and he’d seen the ending three acts ago, but today there was something quieter in it.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on,” he said softly, “or should I keep pretending not to notice you’re one breath away from cracking?”

You finally turned to face him. He was leaning against the wall near the lockers, arms crossed and gaze too still. His shirt was half untucked, tie hanging loose like he hadn’t bothered pretending today was anything but a formality. But his eyes, those two-toned, wicked eyes… they weren’t playing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said with a voice too sweet and too high. Laced with the kind of lie you tell yourself in the mirror when your hands are shaking.

Rafayel smiled but it wasn’t smug or playful. It was sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me when you’re swallowing panic like it’s lunch.”

You blinked. He pushed off the wall, slow and deliberate. Boots loud in the quiet as he approached.

“You’ve got that look, Cutie,” he said, tilting his head. “Like someone handed you a grenade with a love letter taped to it.”

You didn’t answer. Rafayel stopped in front of you.

“I’ve seen you survive worse,” he murmured. “But lately? You’re not surviving. You’re shrinking.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I said—”

“You flinch every time someone says your name.” His voice was still soft but it cut deep now. “You dodge Professor Sylus like he’s a loaded question and don’t even get me started on the way you looked at Xavier during club today. Like he was gasoline and you were already on fire.”

Your breath caught and you took a step back.

“I’m not judging you,” he said. “God, if anything, I’m impressed you kept it together this long. But whatever’s happening? You’re not built to carry it alone.”

Your hands were shaking and you tucked them behind your back like he wouldn’t notice. Rafayel exhaled through his nose, looked down at the floor for a beat, then back at you.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, voice gentler now. “But stop pretending you’re okay. You’re not and I don’t think he’d want you to suffer like this.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“You don’t know anything,” you whispered.

Rafayel smiled a kind and crooked smile. “I know you’re not scared of being caught,” he said. “You’re scared of what it’ll do to him.”

Your breath hitched and the dam cracked in your chest and something slipped through. It was fast, hot and unstoppable. A twist in your face as you tried to hold back tears. Rafayel didn’t say anything else. Just opened his arms and you stepped into them.

Your bag slid to the floor and your forehead pressed to his shoulder but you didn’t cry. Your body just trembled and your fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt. Like you were trying to hold everything in still but your body had given up.

Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you tightly. Not like a boy trying to make a claim but as a friend holding up the weight someone else dropped. His hand slid up your back, his palm was warm and steady. He whispered something soft into your hair, just sweet nothings to let you know he wasn’t going anywhere.

What neither of you saw or heard was the quiet shift of a classroom door. Cracked just enough to reveal a sliver of a shadow. A pair of crimson eyes wide with hurt. Sylus’ hand gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He said nothing, did nothing. Just watched the girl he loves fall apart in someone else’s arms but he understood why.

~

You decided to visit Sylus that afternoon and the moment you step through the threshold Sylus feels it. Not the cold you brought in with you clinging to your coat. Not your silence but your guilt and that guilt sits between you two before either of you speak.

You try and shrug it off with your coat, forcing a smile as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Hey, are you hungry?” You ask. “I can make something. Or order-“

“I saw you.”

Your body stills and your breath catches.

“Earlier,” he adds, voice low, even. “In the hall.”

You don’t move.

“You and Rafayel.”

Still, you say nothing. He steps forward, slow and quiet, until the space between you evaporates.

“I watched you lean on him.”

You close your eyes briefly. Sylus’ voice was steady but beneath it you could feel the tension. Like something bitter and sharp was melting the back of his throat. “I watched you let him hold you. I watched him look at you like he knew something I didn’t.”

“That’s not what it was,” you whisper.

“No?” he asks softly. “Because it looked like you were breaking and it looked like he was the one helping you put the pieces back together.”

You look at him, your heart thudding loud. “I didn’t mean for it to be him.”

He doesn’t flinch or move. “But it was.”

Your eyes shine from fear and panic. From the bone-deep guilt that’s been eating you alive for days now.

“I didn’t know you saw.”

“I always see you,” he says, and fuck, his voice, it’s not angry. It’s wounded. Quiet and gutted, like your name is sitting on his tongue but he won’t let it out yet.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you rush out. “He was just there and I was—”

“Alone,” he finishes.

You nod. “I was trying to handle it. Xavier… He…” You trail off before continuing, “I thought if I could stay composed, if I could fix it without dragging you in—”

“—you’d protect me,” he murmurs. “But that’s not what you were doing.”

You look up, startled.

“You weren’t protecting me,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice a slow blade. “You were punishing yourself.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he says, voice breaking for the first time. “You were trying to outrun what we are by pretending it could disappear if you just… ignored it. If you stayed strong enough, long enough, maybe the storm would pass and you wouldn’t have to see me burn in it.”

Tears spill over.

“I am burning,” he says, cupping your jaw now, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “Every day. Every second I have to stand in that classroom and pretend I’m not yours.”

Your breath shakes.

“And then today, I saw you lean on someone else because you were scared of what it would do to me if you leaned on me instead.”

A sob slips from your lips and he pulls you into him. His arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, mouth pressed to the crown of your head and for a few long seconds, you let yourself stay there. Buried in him and letting the warmth and the steadiness of his body soak into your bones like balm. But then your breath catches and your spine stiffens.

“I need to tell you something.” You whisper.

Sylus doesn’t move far but he draws back just enough to look at you, to find your eyes. His fingers come up to cradle your jaw. “Talk to me.”

You swallow, hard. The words scrape your throat but you say them anyway. “Xavier… he confronted me the day after camp… He suspects something.”

Sylus goes still with a sharp focus. Like your words have shifted the air between you.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you say quickly, “but I—I froze. I tried to lie but I just stood there, and he saw it, Sylus. It feels like he saw everything.”

Your voice quivers, and you look down ashamed.

“I’ve been spiraling ever since. Thinking if I could just… get ahead of it, if I could fix it before it touched you, it would be okay. That maybe if I pulled away, if I made space, you’d be safe.”

His hand doesn’t leave your face. He brushes a thumb beneath your eye. Catching the edge of your guilt and shakes his head slowly.

“Kitten.” He says quietly. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair like a tether.

“You always think it’s your job to take the hit first,” he murmurs. “Like you’re the shield and I’m something behind it.”

“I just didn’t want to be the reason—”

“Stop,” he breathes. “You’re not the reason. You’re the reason I have something worth risking.”

Your lips part and your throat works around a sob you can’t let out.

“I knew what this was the second I touched you,” he whispers, his voice steady, full of something soft and burning. “I knew the risks. I made my choice. Don’t you dare carry it alone.”

Your hands shake against his chest.

“I thought if it reached you… if it blew up in your face, you’d hate me for it.”

His jaw clenches but not with anger. With conviction.

“Sweetie,” he says low and thick with reverence. “The only thing that would break me is if you tried to walk through this fire alone.”

He presses his forehead to yours, closing the space like he’s sealing a vow between you.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “And I don’t want distance. I want the truth. I want you. Always.”

You lean into him, your lips meeting his like you’re surrendering. Like the dam is breaking all over again and every fear you’ve been carrying melts under the heat of his promise.

In this moment Sylus doesn’t rush. No, he takes his time because this isn’t about lust. It’s about reclaiming, undoing every knot of fear you tried to tie between you and about making sure the only thing you feel when you think of him… is safety.

You’re still pressed against him, your breathing uneven and your fingers fisted in his shirt like you’re holding on for dear life. He leans in again, his lips brushing your temple.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” he murmurs, voice low and fierce. “And you’re not going to stop me.”

You don’t argue, not when his hands begin to move slowly. One hand still cradling the back of your neck and the other gliding down your spine, memorising every inch. He kisses your cheek first, then the corner of your mouth, your jaw and then your throat. It was soft and anchoring.

“I don’t want distance,” he whispers between kisses. “I don’t want silence. I want you. Shaking, scared, and spiraling. I want all of it. I want you.”

Your body shudders as your hands slide from his chest to his shoulders, then around his back, pulling him closer.

“Let me take it from you,” he says, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Every thought. Every ache. Every part of you that feels like it’s unraveling. I want it. Give it to me.”

You let him back you toward the bedroom, your breathing shallow with anticipation. When you reach the bedroom, he lifts your shirt from your body like it’s made of silk and kisses the skin as he reveals it. His hands then slide down your thighs in a grounding touch. As if he’s reminding you. ‘You’re here with me and you’re not alone anymore.’

He undresses you like a promise, stripping away the fabric and the fear together. Then he lays you back and climbs over you with the kind of patience that speaks of deep, unrelenting want but even deeper care. The kind that says, ‘You are mine and I will never let you go.’

He kisses your shoulder, then your ribs and then your stomach. Each kiss slow and warm, like he’s imprinting himself into your skin.

When he does finally kiss your lips, it’s soft and sweet. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking the skin beneath your eye. “You don’t have to be strong for me, Sweetie,” he breathes. “You just have to be with me.”

Your tears spill quietly and he kisses them too. His lips brush each one like they’re precious. Like they’re not made of fear or guilt, but truth, undeniable and raw. He doesn’t flinch or speak. Just traces the path of every tear down your cheeks with his mouth, collecting them like secrets he refuses to let the world see.

Then, when your breathing evens and when you’re no longer holding yourself together out of fear but unraveling in the safety of his hands, he moves. Gently and intimately. Like you’re not just his to hold, but his to heal. He slides his palm beneath the back of your knee, lifting your leg around his waist. The weight of him presses into you, his cock thick and heavy between your thighs, but he doesn’t thrust yet.

He rocks forward slowly and deliberately, his forehead against yours and his breath ragged.

“I’m still here,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, like it’s scraped raw from everything he’s feeling. “You haven’t lost me.”

You whimper, breath hitching as your hips lift trying to close the final distance between you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper.

He growls low and guttural and his hands tightening around your thighs.

“Don’t say that,” he breathes. “You’re everything. Do you hear me? Everything.”

He slides his cock into you in one slow, steady thrust and you gasp. Not from pain but from the way he fills you so perfectly. It grounds you and claims you. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. You arch into him, lips parting on a breathless sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

He stays buried in you, motionless, forehead pressed to yours, like the act of being inside you is something sacred. Because to him, it is. Your walls pulse around him and your breath trembles against his lips. Then he begins to move, not to fuck, but to love.

Each thrust is deep and measured. A confession in rhythm and pressure and heat. The kind of pace that says, I’m not just here to take, I’m here to give. To remind you what it feels like to be cherished.

His hand cradles the back of your head, tilting it gently so he can kiss you slowly and deep, tongues barely brushing. A kiss that’s not about dominance. Not about hunger but need.

The purest and fiercest kind of need. You break the kiss first because your moan betrays you, too loud, and too full of longing. He watches you unravel, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, and cheeks flushed from the sheer weight of pleasure.

“Don’t hold back,” Sylus breathes, voice rough and reverent, fucking deeper into you like he’s carving his name along your spine. “Let me hear it.”

You gasp as his thrusts shift deeper, sharper, and unrelenting now. His hand cups your face now, thumb stroking the edge of your mouth as your head tips back against the pillow.

“Oh my God—Sylus—”

He shudders hard because hearing his name like that, half-broken and fully yours, it’s the most intimate thing he’s ever known.

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s my good girl.”

And fuck, you are. The way your legs wrap tight around his waist like you’re afraid to let him go. The way your fingers claw at his back like you’re trying to drag him deeper. The way you say please like you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore.

Your moans fill the room now. No restraint, and no fear. Just pure, wanton sounds and Sylus fucking drinks it in.

His mouth trails down your throat, over your chest, teeth grazing the curve of your breast before sucking hard and leaving a mark just above your heart.

“Mine,” he says again.

You nod frantically. “Yes—yes, I’m yours—”

Then he fucks you harder because you said it like a vow and because you meant it. Because everything you’re giving him, this body, this voice, and this wrecked and trembling trust. Is a gift he’s not worthy of, but he’ll take anyway and worship until there’s nothing left.

Your nails rake down his spine as you arch, chasing the pressure, the friction, and the heat coiling low and tight and unbearable.

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, breaking off into a cry as he tilts his hips just right, just fucking right. He catches your mouth with his, swallowing the sound as your climax slams through you, shattering you against his chest.

You cry out into him, body pulsing, breath shattering, and legs trembling around his hips. Sylus doesn’t let up. He fucks you through it, into it, with it, chasing his own high in the rhythm of your collapse.

His hands slide under your thighs and with one fierce pull, he folds you, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders. The angle hits deep, devastatingly deep. Your breath stutters and your hands claw at the sheets. His grip tightens at your waist. He slams into you hard. It’s relentless and possessive and it makes the bed creak from the force of it.

“Let me remind you what this means,” he murmurs, somehow still tender while he’s fucking you into the mattress. “You’re safe here. With me. Always.”

He drives into you again, your body jolts with every thrust, and your whimpers are caught in the rhythm of his need. His thumb brushes your cheek, impossibly gentle for how he’s fucking you right now.

“Don’t run from this,” he says, his breath ragged now. “Don’t run from me.”

He leans down, your legs pressed tight to his chest, and kisses your temple like a promise.

One hand slides up your arm, fingers lacing with yours and pressing your hands above your head, pinning you without cruelty and anchoring you.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, words low and reverent against your skin. “And I’ll never make you doubt us again.”

His pace turns erratic but not sloppy, never that. Just desperate and consuming. Like the feel of you around him has finally broken whatever threadbare restraint he was holding onto. Your body rocks with every thrust, thighs trembling, fingers clutched in his. He’s still folded you tight, legs over his shoulders, and his weight pinning you to the bed like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice thick and shaking. “Just like that, fuck. Good girl. Keep looking at me.”

His hips snap forward, harder now. The sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, wet, hot, and frantic. But his hand is cupping your face again, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something precious, even as he’s fucking you like you’re everything he’ll ever need.

“You feel that?” he groans. “How deep I am?”

His forehead presses to yours, forearm braced beside your head as he chases the edge. His breath stutters and then his whole body goes tight, his grip bruising at your hips, and he sinks as deep as he can go, cumming inside you and staying there, buried in you like it’s not just where he belongs but where he ends.

You feel every shudder of him inside you and it feels like pure devotion wrapped in ruin. His lips find yours between gasps with kisses that taste like reverence.

Then silence but not empty or hollow. It hums with the sound of your breath tangled in his. With the slick heat of skin pressed to skin. With the scent of sex, sweat, and something that feels too holy to name.

He stays inside you as his body lowers over yours, careful not to crush you. His arms tremble, holding his weight, holding you, and his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw soft and reverent.

“Still here,” he whispers and you believe him.

Not because of the words but because he never let you go. Not once. He’s etched into your bones, in the ache between your thighs, and in the rhythm of your pulse.

Whatever storm is coming, let it come because this isn’t a line you crossed. It’s a thread that pulled tight and snapped and now? You are tangled together.

Not trapped or lost. Just knotted, in something that can’t be undone.

[chrisstvrns]

blurb of chris loving his girl so much, he would do anything for her forgiveness.

warnings: light angst, fluff in the end

word count: 876

chris knew he had fucked up.  

and not in the way where he could flash that lopsided grin, mumble out some half-assed "my bad," and wrap his arms around you until you begrudgingly accepted his apology. no, this was the kind of fuck-up that left his phone void of your name, your texts, your voice. it had been three days. three days of silence, three days of you ignoring his texts, leaving his calls to ring out, and worst of all, three days since you had stormed out of his house with fire in your eyes and venom in your words.  

matt and nick had given him shit for it. repeatedly. but chris didn’t care about their ribbing—he cared that he hadn't been able to fix it yet.  

so, in an act of desperation, he did something he never thought he'd do: he sat down with an actual pen and paper and wrote you a letter. no texting, no notes app draft, no voice memo where he rambled until he hoped he made sense. just ink and regret spilled onto three long pages.  

chris folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and, with a determined heart, drove over to your place. he carefully placed the letter into your mailbox, texted a simple “i left something for you,” and prayed you’d read it.  

you did.  

and not only did you read it, but you also grabbed a red pen and went absolutely feral on it.  

when chris found the same envelope in his mailbox the next morning, his heart leapt in hope—until he pulled out the letter and saw your handwriting scribbled all over it, ruthlessly correcting his grammar, circling misspelled words, and writing snarky little comments in the margins.  

“you don’t blame me? then why did you fight me on it?”  

“you should’ve listened to me? damn right. make this a thesis statement instead of burying the lead.”  

“good, this part actually sounds like you mean it. keep going.”  

and the kicker, written at the very bottom in bold, underlined letters:  

“if you can rewrite this and turn it in by tomorrow, i’ll unblock you.”  

chris stared at the letter, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. only you would take his heartfelt apology and turn it into a goddamn english assignment.  

he grinned.  

challenge accepted.  

chris spent the rest of the day hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he scribbled out a new draft. he had never put so much effort into writing anything in his life, not even the one essay he actually cared about in high school. he read and reread your comments, taking them seriously, and making sure that this time, every word counted.  

he started over twice. the first draft felt too stiff, too formal - like he was writing a resignation letter instead of an apology. the second had too much rambling, and you’d already told him not to bury the lead. so, for the third attempt, he took a deep breath and wrote like he was talking to you. like you were right in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something real.  

by the time he finished, his hand was cramping, his desk was covered in discarded drafts, and the clock read 2:14 am. but for the first time in three days, he felt like he had a shot at fixing things.  

chris sealed the new letter in an envelope, drove to your place, and left it in your mailbox, yet again. this time, he didn’t text you - just knocked once and walked away, leaving it in your hands.  

the next morning, his phone buzzed.  

a text from you.  

chris’s heart jumped as he unlocked his phone and read the text.  

“you passed. barely. but i’ll allow it.”  

before he could even think of a reply, another message popped up.  

“come over.”   

chris didn’t waste time. he was out the door in minutes, barely remembering to grab his keys. the drive to your place felt longer than ever, anticipation and nerves tangling in his chest.  

when you opened the door, he barely had a second to register the look on your face before you were pulling him inside, your arms crossing over your chest like you were still debating whether or not to be mad at him.  

“well?” you prompted.  

chris ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “i meant every word.”  

you eyed him for a moment before unfolding the letter and holding it up. “this was good,” you admitted, tapping the paper. “and better yet, you actually listened.”  

his lips twitched. “had to. i was being graded.”  

your glare was half-hearted at best. “i don’t think you understand how close you were to failing.”  

chris grinned. “guess that makes this an extra credit assignment,” he said, closing the space between you.  

you rolled your eyes, but when he hesitated, waiting for permission, your expression softened. finally, you sighed, tilting your head up just enough to meet him halfway.  

“i hate that you’re kinda good at this,” you muttered.  

chris smirked. “oh, i’m great at this.”  

and when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, you didn’t pull away.

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a/n: this was made based off of this post by @muwapsturniolo !! finally out of my writers slump (???) i kinda hate this sooo ?

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons

"How would they react if you sat on their lap and hugged them while they were busy?" A/n: I had this one lost in my drafts for a while and I didn't even remember it😅(It was a bit of a random idea, but somehow it was cute❤️)

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Jushiro : Jushiro seemed focused on the papers that were on the table and had forgotten the world around him, but you decided to test him a little. You opened the door and saw the man with long white hair lost in his thoughts who didn't even realize you were there until you started approaching the table. He looked at you and smiled, you approached him and sat on his lap hugging him, which left him a little confused at first and asked you about it. "Are you okay, love?" He asked when he felt your fingers caressing the back of his neck "Yes, I just came to give you a hug and see how you were" He smiled and kissed your cheek as thanks for worrying about him. He's such a cutie and he wouldn't mind if you stayed there with him.

Shunsui : Shunsui, for the first time in his life, seemed to be doing his job properly. If it hadn't been for Nanao threatening him, saying that she would drag him to the office by his hair if she found him drunk in one of the bars in Seireitei, he wouldn't have been there. You met him in the office and smiled after seeing him working, you got close to him and he switched his attention to you. "Y/n! Good to see you here dear" He greeted, leaning back in the chair. You didn't say anything and sat on his lap and hugged him, he hugged you and placed a few kisses on your neck, still wondering why such a kind act and why you haven't said a word since you entered. "You missed me, didn't you?" He asked, moving your face away from his shoulder and looking at you "Actually, I just came by to hug you, but I can't say I didn't miss you a little" You said running your hands over his face "My lieutenant threatened me and that's the reason I'm here" You smiled and placed your head in the crook of his neck, keeping him close to you.

Byakuya : Busy as always, Byakuya had a somewhat tired look as he read and reread the endless reports on his desk. You opened the door a little and peeked inside only to find him focused on his work, you entered and went to him. He only realized that you were there when you got close to him and put him back in the chair and sat on his lap, then he raised an eyebrow, confused by the fact that you just sit on his lap and hugged him for no apparent reason. "Is everything okay Y/n?" He asked after a while "Yes, I'm just stopping by to see you" You said as you ran your fingers through his hair "I was working on---" "Just stop for a moment, okay ?"You smiled at him, caressing his cheek He took a long sigh but didn't want to persist, surrendering to your affection.

Kenpachi : Of all the places you thought he could be, the office was the one where you least expected him to be. He hated that part of the job, you were the one who took on that role and you even used to scold him for spending his days away or leaving all that work to you. You watched him for a while, still trying to believe what your eyes were seeing, who would have thought he would be there? You closed the door and walked over to him, you sat on his lap and hugged him. He dropped the papers on the table and didn't hesitate to question you about that action. "Are you trying something, woman?" He asked, frowning "No, I just came to check on you. Is it wrong to worry about you?" You asked, looking at his confused expression "No, it's not. Unless you have a good reason for sneaking in here and sitting on my lap" "Beyond concern and kindness, no, I don't think so" You smiled and tried to move away from him "You're playing with fire, woman. Come here"He said before pinning your body against his with one arm And that's it, now you were trapped in his arms and he wouldn't let you go anytime soon.

[ckret2]

do you have any tips on fueling a hyperfixation enough to finish a long fic? specifically when the media has a smaller fandom

sure here's several tips:

1) for me, this is the most imporant one, so it's long: if you've run out of canon material and there's only a little bit of fanfic/fanart, start consuming things adjacent to the fandom that are relevant to your fic. This means doing research! Nonfiction research, even! it'll be fun, it's for fanfic.

If your main character was in the radio industry in the 1920s? then buddy, you're gonna read every book that's ever been written about the first years of radio broadcasting—and then you're gonna listen to a million early radio dramas that have been posted to youtube & old time radio podcasts.

If he was a trans man in Victorian England? Then you're emailing your library begging them to get a copy of a book about how American & British society perceived trans men & crossdressing women from 1600-1900.

If your main character ran a cult? Then you're about to get really familiar with a true crime podcast on the psychology of cults and their leaders.

If your character's an Italian theater nerd in the 1700s, you're about to watch a lot of videos about comedia dell'arte. If your character's a Japanese theater nerd in the 1700s, you're about to watch a lot of videos about kabuki. Is a character's name an allusion to a mythological figure? You're gonna read every myth about that figure possible to see whether any of it can be incorporated into your characterization. Is your character a big reader? What genres are they into and what years were they a teenager? You're googling "pre-lovecraftian cosmic horror" for your tentacle-loving goth born in 1890 and that's what you're reading for the next two months.

I've devoured books, websites, research papers, podcasts, infotainment youtubers, movies, documentaries, and whole TV shows powered purely by love for blorbo from a different show. The topics I've researched have been as varied as:

the physics & geology of volcanoes

how to make friendship bracelets

a travel podcast for tourists to New Orleans

Victorian-era sci-fi novels that preclude modern steampunk

hundreds & hundreds of real people's self-reported ghost stories

how to tie a sarong (which required digging past a billion links to white people who think a "sarong" is simply a rectangle of fabric you can knot any old way)

the history of Mardi Gras celebration practices

lockpicking

a wide variety of neurodivergencies (and do you know how goddamn hard it is to find psychology books that are sympathetic to narcissists?? goddamn. i did it tho)

the entirety of Care Bears and Rainbow Brite

the native names of islands & geological formations around the Ring of Fire

Mexican folk religion

pre-Hays Code comedy movies

how & where people consumed pop music before radios & record players

Indonesian airport locations

how much weight a battleship can carry...

and if you do it for Love Of A Character, it's fun. If blorbo loves cheesy pulp romances and you don't, you will if you're reading them with an eye to see what blorbo gets out of these books and how this reflects on their character.

Hyperfixation-tangential research can help stretch a hyperfixation indefinitely. Plus you learn lots of new stuff, and even when the hyperfixation dies, that knowledge is with you forever!

(did you know volcanos aren't hot enough to melt glass? did you know the fires built for glassblowing aren't hot enough to melt glass?? did you know magma isn't hot enough to melt itself??? i once spent a whole day frantically trying to figure out how glass & rocks melt. it resulted in two lines in a fanfic. i regret nothing.)

and a few other tips:

2) Find 3-4 trusted colleagues/partners in crime you can go feral with in DMs. A fandom with 10,000 people and a fandom with 100 people look the same size when viewed from within a ship-dedicated discord with 5 people.

3) if you rewatch/reread the source material CONSTANTLY, it's easy to risk squeezing out the last drops of dopamine it offers too quickly, so like, don't force feed it to yourself every other day. But periodically reconsuming bits of it somewhat regularly can help stoke the fire, remind you what you like about the source material, and inspire you to think over the parts that are relevant to your fic. AND helps you remember how to write the characters. (the aforementioned research is usually what I do for my fun watching/reading in between reconsuming canon.)

4) make sure the fic you're writing is short enough to be completed before the hyperfixation expires. this is CRUCIAL. i've never actually done this step.