#GET READY FOR EMOTIONAL DEVASTATION

[autisticlalna]

OH FUCK VIKING'S PERSPECTIVE OF THE CLOCKTOWER IS NOW UP

[thyandrawrites]

This rewatch has turned me into a full on li lun apologist. I'd be ashamed of that but in truth that's very on brand for me. He's pretty, he's tortured, he's goth, he could and would slice a man with his eyeliner, he has abandonment issues, he's fucked in the head, he's a theater kid at heart, he shows fascinating examples of emotional unintelligence and lack of self awareness. Basically he checks all my boxes. I wanna put him inside a box and rattle him like a shaker toy

[yellowsubiesdance]

spending the entire break doing nothing but adult shit that stresses me out has been absolutely awful, i could barely enjoy the limited time i’ve gotten to spend with my mom bc i’ve been so stressed about my car

[luulapants]

Do prisoners actually want/enjoy those penpal programs? Because it seems like such an easy thing to do if it helps them but like with all things prison system related or possibly white savior esq feels I wonder if there's a catch

Ask me about incarceration!

YES.

Oh my god, yes, people are DESPERATE for penpals. Prisoners apply to join those programs and most have years-long waiting lists before they can get matched. These are people who are socially deprived and often feel like no one on the outside even knows they're alive. They need to talk to someone in the "real world" outside of prison.

The big catch is that it's a HUGE commitment - not easy at all. If you become a penpal, you are most likely going to become that person's primary emotional support. If they've got 7 years, you better be ready to do 7 years, keep up with it, and set boundaries for frequency. The absolute worst thing you can do is over-commit, burn yourself out, panic, and ghost them. That happens, and it's devastating.

That said, if you're willing to take that on, you could change or even save someone's life. I'll put more guidance on things to consider if you become a penpal below the cut.

One alternative that's come up in my community, which seems like it was a really low barrier to get started, are card writing events. Before holidays (even things like St. Patrick's day and 4th of July - anything Hallmark has a card for), the group will do a pop-up at a local church. They provide names of incarcerated people who have requested holiday cards, as well as donated greeting cards. They recommend that you write as much as you can - about anything. I once described the scenery on the drive I'd be taking to get home for the holidays, and I bet you anything the recipient read it ten times, because that's how much they crave contact. The nice thing about a program like this is it avoids that long-term commitment. I would love to see more of those crop up around the country.

A prison penpal will most likely, at some point, ask you for money. Financially supporting someone in prison is a lot - incarceration is disgustingly expensive - and you will have some complicated emotions about your level of comfort on the outside compared to theirs, what you're able to give, what you want to give, if you're being taken advantage of, etc. You have to set boundaries with them and yourself before you begin - decide on a number that you're willing to give, and stick to it.

You also have to set relationship boundaries, especially if you're a woman writing to a straight man. Again, these are socially deprived people. Not being allowed to interact with any women for years at a time does not cultivate appropriate behavior. They're lonely, and you will seem like the Only Woman In The World, and that tends to lead to some feelings that can be uncomfortable for the penpal.

You also have to think about your return address in terms of boundaries. Most people in prison will get out someday, and they will likely have very few connections or resources on the outside. Unless you're willing to have this person show up at your house asking for somewhere to live, you might need to go through a program that lets you use its address or get a PO box. You'll probably feel conflicted and gross about that, too, but again, supporting a whole grown person is probably more than you're looking to sign up for when you become a penpal.

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[phoenixrisingastro]

Mars in the Houses: The Blood, the Carnage, the Madness Edition

Mars is the raw, unfiltered essence of war, rage, and primal desire. It is the blood that pumps through your veins when your fists clench and your pulse races. It is the fire in your chest when you’re ready to destroy or be destroyed. Mars doesn’t ask—it takes. It doesn’t negotiate—it conquers. It lives for the thrill of battle, for the taste of blood, for the screams that echo in the aftermath.

But Mars is more than violence—it’s seduction, hunger, and the driving force behind every carnal urge you’ve ever felt. It whispers in your ear to go further, push harder, break the rules, and taste what’s forbidden. It’s the fury that makes you throw the first punch and the lust that makes you pull someone closer, knowing it might ruin you both.

In the houses, Mars shows where your battles rage, where you destroy and rebuild, where you ignite passion or chaos. This is not a placement for the faint of heart. This is blood on your hands, fire in your soul, and war in your bones.

Find your Mars. Face it. And pray it doesn’t destroy you.

Mars in the 1st House

You are war incarnate. Mars in the 1st house doesn’t just give you presence—it gives you a thirst for dominance. You don’t enter rooms, you invade them. You don’t want to be noticed; you demand submission. Every look, every breath, every move you make is a silent declaration of war. People fear you because they know, even if they can’t articulate it, that you are a weapon. Your rage is a beast with no leash, a wildfire that consumes everything in its path, even you. But what makes you truly dangerous is your refusal to stop. Even when you’ve destroyed everything, you’ll fight the ashes themselves because surrender is your ultimate enemy.

Mars in the 2nd House

This is the violence of possession, of obsession so deep it leaves bruises on the soul. Mars in the 2nd house fights not just to protect, but to hoard, to conquer, to claim. What is yours is yours, and anyone foolish enough to challenge that will feel the crushing weight of your retaliation. You don’t just take revenge—you starve your enemies, strip them of everything that makes them human, and leave them crawling in the dirt, begging for scraps. You want them to feel your absence like a knife in their throat. Your violence isn’t loud; it’s precise, merciless, and always lethal.

Mars in the 3rd House

Your words are murder weapons, sharpened and ready for the kill. Mars here doesn’t just argue—it dismembers. Every conversation is a battlefield, every disagreement an opportunity to annihilate. You don’t fight fair; you dig up secrets, weaponize insecurities, and leave your opponents bleeding out from wounds they didn’t see coming. Your mind is a predator, stalking its prey until the perfect moment to strike. You’re not just smart—you’re sadistic, reveling in the psychological carnage you leave behind. But be warned: every word you use to cut others is a blade you’ll eventually turn on yourself.

Mars in the 4th House

Home is your prison, your sanctuary, and your hell. Mars in the 4th house takes the place meant for comfort and turns it into a war zone. You grew up knowing violence—not always physical, but emotional, the kind that leaves scars no one can see. And now, you repeat the cycle, bringing chaos into every intimate space you touch. Love for you is suffocating, a stranglehold that leaves no room for escape. But hate? Hate is a fortress, a cold, impenetrable wall that keeps others out and traps you inside. Your home is a battleground, and you are both the victim and the aggressor.

Mars in the 5th House

Your passion is destruction. Mars in the 5th house takes joy, love, and creativity and twists them into weapons of chaos. You don’t just love—you consume. You don’t just create—you destroy what came before. Relationships with you are intoxicating, addictive, and utterly devastating. People fall for you like moths to a flame, knowing they’ll get burned but unable to resist the pull. Your love is a drug, your rage a plague, and your presence a hurricane that leaves nothing but rubble in its wake.

Mars in the 6th House

Mars in the 6th house is self-destruction disguised as ambition. You grind yourself into dust chasing perfection, wielding discipline like a whip against your own back. But the war doesn’t stop there—you turn your fury outward, lashing out at anyone who dares to disrupt your carefully constructed routines. Co-workers, subordinates, even your own body—they’re all fair game when your rage takes over. You don’t just fight for control—you demand it, and when you can’t achieve it, you dismantle everything, piece by agonizing piece.

Mars in the 7th House

Love is a battlefield, and you are its most ruthless combatant. Mars in the 7th house doesn’t seek harmony—it seeks dominance. Your relationships are power struggles, full of passion, rage, and destruction. You attract lovers who mirror your intensity, partners who thrive on the chaos you create. But this isn’t love—it’s war, and the casualties are high. Arguments become bloodbaths, and reconciliation feels more like a ceasefire than true peace. You leave people scarred, haunted, and forever changed.

Mars in the 8th House

This is the Mars of obsession, of control so absolute it borders on possession. The 8th house is the realm of sex, death, and transformation, and Mars here revels in its shadows. You destroy to rebuild, seduce to dominate, and love to control. You don’t just crave connection—you demand it, pulling people into your orbit and refusing to let them go until they’re completely consumed. But your power is a double-edged sword. The more you destroy others, the more you destroy yourself, leaving you trapped in a cycle of pain, desire, and rebirth.

Mars in the 9th House

Your beliefs are your weapons, and you wield them with a ferocity that terrifies even you. Mars in the 9th house turns conviction into carnage, making you fight for your truth with unrelenting zeal. You don’t just argue your point—you decimate opposition, burning bridges and cities in the name of your ideals. But this righteous fury comes at a cost. The more you fight for what you believe, the more isolated you become, until all that’s left is the scorched earth of a war you can’t stop waging.

Mars in the 10th House

You are ambition made flesh. Mars in the 10th house doesn’t just climb the ladder—it tears it down, piece by piece, until only you remain at the top. Success for you isn’t a goal—it’s a war, and every opponent is just another obstacle to conquer. Your ruthlessness is unparalleled, your drive unstoppable. But your rise to power is littered with casualties—friends, family, even your own integrity. And when you fall, as all warriors do, you’ll rise again, more dangerous and determined than ever before.

Mars in the 11th House

Even friendship isn’t safe from your wrath. Mars in the 11th house turns social circles into battlegrounds, where alliances are forged and broken with brutal efficiency. You don’t just belong to a group—you dominate it, using intimidation and manipulation to maintain control. But when conflict arises, your fury is swift and devastating. Reputations are destroyed, relationships dismantled, and chaos reigns. People fear you, admire you, and ultimately, never forget you.

Mars in the 12th House

Mars here is a ticking time bomb, hidden in the shadows of your subconscious. Your battles are internal, fought in the dark corners of your mind where no one else can see. But when the bomb goes off, the destruction is catastrophic. Your rage is unpredictable, a force that lashes out at the world even as it tears you apart. This placement makes you a master of hidden warfare, striking from the shadows with a precision that leaves no survivors. But your greatest enemy isn’t out there—it’s within you, waiting for the moment you let your guard down.

This isn’t just a post—it’s a mirror. Look into it and see the war inside you. Feel it. Fear it. And when you’re ready to face it, you know where to find me.

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[les4elliewilliams]

❝SAVE YOUR TEARS.❞ ― 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝚰𝚰, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

PLAYER!ELLIE ﾒ MEAN!READER ─ ALWAYS PLAY THE PLAYER.

❝YEAH, I BROKE YOUR HEART LIKE SOMEONE DID TO MINE, AND NOW YOU WON’T LOVE ME FOR A SECOND TIME❞

ᝰ.ᐟ⌞SUMMARY⌝ ﹕ A year after that devastating summer, Ellie is stunned to see you again—this time at a summer camp where you’re both working. The girl who once led her on and then disappeared without a trace is back, but Ellie’s no longer the naive girl you once played. Still aching from the way you broke her heart, Ellie is filled with a desire for revenge. She wants to make you feel the same confusion and hurt she felt. She’s ready to pull you into the same emotional game she was trapped in, to finally get her payback. But as she carefully lays her plans, Ellie finds herself in uncharted territory. She’s never been one for revenge, and now that the opportunity is in front of her, she begins to question if it will really give her the closure she craves—or if it will leave her with something far worse. Is revenge really worth it, or will Ellie learn the hard way that some wounds can’t be healed by hurting the person who caused them?

✶.ᐟ⌞THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS⌝﹕4.1k words⨾ 18+ CONTENT⨾ no use of y/n⨾ cunnilingus (𝑒!receiving)⨾ use of alcohol⨾ reader being down bad⨾ angst⨾ sub/loser/delusional!ellie (enjoy it while you can.)

.ᐟ.ᐟ⌞AUTHOR’S NOTE⌝ ﹕oh! it’s been a minute, huh? anyway, my babies are back. finally. just using this author’s note to let you all know that the girl who inspired this (yes, because this shit is basically half true, i was just venting like a total loser this whole time) is now dating a guy! insane. truly wild times… sigh. anywhore, enjoy the chapter──proofread by @sapphichotmess !!

#.ᐟ ⌞CHAPTERS⌝ ↯

˗ˏˋ catch up, will ya? •｡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖 ⋆ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ⋆ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ⋆ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ⋆ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ⋆ 𝐟����𝐯𝐞 ⋆ 𝐞𝐩��𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞ˎˊ˗

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

The night had been perfect, and so was Natalie. She had gone all out, picking you up in her Porsche, jasmine scent clinging to her glowing skin. The satin black dress hugged every inch of the mature woman perfectly, and you found yourself practically salivating at the way her tits threatened to spill from the shiny fabric. You felt disgusting, but you knew she wore it for a reason—so, was it entirely your fault for behaving like a caged animal that hadn’t seen a woman in ages? Or maybe you were just starting to behave like a man and that thought horrified you.

At dinner, she ordered for you without hesitation, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to give you the night of your life, and that alone made you want to eat her out from under the table. She poured expensive champagne into your glass, watching you through her lash extensions as you took your first sip. 

The flickering candlelight did little to soften her features, no hint of platonic warmth lay in her eyes, only the kind of focus of someone who had their agenda clear for the rest of the night. It didn’t take a genius, to be fair. You could tell by the placement of her hand, her fingers claiming territory beneath the tablecloth, her thumb tracing languid orbits onto your skin. You knew exactly what awaited you once you were away from all the prying eyes and you didn’t mind it one bit.  

The entire drive back to your apartment, her hand rested high on your inner thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly every time you giggled, flustered like some pathetic schoolgirl crushing on her way too attractive teacher. 

Natalie was nearly twice your age, though she barely looked it—breathtakingly gorgeous, long, sleek black hair always flawless, her eyes so strikingly grey they looked like glaciers in the passing streetlights. She could make anyone weak in the knees, and then walk away gracefully in her Louis Vuitton heels without ever looking back. Even you’d let her step on you and thank her for the honour.

She had confided in you before, late nights spent in relentless complaints that you listened to because you wanted to, and every time she shared her struggles, you couldn’t help but wonder how any man could be so fucking stupid. You already knew from experience that men like him were nothing but brainless little puppies; her husband, though, was some uglier breed. How could he let all that slip through his useless fingers? 

Then again, maybe she was simply too much for him. You weren’t even surprised. Men had a habit of being handed treasures only to let them collect dust, treating women like nothing more than trophies. It was always the ugly ones with nothing to offer but a nonexistent ego and an insatiable need to be worshiped.

You weren’t even sure how things had started between you and Natalie. Maybe it was that one long night after babysitting her son, when, after a few glasses of wine, you’d playfully told her that you’d never considered sleeping with someone nearly your mom’s age before. She had only laughed, feeling a little too flattered. That’s when your nights started looking a little different—fucking her like no man ever had, legs locked tightly around your head, making her writhe like never before.

Once back at your apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before her lips urgently smudged her red lipstick across your neck. Her hands wandered like lost guests, except they weren’t lost at all, and knew exactly where they wanted to go, pushing the strap of your dress down with her nails. The scent of jasmine perfume still clung to her, mixing with the faintest trace of wine on her breath as she pressed against you from behind, hips glued to your ass.

“Missed this,” she whispered into your ear, insistent fingers already working to lift the hem of your dress. “Missed you.”

As if she hadn’t been over just days ago, bent over your kitchen counter like a whore, tits smashed against cold marble, mumbling something about you getting her pregnant while you split her open with the strap-on she had practically forced into your hands. Red claws carved love notes down your back as you fucked her dumb, her nectar making a mess of your floor. And now, she was back at it, all needy and impatient, grinding against you like she couldn’t stand the thin fabric keeping your bodies apart.

The scrape of her nails marked your skin from shoulder to forearm, raising tiny bumps. Simultaneously, her other hand ghosted over your ribs before her palm settled to mold itself against your breast, kneading it gently. Your glossed lips quivered slightly as you sighed, your head tipping to the side, silently urging her further, her fat tits pressing into your back. She was just tall enough to make you feel caged in, but never enough to make you back down.

Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, “Gonna treat you so good tonight, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

She tucked your hair over one shoulder, her eyes lingering on the blooming red stains she had painted across your skin, admiring her handiwork under the soft lights of the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you go get the toy I got you, hm?” she suggested, her lips pressing a lingering kiss over the very spot she knew would make you melt into her further. 

Your stomach tightened at her words, heat pooling low in your poor cunt. You let out a breathy chuckle, pushing your ass back into her, grinning when she subtly ground against it.

“Now, that’s a good idea.”

Her wine-flavored breath brushed against your cheek while she laughed against you, urging your ass into her. “I had a feeling you’d go along with it.” Her red nails pinched at the soft fabric clinging to your hips, tugging teasingly. “Will you let me wear it this time?”

You snorted lightly, grinning over your shoulder. “You wish.”

“Bet I can change that real quick.”

You loved that about her—how she always tried to take control, even when the battle was already lost. It was cute watching her push and tease, pretending she had the upper hand when you both knew better. 

But you let her play the game anyway, just to see how long she’d last.

Delicate hands slid back up, groping both your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress so neither felt neglected. Natalie pulled your aching buds between her fingers just enough to make you suck in a breath. 

“Love the way this dress looks on you.” Her lips found the curve of your exposed shoulder, trailing open-mouthed kisses against salty skin. She had you melting right under her fingertips and she hadn’t even come near your cunt yet. Funny how milfs work. “But it’d look even better on the floor, don’t you think?”

“You’re gonna look even better bent over this counter, don’t you think?” You managed to fire back smoothly despite the subtle catch in your throat, almost as if her touch had momentarily constricted your breathing, pressing right on your diaphragm.

She delivered a throaty chuckle straight into your neck. “You never let up, do you?”

“Never.”

You turned in her arms, your hands finding her hips, parting those smooth, sculpted thighs with one of your own, not even pressing in just yet. And God, may he smite you where you stand for being just as disgusting as the countless sleazy men she’s dodged in her life, but you’d gladly give her son Evan a sibling if biology allowed it.

Maybe an exorcism would fix you. Or maybe bending her over and fucking her dumb in doggy position would do the trick. Who knew.

Either way, her turgid nipples beneath the satin dress brushed yours—and you swore you could her them beg to be sucked on, bitten into. Her hand gently threaded through your strands, even though she had long since ruined your once-perfect hairstyle. 

But to her, you still looked perfect. Maybe even better like this. Perhaps it was the thrill of it, of being with someone she shouldn’t be with. Someone younger. Someone reckless, someone who almost had as much vitality as her, who didn’t care about rules or what was right. 

There was something about that she found irresistible. It wasn’t just the way you moved around, but the way you always knew what you were doing, like you were born knowing exactly how to handle a woman like her.

And that did things to her. Things she wasn’t proud of.

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so she could let her lips linger on yours, her tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your hands twitch on her and drag her closer. She pulled away just enough to murmur against your mouth, “That’s what I like about you.”

You didn’t even bother responding, too busy fumbling with the zipper on her back, pulling it down with a hasty jerk. 

She pressed herself against you, her breath erratic in your ear, her breasts spilling over from the loosened fabric. Your pulse pounded, body reacting to every little sound she made, every little shift of her hips against yours—until her eyes fluttered open and locked on something just behind you.

“Has that painting always been there?”

That was all it took for your hands to freeze on her back. 

Of all the fucking moments.

The heat between your thighs vanished like it had never been there, wetness gone in an instant, dried up all at once. But she didn’t notice. Her fingertips continued to skim up and down your arms, still lost in the fire of the moment.

She wondered how she had never noticed it before, despite having been here countless times. Even with her dress barely clinging to her body and your hands poised to rip it off, her attention was drawn to it like an afterthought that refused to be ignored, the only thing worth worrying about. 

You genuinely hoped, with all yourself, she would just let it go. It wasn’t like she could see the meaning behind it. To her, it was probably just an abstract piece of art. 

But it was too big to ignore. A piece of something long dead you’d tried to bury, almost laughable when you thought about it—you still had her things scattered around your apartment. Even as you moved out, you’d brought her stuff with you. 

So, were you truly trying to leave it all behind?

“Yeah,” You croaked out. The hands that had been restlessly pulling at her dress now fell still at your sides. Natalie blinked, tilting her head slightly to the side to glance back at you. 

“I think I’m more tired than I realized.” You made a small sound in your throat, the space between you yawning wide.

Her full lips parted just a hair, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face like a shooting star, dying just as quickly. You knew she had been expecting more after the expensive dinner she had kindly offered you, but Natalie wasn’t like the men she had been with before. She knew how to take a hint and wasn’t going to push. She was a lady, after all.

“Oh,” she forced a gentle smile on, her hands cupping your face as her thumbs tenderly mapped the curve of your cheekbones. “That’s okay, my love.”

“You sure?”

She hummed softly, leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving behind one last stain of deep red before letting go of you. Her sweet scent enveloped you, smothering whatever ugly feeling had started to resurface. It was sweet, but nothing like Ellie’s. 

Natalie smelled like safety, like she could give you everything you thought you needed—but you didn’t get dizzy from it. There was no pine, no worn flannel, no trace of soft detergent or that faint floral earthiness that floats in the air only after a summer downpour. No, this one was just nice, clean, and forgettable. 

Nothing you’d want to memorize because you didn’t want to learn another scent.

For an unexpected moment, you felt guilty for thinking of her and pulling away from this goddess after such an incredible night. She had treated you so right, and you wanted to repay her somehow, by ending the night on an even higher note—or moan. But the truth was, you just weren’t feeling it, and that was absurd because you not being in the mood? What a rarity.

“I should probably head home anyway. It’s late, and to be honest…” The older woman trailed off as she batted her lashes. “I don’t exactly trust my new babysitter with Evan.” Her smile broadened, twin dimples forming in her cheeks.

That made you snort softly, feeling the tension inside you crumble just a little. “Hey, as soon as I get back from that stupid camp, he’s all mine again,” you promised, grinning.

“Nuh-uh, you need to focus on your studies,” she scolded, voice dipping into something almost motherly, fingers fixing your hair gently, pulling your dress strap back into place.

“I’ll be free on weekends, though.” 

The corners of Natalie’s lips lifted, the bold red of her lipstick blurred around the edges from the way her mouth had pressed against yours. She looked like a silk-clad nympho, dark tendrils of her hair artfully shadowing the curves of her cheekbones—the wet fantasy of many. 

And yet, standing within arm’s reach, you didn’t want her.

Something was missing, you felt it in the sickening hollow carved into your chest.

“I hope you had a good night.” 

Your head bobbed faintly. “I sure did.”

The coal-haired woman swiftly collected her things, donned her coat, and was gone in the blink of an eye. You stayed by the door, observing as her expensive car drove off into the night, her perfume lingering in the air.

A pitiful whine broke through your daze. You sighed, glanced down, and there she was. A golden furball, sitting at your feet with her head tilted, tongue poking out, giving you that silly look. The “I haven’t been walked yet, and I’m not happy about it” look. Her big, pleading, earthy eyes met yours, and guilt twisted in your stomach. How dare you forget to walk your baby? 

“I know, Pumpkin… I haven’t forgotten about your walk,” you reassured, running a hand through your locks. A soft, almost human sigh preceded a sudden burst of energy as you announced, “leash! Go get your leash, baby.” Her tail thumped excitedly before she bolted towards the living room.

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards in a fond smile, but as you turned back toward the painting, the smile turned lopsided, looking more like a pout than anything. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, that canvas was still hanging there. 

And no matter how good Natalie had made you feel tonight, no matter how much she tried to fuck the ghost of Ellie out of you, Ellie was still there.

Still haunting you.

It was useless.

The languid drag of a warm tongue against Ellie’s clit should’ve had her sinking into the mattress, fingers gripping tight, panting like a dog and dragging the girl deeper between her thighs. 

But the redhead barely felt it. 

The girl’s deep brown skin gleamed under the shitty yellow light of the bedroom lamp, her swollen lips glossed with Ellie’s slick. But the way she had been looking up at her the entire night wasn’t what Ellie needed. 

The autumn-haired girl could tell she wanted more than just a hookup, which was exactly what Ellie wasn’t looking for. She fisted a hand into thick curls, tugging the girl further between her spread thighs, trying to chase something that could make her body feel again. Yet, the pleasure was dull, forced, like chasing a high that never really hits. Like ordering some overpriced edibles from a shady website, only to realize it was all a scam. 

Strange, really—because the freckled girl remembered sex as something that made her forget her own name, yet her mind was buzzing with overlapping thoughts, refusing to blur. She wasn’t forgetting a thing. If anything, she could have traced her name onto the girl’s scalp just to prove how much of a bad idea this was. How bad it all felt.

Her grip tightened. The girl, short, all curves, and devastatingly pretty, let out a whimper against her, but the sound barely stirred any reaction from Ellie’s gut. She didn’t even like the way the girl sounded. 

Ellie blinked up at the ceiling, the spinning fan above blurring into nothing but a fog of regrets. Her head ached, her palm wiping away some of the sweat clinging to her creased forehead. The music from downstairs throbbed through walls, the bass barely vibrating picture frames, the muffled voices unable to mask the little slurps between her thighs, tentative darts of a tongue working too hard to coax out a sensation.

The brunette inbetween her thighs sucked gently at her clit, her tongue circling, nudging under the hood, waiting for a reaction that Ellie never gave. She wasn’t bad, just—fuck, Ellie didn’t know. 

Something was missing. She had expected to be panting, rolling her hips into a warm mouth, begging for more. But instead, she just stared down at her, watching as she fumbled, looking so fucking proud of herself, and felt nothing.

Maybe she didn’t even want this. Which was fucking insane because she had been aching for it all day, and now, with a real mouth between her legs instead of her beloved rose toy, she felt like she could roll over and nap.

Maybe it was the alcohol numbing her nerves, perhaps her hangover already creeping in. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Or maybe it was the way her body refused to react. 

Either way, the freckled girl felt blessed for not having a dick, because if she did, she was sure as hell it would’ve gone soft the second this girl laid hands on her. 

On second thought, maybe it wouldn’t have changed much, because her pussy was some numb little thing that stayed unresponsive the moment a girl she didn’t want touched her. 

Someone who wasn’t you. Or maybe it was Ellie’s heart that was the problem, shutting down the rest—but since when were pussy and heart even connected?

“Oh, fuck… yeah, mhm, just like that.” Her voice came out strained, but not from pleasure. Just exhaustion, frustration. 

Maybe that’s why she agreed to this in the first place. 

She had been lingering by the counter, taking shot after shot of vodka, barely listening to Dina ramble about something, when this girl had slid up beside her—all coy smile, dewy brown eyes, tight little blue dress showing off her fat ass. She was cute. A little shy but bold enough to flirt with Ellie like she had already won. 

Maybe that’s what did it. The way her hands kept trailing up Ellie’s tattooed forearm, eyes flicking to her mouth every few seconds, licking at her glossed lips like she couldn’t wait to taste her.

So Ellie let her.

Let her grab her hand and pull her up the stairs. Let her shove her onto some random bedroom mattress and sink to her knees like she was about to confess every sin she was about to commit. Let another girl undress her and her tongue do her thing, and let herself pretend for a second that it wasn’t awful.

But she was fucking bored. She could be in her room, lost in video games or buried in comics. Instead, her head pounded from the cheap alcohol Jesse had shoved into her hand, and her stomach turned from whatever jungle juice Dina had forced down her throat earlier.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and suddenly, it wasn’t some nameless girl kneeling between her legs anymore. 

It was you.

It was only then that her body finally reacted. Suddenly, she was moaning.

She could almost feel the ghost of you her memory was painting in her mind—could feel the delicious heat licking at her spine, her stomach tightening, your tongue sucking her in hungrily. She could feel you smile against her, feel the way you pressed a little closer, your tongue gliding through her slit like a credit card, wanting nothing more than to drive her insane.

The girl whimpered, her hands smoothing up Ellie’s thighs, squeezing, nails biting into porcelain skin. But still, all she could see was you looking up at her with those wide eyes, hungry for her. Her hand guiding your head, showing you exactly how she wanted to be devoured. 

Ellie’s hips rolled into the girl’s mouth, fingers twisting painfully into disheveled curls, “Mmm, yeah, fuck—just like that, baby.”

The girl whimpered again, encouraged, hands gripping Ellie’s thighs tightly.

Her mind kept dragging her back to the way your lips felt when they latched onto the soft skin of her inner thighs like a leech, sucking deep lavenders into her flesh, marking her. To the way your mean fingernails would bite into her dips, holding her like you’d fucking perish if you let go. To the expert strokes of your wet muscle against her pained nub, torturing her just to make her beg.

Her moans only got louder and it wasn’t thanks to the girl between her legs.

“Shit, yeah—fuuuck, you’re so good, ’m so, so close—”

And then the warmth in her stomach was gone, and so was the ghost of you.

Ellie’s climax was ripped away as the girl suddenly pulled back, gasping for air, her lips glossy with her juices and swollen. Her glassy, green eyes snapped open as she propped herself up on her elbows. “Why did you stop?” 

Still panting, the girl’s uncertain eyes fixed upwards as she brushed a stray curl from her face, “You’ve been saying you’re close for the past thirty minutes, Eleanor.”

Her stomach dropped.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed at the way she butchered her name—as if Cupid himself was fucking with her. Because suddenly, it didn’t just feel like you were in her head; it felt like you were right here in the room, grinning, watching as the moment crumbled around her. Proud of yourself for ruining her so completely that she couldn’t even finish without you invading her thoughts. That even with someone else between her legs, it was still you that had her body and soul tied to.

“Is it me? Am I that bad?”

A soft sigh accompanied the downward sweep of Ellie’s hand across her warm, blush-dusted face. “No, it’s just—” She pushed herself upright, her mind already sifting through shitty excuses to spoon-feed this sweet little thing blinking up at her.

The smell of her perfume was way too sweet—revolting, even—and Ellie hated how it coated her tongue every time she sucked in a breath.

“Guess ’m too drunk for this,” she shoved her reddish bangs back, though it clung there, stubbornly sticking with sweat at her temples.

The girl pouted subtly, studying her for a moment, before nodding softly, looking a little hurt. “It’s okay,” she soothed, climbing onto Ellie’s body and pressing a slow kiss on her mouth. The kiss felt far too lingering for the freckled girl’s taste, and she found herself counting down the seconds until the girl finally pulled away.

Only Ellie knew how much effort it took to swallow the revulsion rising in her throat, to stay still, to keep from wiping the girl’s spit off her lips the moment it ended.

And yet, despite how catastrophic the whole thing had been, the first thing the curly-haired girl asked was if she could have her number, maybe hang out sometime that week.

But Ellie was already scooting away, reciting her digits quickly. Her movements were frantic as she hastily pulled her clothes back on, watching the girl type it in, beaming as if Ellie had just gifted her the very fucking stars. 

She needed air, or maybe she just needed an escape.

It was almost adorable, the way she bounced on her feet before the bedroom door clicked shut behind her, leaving Ellie alone, drowning in thoughts louder than the music still thumping through the walls.

Sweat cooled against her pale skin, her stomach twisting from alcohol and regret. 

She should feel bad for giving that sweet girl the wrong number. Should feel something. 

But she didn’t.

Because when her eyes shut, it was you she was thinking of.

.⊹⋆.˚ TAGLIST ﹕ @rew1nds @satellitespinner @boobdrug @ivying @elliewilliamsbelovedwife @mina-281 @hysteriawillnotsuccumb @chxrryvalxntine @bookpagecandlescent @fionaapplelover2010 @andersonslove @macaroni676 @elliesbabygirl @vampcubus @visupremacysstuff @elssaphica @kaykeryyy @nenas19 @rxreaqia @fatbootymuncher @dying-brb @euphoric-rush @intothespidersweb @d1psht @prettygirlfemme @antobooh @vahnilla @na0koz @sta-rcrossed @evaprincessx @prwttiestbunny @liasxeatt @hitmehardmommy @pearlplui @pray4carsss @bambiaches @piscesthepoet @iadorefineshyt 1800-i-eat-pussy @morticeras @ellesrad @l0veylace @juiceboxfullofslime @luvherguts @moonfloweredprincess prettybabylol eriiwaiii2 [COMMENT TO BE ADDED!]

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles - Leona Kingscholar x Reader

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

Series Masterlist

You're just an average person, doing normal human things like eating, sleeping, and, of course, staring at your poster of Leona Kingscholar for three hours straight. Totally healthy behavior. People have hobbies, right? Some knit, some jog, and you…? You defend your fictional lion husband from slander on the internet. You’re practically a digital knight in shining armor.

The story that has consumed your very soul? Oh, just your typical Cliché Villainess Academy Novel: Revenge Edition™. The plot is so by-the-book, it’s basically a war crime against creativity. Female lead? She’s been in love with the male lead since he gave some boring welcome speech that apparently hit her so hard, her brain rewired itself into a romantic mess.

The villainess? Obviously in love with the male lead too, but her one and only goal in life is making the heroine’s existence a never-ending trainwreck of public embarrassment. And the male lead? Sweet summer child. He just wants to get his degree and avoid eye contact with all of these lunatics.

Enter: Leona Kingscholar, the second male lead. The man, the myth, the walking sarcasm machine. He’s there purely to fuel jealousy in everyone else’s love story, but for you? He’s everything. The brooding, lazy, hot second male lead who rolls his eyes at every plot point like he’s just as done with this novel as you are. He has better things to do, like nap, but here he is, dragged into this mess by proximity.

If it were up to you, he and the male lead would run off together, leave the heroine and villainess to start their own hobby club about emotional devastation, and the two guys would live happily ever after in matching beach chairs somewhere.

But no. Instead, you’re stuck reading about her fawning over him while Leona is just… there. Existing. The only thing keeping your interest alive.

And now? Now, your loyalty to Leona Kingscholar is about to pay off. The fan event of the century is just days away. It’s going to be glorious. A whole day dedicated to Leona—merch, fan contests, life-sized cardboard cutouts (which, let’s be honest, you’re ready to risk it all for). You've cleared your schedule, mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable squealing, and created a battle plan for acquiring the best merch before everyone else.

But fate? Fate’s cruel.

You’re casually defending Leona’s honor online as usual, battling some no-name troll who dares to claim that the male lead is "better written." (HA! You laugh in their wrong face.) But then—what’s this? A an likes your tweet about Leona! And not just any author. THE ONE YOU LOVE. The serotonin shoots through you like an adrenaline shot straight to the brain.

Your heart’s racing. You’re vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear. You leap out of your chair like some majestic gazelle—or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you promptly trip over the plushie army that guards your floor.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling, body flailing like a noodle, bouncing down the stairs in what feels like slow motion. The world spins. Your merch shelves mock you from the distance. You land at the bottom in a heap, your soul floating just above your body.

"Is this… how it ends?" you wheeze, gasping for breath, more in shock than pain. As your vision starts to fade, all you can think is: I never made it to the Leona event….

And with that, you die. Crushed under the weight of fandom.

You wake up, and your first thought isn’t the usual, “Oh, I’ve been isekai’d into a new world, how fascinating, I’ll have time to adjust in a moment of peace and reflection.” No. You wake up and it hits you like a brick: Oh no. Female lead.

But then, a beam of hope breaks through the clouds of despair and shines down on you like a heavenly spotlight: Wait. Leona Kingscholar is here.

Before you can even revel in the thought of being in the same universe as your broody lion crush, reality smacks you upside the head. Loud voices are pulling you back to the scene unfolding right in front of your very eyes.

You blink. Hold on. This is not a bedroom, and this is definitely not a private moment to gather your thoughts like in every other isekai novel. Oh no, you’ve been thrown directly into the group project scene.

You know, the one where the villainess is sharpening her claws on the heroine while Leona watches from the sidelines like he’s two seconds away from a permanent nap? Yeah, you’re smack in the middle of it.

The villainess, looking as pissed off as usual, is glaring daggers at the trembling heroine, who is staring at you with those wide, teary eyes like you’re supposed to swoop in and save her from this verbal smackdown.

And that’s when it hits you: you’re the male lead. The original goody-two-shoes, justice-loving male lead who always stepped in to defend the heroine. The one who got suckered into every cliché moment, complete with sparkles and heroic speeches about morality and blah blah blah.

Not you, though.

You take one look at the heroine. She’s giving you this look like you’re her knight in shining armor, expecting you to throw yourself in front of her and deliver some dramatic monologue about kindness and decency. And you? You're mentally checking out of this scene faster than the speed of light.

Nah. You’re not about that life.

Your gaze drifts to Leona, sitting on the far side of the room, slouched over like he’s wondering why he’s being subjected to this emotional soap opera when he could be napping. His face screams "done," and honestly? Same. He meets your gaze, eyes half-lidded and bored, probably hoping you’ll do the usual male lead routine and put an end to this nonsense.

But oh no, today’s different.

You casually stroll over to where Leona is sitting, ignoring the drama unfolding behind you. With the swagger of someone who knows exactly what they’re about to do is going to blow some minds, you hold out your hand to him. "So, uh… you want to ditch this disaster and go take a nap? Or maybe raid the kitchens? I’m thinking we play hooky and pretend this never happened."

Leona’s eyes flicker with surprise for half a second. The male lead? The goody-two-shoes-moral-compass of the entire plot? The guy who literally lived to stop drama in its tracks? Is offering to blow off this whole mess? He raises an eyebrow, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," Leona drawls, but you can tell he’s already down for this. "Alright. Let’s go. If anyone asks, I’m gonna say you dragged me out."

"Deal," you say, trying not to look too smug. And with that, you turn on your heel, and with Leona at your side, you head for the door, leaving behind a shell-shocked villainess and a teary-eyed heroine who’s probably still processing the fact that her supposed knight in shining armor just dipped.

As you and Leona stroll out, you hear the villainess mutter, “What… just happened?” and you can’t help but grin. You may have just turned the plot upside down, but at least you’re doing it in style.

"Hey, Leona," you say, nudging him, "think we can find some of those fancy desserts in the kitchen? I’m starving."

Leona snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you’re buying, sure."

And just like that, the male lead and the second male lead walk off into the sunset—or rather, the campus courtyard—hand in hand with a new mission: Avoiding all future plot nonsense at all costs.

You’re not sure how you got here, staring at the over-the-top ball decorations like you’ve stepped into a bargain bin fairytale, but hey, life has taken a weird turn lately. You, of all people, are living out the plot of a novel so cliché it makes your head hurt.

But you guess that’s what happens when you get isekai’d into a second-rate villainess story. The only thing missing is a glass slipper and some woodland creatures to sing with.

And of course, surprise! The ball isn’t just some casual evening of sipping punch and avoiding the villainess’s death stares. No, if you don’t nail the ball, you don’t graduate. Because nothing says "academic achievement" like knowing how to waltz while dressed like a background character from Bridgerton.

So here you are, in ball lessons, where everyone is nervously pairing off while you’re trying not to roll your eyes into another dimension. The heroine, with her usual doe-eyed sparkle, gets paired with you first. And let’s be real: she’s either terrible at dancing, or she’s using this as an excuse to get you to hold her close.

But you? Oh no. You’ve read enough of this garbage to know where that’s going, and you have zero interest in playing out the “close embrace, sparks flying, almost-kiss” trope. Absolutely not.

As soon as the music starts, you decide it’s time to act. You let your feet stumble—deliberately, of course—and flail around like you’ve never seen a ballroom floor in your life. The heroine, bless her clueless heart, giggles like she thinks you’re just being cute, but you’re not about to humor this. When the instructor’s eyes lock onto you, you seize the opportunity.

"Oh no!" you say dramatically, throwing a hand over your forehead like you’re in some kind of soap opera. "I’m so bad at this. Could someone please teach me how to dance?"

You pause, glance around the room, and then lock eyes with Leona Kingscholar.

"Leona!" you shout, loud enough that the whole room freezes. "You’re the second prince! You must’ve had etiquette lessons, right? Teach me how to dance!"

The room collectively loses its mind. The heroine looks like you’ve just slapped her with a glove and challenged her to a duel. The villainess is staring at you like you’ve lost your marbles. And Leona? Leona’s expression is somewhere between utter confusion and why me.

Leona leans back, crossing his arms, visibly annoyed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, but there’s no denying the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he sees the heroine and villainess get shoved into an awkward dancing pair together.

Despite his clear irritation, Leona steps forward, because let’s face it, he’s the kind of guy who’ll humor you if it means avoiding worse drama. You slide into position with him, and honestly? You’re in heaven. You can barely focus on your feet, too busy trying to hide your grin while you imagine all the drama this is causing behind you.

Meanwhile, the heroine and the villainess are floundering around, tripping over each other like they’ve got two left feet each. The villainess is grinding her teeth, and the heroine keeps stepping on her toes. It’s a glorious disaster.

Leona, despite his annoyance, is surprisingly good at this. He’s leading with the kind of effortless grace that makes you wonder how someone so lazy can still be so competent at everything. You’re definitely not staring at his sharp features while he dances, not at all.

"You do realize this is a waste of time, right?" Leona grumbles under his breath, his eyes flicking to the chaos unfolding behind you. "Why me, herbivore? You could’ve asked anyone else."

You just shrug, trying not to sound too smug. "What can I say? I have excellent taste in dance partners."

Leona’s brow twitches like he’s torn between smirking and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." But the smirk wins out, especially when the villainess and heroine fumble yet again, nearly toppling over each other.

You glance up at him, beaming. Leona Kingscholar might be annoyed, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. And you? You’re just here for the ride, watching the heroine and villainess self-destruct from the safety of Leona’s arms.

Ball lessons? Piece of cake.

You’ve been doing everything humanly possible to avoid the female lead like she’s a carrier of the medieval plague. You thought you’d be safe here, hiding behind your “I’m too busy and mysterious for romance” persona, but no—somehow—the more you avoid her, the more she’s convinced that you’re the dark, brooding, irresistible male lead she’s always dreamed of.

You know, the type who avoids emotional connections but secretly harbors a heart of gold. But the truth is, you’re just a guy trying to get through the day so you can swoon over Leona Kingscholar in peace.

It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it either. You’ve been dropping hints left and right, hoping the universe would give you a break and let the female lead fall in love with literally anyone else. But no. Somehow, everyone is ignoring your very obvious affection for Leona.

It’s like you’re stuck in a tragic comedy where the female lead falls harder for you the more you try to disappear, and Leona just… well, he’s just living his best life, completely unaware of your internal screaming.

Take the latest tea party, for example. You were just trying to enjoy some pastries, maybe steal a glance at Leona from across the table, when the heroine decides to make her move. She picks up a delicate slice of cake and holds it out to you, eyes sparkling with that innocent-yet-hopeful look that says, “This is our moment.”

You? You’re not having any of that. Nope. No way. You’re not about to be part of this rom-com narrative. So, without missing a beat, you casually take the cake from her and, in one smooth motion, turn and offer it to Leona, who’s lounging lazily next to you, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Leona raises an eyebrow at you, clearly baffled by why you’re holding out cake like he’s some sort of royal who expects to be hand-fed. “What are you doing?” he mutters, looking suspiciously between you and the cake.

“Just thought you’d like some,” you say with a straight face, ignoring the heroine’s stunned expression. She’s sitting there, fork still poised in the air, blinking rapidly like you’ve just committed the greatest betrayal of the century.

Leona huffs, looking mildly irritated but mostly confused. After a pause, he shrugs and leans forward, taking a bite of the cake without even bothering to lift his own hand. “Whatever,” he mutters between chews. “Tastes fine.”

You nod, satisfied. Meanwhile, the heroine looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and the villainess is smirking in the background like she’s about to take out popcorn and enjoy the drama.

Later that day, you find a nice, quiet spot under a tree to relax. You’ve managed to avoid any major incidents so far, and for once, you’re not being dragged into some dramatic showdown. You lie back, close your eyes, and just let yourself chill. But, of course, the universe doesn’t want you to have peace.

Enter Leona.

Without a word, he flops down next to you, takes one look at your position, and decides—out of all the places he could sit—that your lap is the best pillow option available. You feel his head plop down on your lap like this is the most normal thing in the world. You stare down at him, completely dumbfounded, while he just closes his eyes and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Leona?” you start, voice half bewildered, half amused. “You good?”

“Shut up,” he mutters without opening his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the grass.”

You blink at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Meanwhile, the villainess strolls by, spots the two of you under the tree, and comes to an immediate halt. Her face contorts into a mix of disbelief and confusion, like she’s just witnessed something unholy. You can almost hear her mental scream of, what the hell is going on here?!

She doesn’t say anything, though. Just stands there, hands clenched, before turning on her heel and storming off. You don’t even care. You’re too busy reveling in the fact that Leona chose your lap as his personal resting place. If that isn’t a win, you don’t know what is.

And then, of course, there’s the infamous hallway incident. The heroine—who, by this point, you’re pretty sure has developed some kind of radar for finding you—comes running toward you. She trips over something (the air? her own foot? you don’t know) and launches herself straight into your arms in what is clearly an attempt to trigger some rom-com, slow-motion embrace.

But you? You’re not here for this.

With the reflexes of a seasoned avoider, you sidestep her dramatic fall, and she goes face-first into the floor. There’s a stunned silence as she lies there, unmoving, probably processing how she ended up eating dirt.

You glance over at Leona, who’s watching the whole thing with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the trainwreck. You give him a slight nod of approval, and he just rolls his eyes, a small grin still tugging at his lips.

The villainess, standing a few feet away, is laughing her head off. She’s doubled over, clutching her stomach, while the heroine’s dignity is scattered all over the floor. But you? You’re just staring at Leona, completely ignoring the chaos around you.

Somehow, despite all the madness, you can’t help but think: this is fine.

The day of the big spelldrive match arrives, and the heroine has never looked more confident in her life. She’s decked out in her team’s colors, standing tall at the edge of the field, waiting for you to join her in your usual spot. You know, like a loyal dog. A loyal, obedient dog who always does what she expects.

But not today.

Today, you roll up to the game decked out head to toe in full Savanaclaw merch. We're talking a custom jersey with Leona’s name on the back, a headband, face paint, and—just to really emphasize the point—a Savanaclaw banner tied around your neck like you’ve decided to cosplay as Captain Lion Fang.

You take your seat in the Savanaclaw section and immediately start hyping up the crowd like you’re getting paid for it. The heroine spots you from across the field and stares like she’s watching a crime scene unfold in real-time. Meanwhile, Leona’s already spotted you, and the smug smirk on his face tells you he’s LOVING the attention.

The game kicks off, and with each goal Leona scores, you’re going feral.

You’re screaming your lungs out, waving your banner around like you’re auditioning for some weird mascot gig. People are looking at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you don’t care. This is YOUR moment.

Leona, on the field, is living for it. Every time he glances your way, he adds a little extra flair to his plays, just to make you scream louder. He scores, and you’re on your feet, jumping up and down like you’ve won the lottery.

At this point, the heroine is practically catatonic. Her world is crumbling before her eyes. You can practically see her brain struggling to process what she’s witnessing: you, her loyal supporter, decked out in Savanaclaw gear and cheering for her rival.

“I... I don’t understand…” she whispers, her voice trembling like she’s been betrayed by the universe itself. “Why aren’t you cheering for us?”

You turn to her with all the nonchalance of someone who’s just ordered fries at a drive-thru. “Uh… Leona’s hot?”

It’s like you slapped her across the face with a wet fish. She stands there, frozen, her eyes wide, like she’s witnessing the fall of an empire. "B-But... you're supposed to support me!"

Before you can reply with another devastating truth bomb, Leona casually strolls over after winning the game, looking like he just walked out of a perfume ad. His hair’s tousled, a thin sheen of sweat making him look even more annoyingly handsome. He stops in front of you, smirking like he’s been planning this moment his entire life.

"Didn’t know you were my biggest fan," he drawls, voice low and lazy. “Gotta say, I’m impressed with your enthusiasm. Screamin’ my name like that… kinda hard to ignore.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but what comes out is more of a high-pitched squeak, followed by, “Hahaha, Y-Yeah… you’re welcome?”

And then, the words that break you: “How ‘bout we celebrate with a nap?”

Your brain freezes. A nap? You? With Leona? Your heart is doing cartwheels while the rest of your organs are busy melting into a puddle. Your mouth is moving, but all that comes out is an unintelligible “Uhhuhmm.”

Leona chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist, and starts dragging you off with him—right in front of everyone. He doesn’t even care that the entire field is watching. He’s already made up his mind.

The heroine, meanwhile, is standing there in stunned silence, her brain fully blue-screening as she watches you and Leona disappear. She’s still processing the Leona’s comment when the villainess, who has been observing this whole disaster unfold, finally chimes in from the sidelines with a shrug.

“Well, as long as it’s not the heroine,” she says, flicking her hair back with an air of satisfaction. “This is fine.”

And off you go, being dragged to a nap date you’re definitely not mentally prepared for, your face burning hotter than the sun. Leona glances back at you, that smug smirk still plastered on his face. "You’re lookin’ a little red there. You sure you’re up for this?"

You sputter, tripping over your own words. "I-I’m fine! Totally fine! Nap? Cool! Casual napping! No big deal!”

Leona just chuckles again, clearly entertained by how much you're floundering. “If you say so. Just don’t pass out before we get there.”

Yeah. Don’t pass out. Easier said than done when the man of your dreams is casually dragging you off to nap like it's no big deal while your brain screams at you in ten different languages.

This is fine. Totally fine. You’re fine.

Maybe.

You were sitting with Jack and Ruggie at the cafeteria, chatting about nothing in particular—well, Jack was chatting. Ruggie was there purely because you promised to pay for his lunch. Still, you’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, he stuck around because he actually enjoyed your company. Maybe.

“So, any tips on how to deal with midterms?” Jack asked, ears twitching as he looked at you with that wide-eyed eagerness that only first-years ever had. He was honestly like a giant puppy, trying so hard to be good.

You leaned back in your chair, doing your best impression of a wise and worldly senior, which mostly involved pretending you weren’t sweating about your own midterms. “My advice? Caffeine. And if you have the chance to sleep, take it. Oh, and don’t forget to eat. I learned that one the hard way.”

Jack nodded seriously, committing it all to memory like you were passing down sacred knowledge. Meanwhile, Ruggie was on his third helping of food, barely acknowledging the conversation.

"Hey, if you're handing out wisdom, how ‘bout you tell me how to get free food more often?” Ruggie said between bites, shooting you a cheeky grin.

“Isn’t that already your specialty?” you shot back, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

He just laughed. “Can’t argue with that, but having backup plans never hurt.”

Before you could respond, you felt a shadow fall over the table. You looked up, half expecting it to be the heroine or some random classmate, but nope. It was Leona. Leona, who you were 99% sure had skipped class because he always skips class. And he looked… annoyed?

Oh no.

He ignored Jack and Ruggie completely, his sharp gaze zeroing in on you like you’d committed some grave crime. “Oi, herbivore,” he drawled, hands in his pockets like this wasn’t weird at all. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” you asked, blinking up at him. Leona never approached people unless he wanted something.

“To the tree,” he said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The tree?” Jack echoed, ears perking up in confusion.

Ruggie, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Oho~ Someone’s in demand.”

Leona shot Ruggie a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Shut it, Ruggie.”

Your brain was still trying to process the situation. You were sitting here, minding your own business, giving sage advice about caffeine and survival, and now Leona was dragging you off to his tree like it was completely normal?

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from your seat as if this was some kind of kidnap situation, and started walking toward the courtyard.

“Uh—Leona? What’s going on?” you asked, doing your best to keep up without tripping over your own feet.

Leona didn’t even look back. “You’re talkin’ too much. Need some peace and quiet.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused but not necessarily mad about being dragged off. It’s just… “Why am I involved in your nap plans?”

“’Cause I said so.”

Wow, cryptic. You were about to ask again when you reached the tree. The infamous Leona nap spot. He plopped down against the trunk and, before you could protest, pulled you down next to him. Without another word, he stretched out and—because apparently boundaries didn’t exist—rested his head on your lap.

This was… This was happening.

You glanced around, half expecting to see a camera crew pop out and tell you this was some elaborate prank, but nope. Leona was lounging on you like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes already closed, arms crossed behind his head.

“Uh, Leona?”

“Shut up. M’ tryin’ to sleep.”

You stared down at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was the third time this week he’d done this. Just… kidnapped you for a nap. What was his deal? Was your lap particularly comfortable? Did you radiate some kind of sleepy aura? What was going on here?

Meanwhile, from the distance, you spotted her. The villainess. Watching. For the third time in as many days. And you could see it. You could see the moment she put the pieces together. Her eyes widened in slow realization, her lips twitching into a smirk. She knew. She finally knew.

When Leona finally woke up—after what felt like hours of you sitting there, too dazed to move—you were free. For now. He stretched lazily and gave you a casual “Thanks,” as if this wasn’t the most bizarre situation you’d ever been in, and you quickly scrambled away, making your way back to the dorms with your head spinning.

And that’s when the villainess cornered you.

Oh no.

There she was, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing look, her sharp gaze trained on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You swallowed nervously. She was about to confront you about the heroine, wasn’t she? This was it. This was the moment. Was she going to declare some rivalry? Challenge you to a duel? Confess to you? Make this whole thing painfully awkward?

She smiled, and it was not the evil grin you were expecting. “I’m on your side.”

You blinked. “…What?”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with a new kind of intensity. “Leona. I know you’re after him.”

Your heart stopped. This was it. She was going to call you out and—wait, what did she just say?

“I’ll help you confess to Leona,” she said, matter-of-factly. “On one condition.”

You were staring at her like she’d just sprouted wings and started speaking in tongues. “You… will?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you help me become more influential than that heroine, I’ll help you get Leona to notice you more.”

You blinked again, processing her words. She wanted your help to outshine the heroine, and in exchange, she’d be your wingwoman? Wingwoman?!

You grinned, holding out your hand for a dramatic shake. “Hell yeah.”

She clasped your hand, her smile mirroring yours. "Consider it a deal."

And just like that, you walked away from the most unexpected alliance of your life, fully equipped with a villainess-turned-wingwoman and a new plan to win over Leona.

Honestly? Life was getting weirder by the day.

“Okay, so just to confirm,” Ruggie’s eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You want us to sit through this poetry reading,” he said, drawing out the word like it was some cursed phrase, “and cheer for the villainess. And in return, I get all the food left over?”

“Yup,” you nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“And Jack’s here because…?”

“I asked him nicely.”

Jack shrugged, tail flicking behind him. “I’m just here to help.”

Ruggie snorted, glancing at you with a grin. “This better be some damn good poetry then. And the food better be worth it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, patting Ruggie on the back. “It will be.”

Little did you know, this was going to be a disaster of epic proportions.

The poetry reading started as expected—with the heroine striding up to the front of the room, practically glowing under the dim spotlight. She cleared her throat, clasped her hands dramatically, and began.

“It was a night… much like tonight…”

Your first instinct was to cringe, but you held it in, glancing sideways at Jack and Ruggie. Jack was doing his best to stay stoic, but you could see his ears twitching in discomfort. Ruggie had his hand over his mouth, clearly biting back laughter.

The poem continued, painfully dragging on about stars and roses and something about “destiny’s kiss.” By the time she reached the end, there was a collective sigh of relief from the audience. You weren’t even sure what you had just listened to, but you knew it wasn’t good.

Jack… Jack was crying. You stared at him, horrified. “Are you okay?”

“It’s… it’s so bad,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know poetry could be this bad.”

Ruggie had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “This is better than I thought,” he wheezed.

You shot him a look, but even you had to admit, this was pure comedy gold. Poor Jack had no idea what hit him.

The villainess, bless her heart, was watching all of this unfold with a look of shock and confusion, but when it was finally her turn to read, she stepped up like a queen. Her voice was smooth, the words flowing like silk, and you couldn’t help but be genuinely impressed. She absolutely killed it.

The plan was working perfectly. You and your crew started clapping, cheering like you were at a rock concert. Jack, who was still recovering from the emotional trauma of the heroine’s poem, clapped too, albeit more quietly.

But just as you were about to get even louder, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Oi, sit down,” Leona grumbled, pulling you back into your seat.

“What—?”

He didn’t offer any explanation, just kept you firmly seated next to him, his face set in a bored expression. You blinked in confusion but decided not to argue. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy sitting next to Leona… it was just weird.

And by the grin the villainess was sporting, it seems like everything went exactly according to plan. Both for her and you.

After the poetry reading wrapped up, you gathered the leftovers like you promised. Ruggie was already hovering around, practically drooling over the spread.

“Here, take it all,” you said, handing the basket over. “Deal’s a deal.”

Ruggie beamed, clutching the food to his chest like a treasure hoard. “Pleasure doing business with ya!”

Jack was much more polite, bowing his head slightly. “Thanks for the notes. They’ll be a big help.”

“Anytime,” you replied with a smile, watching the two of them head off. Ruggie was already halfway through a sandwich, talking a mile a minute, while Jack followed along, still looking like he might need therapy after the heroine’s performance.

That left you alone… with Leona, who had been standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you asked, half-expecting him to complain about something. He always had something to complain about.

“You mind explaining what the hell that was?”

“Uh… what do you mean?”

Leona’s tail flicked in irritation, his eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about you, whispering and giggling with that villainess all the time. What, you after her now that you ditched the heroine?”

You blinked at him, utterly baffled. “What? No, of course not. Why would I be after her?”

Leona’s jaw clenched. “You tell me. All I’ve seen is you hangin’ around with her, whispering, plottin’... I’ve seen how you look at her.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Oh my god. He was jealous.

A slow grin spread across your face as the realization sunk in. Leona, Leona Kingscholar, was jealous. And over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re jealous~.”

Leona froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, giddiness bubbling up inside you. You could barely contain your excitement. “You’re jealous of me hanging out with the villainess!”

Leona’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no, no, no,” you grinned even wider, poking him in the chest. “You’re totally jealous!”

Leona growled, looking thoroughly annoyed now, but before he could snap back, you quickly explained. “Look, I made a deal with her. I help her become more influential than the heroine, and she helps me… confess to you.”

Leona blinked, taken aback, his tail flicking behind him as if processing the information. Then, in true Leona fashion, his expression shifted from irritation to smugness in record time.

“Oh?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah, so you don’t have to worry about me chasing after anyone else.”

Leona stepped closer, his voice dropping low, that usual lazy drawl making your heart do a little flip. “Good. But just so you know, cheek kisses aren’t real kisses.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Leona leaned in and kissed you—properly kissed you. Your eyes went wide for a second before you melted into it, feeling the heat of his lips against yours. He pulled back after what felt like forever, a smirk on his face as he watched you try to catch your breath.

“There. That’s a real kiss,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You stared at him, dazed, and then a sudden realization hit you.

You left your entire life behind, all for this moment.

And you were so, so glad that stupid plushie was on the floor, because this? This was totally worth it.

The heroine’s voice was as sweet as it was grating, like sugar poured directly into your ears. She fluttered her eyelashes at you, her smile stretched painfully wide. “So, I was thinking,” she began, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You would make the perfect knight for my family! Don’t you think so?”

You blinked, trying to figure out a way to escape. “Uh… I’m kind of busy with, you know, my own life?”

“Oh, but imagine!” she gushed, not hearing a word you said. “We’d be so close all the time—like, so close. You could protect me, and maybe… we could have a picnic under the stars? Very romantic, right?”

Your soul was trying to leave your body. You were pretty sure Jack’s ears twitched somewhere nearby, sensing your pain telepathically. And then, like a gift from the heavens, the villainess—your beloved accomplice in all things anti-heroine—made her appearance.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping between you and the heroine with the grace of someone who had seen this movie before and knew exactly how to cut to the good parts. “But I need them for an urgent matter. A very important, not-at-all-romantic-but-very-necessary mission.”

You shot her a look of pure gratitude, but before she could fully rescue you from the heroine’s death trap of unwanted flirting, a shadow loomed over the scene. A very familiar shadow.

Leona.

Without saying a word, he strode up behind you and casually wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with an ease that had your heart skipping a beat. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his sharp green eyes fixed on the heroine.

“Oh no, carry on,” he said lazily, but his tone was anything but. “I’m just here to see what my mate is up to.”

The heroine blinked in shock, her hands hovering mid-air as if she had no idea what to do with this development. “Y-Your mate?”

“Yeah,” Leona said, tightening his grip around you, his smirk downright feral. “So whatever little fantasy you’re cooking up about romantic picnics or whatever—cut it out. This one’s mine.”

You felt Leona’s lips brush against your temple before he leaned in and, in full view of the now-utterly-horrified heroine, kissed the side of your neck. Slowly. Possessively.

You could almost hear the villainess muffling a laugh behind her hand.

The heroine’s face turned several shades of red as she stammered. “B-But I—”

“You,” Leona said, his tone dripping with amusement, “can fuck right off.”

The heroine gasped, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been physically struck. “You can’t just say that to me!”

Leona raised a brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m literally the second prince. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

The heroine opened her mouth to argue, but then realized that, no, actually, she couldn’t argue with the literal second prince staking his claim. She sputtered for a moment before storming off, no doubt to sob dramatically about her dashed romantic hopes.

Once she was out of sight, the villainess finally let out a snort of laughter. “That was beautiful.”

Leona ignored her, his grip still firm around you as he leaned down to whisper, “Next time, you won’t need her to help you out. Just say my name, and I’ll be there to deal with the pests.”

You stared at him, a little dazed from the whole whirlwind of possessiveness, public displays of affection, and telling someone to ‘fuck right off.’ “You really went for it, huh?”

Leona smirked, leaning in for another kiss. “Damn right I did. And don’t you forget it.”

Somewhere behind you, the villainess was still giggling. You were pretty sure this was going to be gossip for weeks.

But honestly? Totally worth it.

Graduation day—the moment where everyone’s future plans would be declared, and all the chess pieces would fall into place. Or, in your case, the moment where you’d cause absolute chaos.

The grand hall was filled with eager anticipation. Everyone was dressed in their formal graduation robes, students buzzing with excitement over their new titles and responsibilities.

Leona, as expected, lounged at the back like a lion who had better things to do, half-asleep. Villainess stood tall and composed, already plotting her return to her family's estate. Heroine was in full glowing mode, ready to take her place as the beloved of the Grand Duchy.

And you? You stood at the podium, trying not to laugh. You knew what you were about to say would flip this graduation upside down.

One by one, people made their announcements.

When it was finally your turn, all eyes turned to you. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, knowing the original male lead—you—was supposed to be the retainer of the heroine. It was all set, all according to plan, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat, glanced briefly at Leona who smirked lazily, and then made the declaration that would throw this script straight out the window. “I’ve decided to serve as Prince Leona’s right-hand man, personal secretary, and...well, whatever he needs.”

The silence that followed was glorious. Pure, dumbfounded silence.

King Falena, sitting in the front row, visibly blinked. Once. Twice. He tilted his head slightly, confusion written all over his usually composed face. “What?” he muttered, looking like someone just told him a desert hyena had enrolled in ballet school.

Leona, however, didn’t even open his eyes. He just smirked, crossing his arms smugly. “Told ya he’d choose me,” he murmured, almost too casually for someone who’d just stolen the original male lead’s entire plotline.

Falena’s gaze flicked between you and Leona, still processing. Then, slowly, realization dawned. He saw that look on Leona’s face—the one that said “mine, and I dare anyone to challenge it.” King Falena’s confusion morphed into surprise and then, with the subtlety of a royal diplomat, resignation. “Oh…” he whispered, finally understanding. “He’s down bad.”

Leona cracked an eye open just to catch his brother’s expression and grinned wider, like a cat who knew exactly what kind of bird it had in its claws.

Your parents, bless them, were in the crowd with expressions of supportive confusion. Your mother was squinting as if trying to work out if this was some sort of royal prank. Your father leaned in toward her, whispering loudly enough for the entire row to hear, “It’s a royal job, right? That’s prestigious?”

“Yeah, but… Leona?” your mom whispered back.

At this point, the heroine stood up, ready to throw a wrench into the works. “Wait! You’re supposed to be my—"

Before she could finish, the villainess, in all her dramatic glory, made her move. With the grace of a queen and the audacity of a mastermind, she stepped right up to the heroine, flipped her luxurious hair, and said, “Actually, I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked. Wait, what?

The entire room gasped. You could almost hear heads snapping toward the villainess like a collective whip crack.

Heroine’s mouth opened and closed like she was a fish drowning in air. “I—what?”

“Dinner. Candlelight. Maybe a picnic. You and me, a date. Sound good?” The villainess winked with such charm that even the professors in the back were wide-eyed.

Heroine blinked rapidly, as if trying to reboot her brain. “Uh… sure?” she squeaked, still reeling from the fact that her entire romantic arc had just gotten hijacked.

You stared at the villainess in pure confusion. “What just happened?” you whispered, looking at her for an explanation.

The villainess simply turned to you with a mischievous grin, giving you a sly thumbs-up like this had been part of her master plan all along.

You were still processing the fact that you were witnessing the greatest plot twist of all time. You returned a half-hearted, bewildered thumbs-up, unsure if this was a win or not.

Meanwhile, the professors up front were clearly on their last thread of patience. The head of the academy rubbed his temples, sighing deeply as if this whole day had aged him a decade. “That’s it,” he said, voice strained with exhaustion. “Everyone’s graduated. Just...leave. Please.”

And with that, the ceremony abruptly ended. You couldn’t help but laugh at the professor’s exasperation as the crowd started to disperse, still buzzing with gossip.

Leona slid up next to you, his hand casually resting on your waist as you walked out of the hall together. “So, my right-hand man, huh?”

You shrugged. “Figured I might as well make it official.”

Leona smirked, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he kissed you. In front of everyone.

King Falena, witnessing this public display of territorial claims, just shook his head with a resigned sigh. “Well, as long as it’s official…” he muttered, casting an approving glance toward you. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Your parents were still in shock, but when they saw that it was a royal seal of approval, they immediately switched gears. “A royal job!” your mom whispered excitedly. “That’s so prestigious!”

With that, Leona tugged you away from the chaos, his arm never leaving your waist as you walked toward the exit. You glanced back one last time to see the heroine still staring blankly at the villainess, who had now looped her arm around her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The head of the academy, now red in the face, shouted after you as you reached the door, “I SAID EVERYONE GO, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GREAT SEVEN!”

You walked out into the sunlight, trying not to laugh, while Leona leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured smugly, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was a day like any other, except you were meeting the villainess in her newly acquired estate. She had officially taken over as the head of her family, and the new title suited her all too well. The whole place screamed, I am in charge, with a side of don’t even think about challenging me unless you want to cry in public. You admired the aesthetic.

The villainess greeted you with her usual regal flair, sweeping into the room like she’d been born to dominate it—which, to be fair, she had. She offered you tea, which you politely declined, sensing that this wasn’t just a casual catch-up.

"So, what's new with you, Lady Villainess?” you asked, leaning back, fully expecting some grand declaration about her political conquests or business victories.

She smiled—a dangerous, knowing smile that made you immediately suspicious. "Well, I wanted to tell you something rather... unexpected."

You raised an eyebrow. Unexpected? Coming from her? That had to be good.

"I'm dating the heroine," she said casually, sipping her tea as if she hadn't just dropped the biggest plot twist since the whole 'villainess takes over' arc.

You nearly choked on absolutely nothing, mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Wait. What?"

She smiled serenely, her expression the perfect picture of innocence—which made it all the more ridiculous. “Yes, darling. The heroine and I are officially a couple.”

You blinked. “The same heroine who couldn’t tell a poisoned apple from a regular one if her life depended on it?”

“The very same.”

“The one who gets lost in her own estate if she turns too many corners?”

“Yes, that one.”

You couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit you, and you burst out laughing. "Oh, that is rich. How in the world did that happen?”

The villainess leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Oh, it was simple, really. I realized I was always drawn to her... naiveté. And once I stopped trying to sabotage her every move, well, things just fell into place.”

You were still laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you two, but this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

The villainess gave you a mock glare. “Don’t act so surprised. I’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“Oh, impeccable taste, huh?” you teased. “I just didn’t expect it to lead you straight to a walking ball of sunshine.”

“Well, someone needs to keep her from wandering into traffic.”

Still snickering, you stood up. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a saint for dealing with her.”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically, “but love makes us do ridiculous things.”

"Tell me about it," you muttered, still amused. You waved goodbye and promised to catch up later, your mind reeling from this new, absolutely hilarious development.

When you got back to the palace, you found Leona lounging in his usual spot, sprawled out on a couch like a lion that had just taken over the whole savannah. He barely glanced up as you walked in, already sensing the amused energy radiating off you.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “What happened?”

You plopped down next to him, barely containing your laughter. “You won’t believe this. The villainess is dating the heroine now.”

Leona’s eyes flicked open, and for a split second, he looked like he didn’t believe you. Then, slowly, a smirk spread across his face as he processed the information. “You’re messing with me.”

“Nope. Dead serious. They’re a couple now. In love.” You leaned in, grinning. “The villainess—ice queen herself—is head over heels for Miss Pure Sunshine.”

Leona actually chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never saw that one coming.”

“I know, right? It’s the most chaotic thing ever, and I am living for it.”

Leona’s smirk turned into a full-on grin, which was rare enough to be considered a national treasure. He shifted, sitting up slightly. “You think we’ll get an invite to the wedding?”

You snorted. “Oh, you bet. I’m going to be front row just to see how she manages to keep the heroine from accidentally setting her own dress on fire.”

Leona’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Come here,” he ordered, tugging you toward him.

“What? No, I’ve got work to do,” you protested weakly, but your protests didn’t mean much when he effortlessly pulled you into his lap.

“Work can wait. This is more important,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around you in a possessive hug that made it very clear you weren’t going anywhere.

You sighed, leaning into him. “You just want to cuddle, don’t you?”

“I want you to stop running around and actually relax for once,” he retorted, resting his chin on top of your head. “Besides, it’s not like the kingdom’s gonna fall apart if we take a break.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I should get a promotion. I’m basically doing all the work around here.”

Leona chuckled again, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah, well, don’t let Falena hear that. He might actually make you his advisor, and then I’ll never get any alone time with you.”

You snorted. “Oh please, you’d just kidnap me from work if that happened.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, his voice low and satisfied. “You’re mine, remember?”

You felt your heart do that annoying flutter thing as Leona’s possessive tone settled over you. Even when he was being a lazy lion, he made you feel like the most important thing in his life. It was comforting—and kind of hilarious, considering how little he cared about everything else.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for once, you actually allowed yourself to relax, leaning into Leona’s warmth. His arms tightened around you again, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he started to drift off into a nap, his grip never loosening.

As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the absurdities in your life—from slipping on a plushie to your best friend falling in love with her former rival—you wouldn’t trade any of it. Not for the world.

And as Leona’s breath slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, you allowed yourself a small, contented smile.

Life was chaotic. But it was also perfect.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Idia won the previous poll! Now for the next,

[pathologicalreid]

mirrorball | s.r.

in which coping with Emily's return leads to tension between JJ and you, her sister, and Spencer, her best friend. it just ends up pushing the two of you closer together.

jareau!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: takes place during the events of 7x2 "proof", spencer's addiction, suicide, idiots in love word count: 2.92k a/n: happy memorial day 😎 have a fanfic, as a little treat

Durant, Oklahoma

Your sister had spoken to you ad nauseam about Spencer lashing out at her, which probably explained the way your heart rate spiked when you saw her approach Spencer in the conference room. Glancing over your shoulder, you flashed a concerned look at Emily, who had desperately been trying to smooth things over with the team since her rise from death.

“Spence,” JJ called, the nickname she’d started using when the two of them were kindred spirits and nothing more. “Look, we gotta talk about this,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief that he was acting out at work.

You weren’t surprised, though. Spencer had been holding in a lot of resentment since Emily returned from Paris and JJ left the Pentagon, and he’d been confiding in you. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Spencer answered, grabbing a file from the table and quickly flipping through it.

He wouldn’t, not at work and not in front of so many people. He’d withhold his real emotions until the sun went down, and once it was you and him in his bedroom—him lying to the team and you lying to your boyfriend—he’d talk about it until the sun rose. “I get it, okay? You’re disappointed with the way we handled Emily.” You tried to step forward, to stomp out the fire before it had a chance to ignite, but an arm reached out. Derek pulled you back, wanting to cause less of a scene.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, alright?” He said, abstaining from meeting her eyes and instead focusing on the folder in his hands. Spencer was right, the team was in the middle of a case, but you knew JJ would have a hard time working if she didn’t resolve her issues with Spencer.

She frowned, adjusting her stance like she was getting ready for a fight. “You know what I think it is?”

Exasperated, Spencer sighed, looking up at your sister expectantly, “What?” His voice was sharp, bitterness tinging his tone.

“You’re mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital, and you weren’t able to detect our deception.” Her guess was as good as a nail in a coffin. She was making an entirely human issue about Spencer’s intelligence because that’s all he’d ever be to her—187.

He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared your sister down with hurt, brown eyes. “You think it’s about my profiling skills?” He asked, bordering on tearful before he regained his composure, “Jennifer, listen, the only reason that you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row, crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Red rimmed your sister’s baby blue eyes as devastation sunk in, “I couldn’t.” The words were forced out of her mouth, her voice constricted by emotion.

“You couldn’t? Or you wouldn’t?” Spencer challenged, tilting his head at her in the same way he did when he was cajoling an UnSub.

You walked forward again, this time uninterrupted, so you could hear the two of them better. “No,” JJ insisted, “I couldn’t.”

Spencer didn’t look surprised. “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

JJ faltered, her head tipping back slightly before she poked it forward, “You didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, “But I thought about it.” The worst part of it was that he wasn’t lying, and when he needed someone to tell him the truth, you’d been the one there to pick up the pieces. The one to beg him to tell you where he’d put the vials so you could properly dispose of them.

One look at her and you knew Spencer had cracked your sister’s armor, the same way yours had that night, with his head in your lap as you begged him to sleep so he wouldn’t continue to yearn for the dreams that had nearly killed him years ago. “Spence,” she said, her voice breathy with shock. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer put his hands up in surrender, stepping away from her, his back facing you. “It’s too late, alright?”

Behind his back, your eyes met JJ’s. She silently pleaded with you to say something in support of her, but instead, you stayed silent while Spencer stalked away and Emily called after him. Your sister’s glare instinctively narrowed, frowning at your refusal to take her side, but if there was anything you learned from your time as her sister, you never wanted to be in between her feuds. 

Emily faltered, thinking about following after Spencer but deciding against it, nearly tripping over her own feet when she resolved herself to stay behind. Her brown eyes found you in the chaos of her indecision, asking you to go after him, and instead, you walked to the conference room where your sister was licking her wounds. “I can’t believe him,” she muttered under her breath, fingertips trembling as she tried to grab a stack of papers from the table. 

You could. You’d seen him like this before, right after JJ had told you Emily was dead. He was hurting, and he tended to lash out when he felt vulnerable. Now this, this convoluted reciprocal grief where he—and the rest of you—were no longer mourning the loss of your friend, but the versions of yourselves that had spent six months coping with Emily’s death, only to find that she had been alive the whole time. 

On the jet, on the way to Oklahoma, you’d observed her in discreet silence, wondering what her life had looked like during that brief intermission. Had she gone to explore in Paris? Watching the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower while you were barely holding yourselves together. 

It wasn’t unlike yourself to push aside your own grief for the sake of someone else’s, you vaguely remember doing it when your oldest sister passed away. What a heavy burden it was, to be four years old and taking responsibility for every smile that came around in that old house. You tried now, to be someone else, setting a gentle hand on JJ’s shoulder and whispering, “It’s been hard for him. It’s one of those things where you just never know what someone else is going through.” 

You’d selected your words carefully, concerning yourself with the secrets you’d kept from your sister, protecting yourself and Spencer while trying to reassure her. You clipped the wire to a ticking time bomb, and you’d chosen the wrong one. “That’s rich, coming from you,” JJ responded, setting her jaw and looking at you expectantly. 

Forgetting yourself for a moment, you flinched back at her words as surely as she’d struck you across the face. Slowly, you looked around to see if any of your other team members had heard what she said, just to find them all still lingering by the evidence boards. 

Desperately, you found yourself staring at Hotch, parting your lips to explain your departure, but he already knew. He nodded at you once, giving you the okay to follow after Spencer, so that’s exactly what you did. Emily’s hand skimmed over your shoulders as you pointedly refrained from looking back at your sister before walking out the front door of the precinct. 

The brightness of the sun stung your eyes as you searched the parking lot, looking for Spencer before your eyes caught him, getting into the driver’s seat of one of the SUVs before starting the car. Swallowing the distaste that your sister had left in your mouth, you jogged over to the black car, opening the door and swinging yourself into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” 

“What?” He asked, looking at you in disbelief, shocked that you had followed him into the parking lot. 

You shrugged, pulling the seat belt over your shoulder and clicking it, “There’s a park just down the road. We could go there for a little while—get some fresh air,” you offered, pointing to the left of the precinct toward the park you’d seen on your way in. 

Silently, Spencer considered your offer and put the car in reverse, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions to the park. 

Neither of you moved to get out of the car once it was stationary. Spencer ducked his head down, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Hey,” you spoke softly now, unbuckling your seatbelt and tilting your head to the side in concern. “Do you have a migraine?” 

He shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible from behind his hands before dragging them down his face, “Did you know?”

You frowned for a moment, wondering what he was asking while you unscrambled the thoughts in your mind. He was asking if you had known about Emily. If you had known the whole time he was breaking down that Emily was still alive. If you were another name he needed to add to his list of betrayers. “No,” you assured him. “I had no idea.”

Thankfully, he believed you, nodding while seemingly melting back into the driver’s seat before looking out at the playground. School was still in session, so the playground was mostly abandoned, save for a few toddlers running about. “I went to her house for ten weeks straight before… that night. She never told me anything other than how sorry she was.” 

Trying to ignore the way he stumbled over his memory of that night, you nodded, commiserating with him. After the night in question, he’d resorted to coming to you for anything he needed, the life preserver in the middle of the sea of grief that he had practically begged your sister to throw. You weren’t interested in a conversation regarding who was right and who was wrong. You knew how Spencer’s brain worked well enough to know that this wasn’t about moral philosophy, it was about how JJ left Spencer to drown when he needed her most. 

Part of you had tried to forget the night you’d gone to his apartment, convincing his neighbor to buzz you in and picking the lock to his front door before getting into a screaming match with him. A fight that had ended with his head in your lap, combing your fingers through his hair while you whispered reassuring things. Telling him childhood stories about you and JJ, a funny story about something Henry had done—anything it took to get his mind off of his grief and away from the drug that he so desperately craved.

He never intended to use his addiction as a weapon, but at some point in his time as an addict, his brain had crossed its wires. It was common for addicts, and maybe it was because you’d never known Spencer before that became part of him, but it seemed like you were able to wrap your mind around it in ways that no one else on the team could. 

“Thank you for coming after me,” Spencer said after the extended silence, reaching out for your hand before thinking better of it and returning his hand to his lap.

Your chest ached at his choice, but you understood why he’d made it. Everything about your friendship had become so convoluted, but the two of you never crossed that bridge. “I had to get out of there too,” you admitted, your eyes burning with the promise of tears, giving you the excuse to cross your arms across your chest. 

Spencer cocked his head to you, “What do you mean? What happened?” 

“Uh,” you faltered over your words, “I tried to defend you to JJ, and she… didn’t like it.” 

Across the center console from you, Spencer set his jaw, “What did she say to you?” He asked with a curiosity so genuine you wouldn’t believe it if it were coming from anyone else. 

Skipping some of the words, you picked at the skin around your nails, “How much do you know about Roslyn?” Even her name burned at your throat, vague memories of someone who shared your genes scratched at you, leaving your voice hoarse. 

“Just how she died,” Spencer admitted, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning so he could face you better. 

You frowned, avoiding his eyes at all costs, “JJ blames me for her death.” 

Though you couldn’t see him, you heard Spencer struggling with the information that you’d just given to him. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat and did the mental math in his head, “You were only four when she died. You couldn’t have caused her suicide.” 

Nodding, you spared a quick look at him, but the sympathy in his eyes was too much to bear in the confines of the car. Scrambling for the door handle, you opened the door to the car and nearly fell out, sitting yourself on the curb so you could feel the wind prick at your skin. “JJ calls me Ducky because it’s a nickname that Ros gave to me,” you explained once he came around the back of the SUV. 

“You don’t need to explain,” He tried to offer. Selfishly, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to understand you better, offering a piece of yourself that no one outside of your immediate family had. You knew Spencer would take that piece and hold it close to his heart, treating it better than anyone else ever had. 

You took a deep, trembling breath, “When I was learning how to walk, I did more of a waddle, and Ros said I looked like a little duck. She used to come to the elementary school when I was in kindergarten and walk home with me, because the kids had bullied me so badly on the bus that I was petrified of ever getting back on.” You laughed in slight disbelief, “I didn’t even ask her, she just offered to walk me home. She always stayed after the high school got out and met me in front of my school.” 

It was innocent, really, when she called out my nickname to get my attention so we could walk home, but some other kids had overheard her. The next day, we were doing a craft in school, and this one kid—Peter Fuller—dumped a bunch of glue and feathers on my seat when I got up to get a colored pencil. I sat in it, and they all stuck to me. I still remember the way it felt to have everyone point and laugh at me.” You wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks. “My mom picked me up and helped me pull the feathers off of me, but the skirt was a goner. When Ros got home, I yelled at her. I told her I hated her and that she was a bad sister, and the next day…” 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him, “JJ found her in the bathroom. She’d slit her wrists with our father’s razor blades.” You hugged yourself tightly, “Jennifer told dad what I had said, and he was the first one to blame me. She just followed suit. We’ve gotten past it, mostly, but sometimes things get ugly between us and that’s always the first shot to be fired.” 

“It’s a defense mechanism,” Spencer said, lowering himself down to the curb, sitting next to you. “She hits where it hurts because she feels like her walls are down.” 

You nodded weakly, “I know. That’s why she always goes for Ros. That’s why she went for your profiling skills.” 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Spencer asked innocently, trying to gain insight on your sister through you. “That she can’t be confronted without returning fire?” 

Thinking about it for a moment, you shrugged, looking at him through teary eyes, “It never changes the fact that she’s my sister. We promised each other a long time ago that we’d never let anything get in between us, so, I don’t think there’s any secret we couldn’t come back from.” You watched him stand up from the curb, holding a hand out for you to take. “She’ll apologize to you in a few days, you just have to wait her out,” you told him as he pulled you to your feet. 

You looked up at him, curiously gazing into his brown eyes, he murmured, “I’m glad it’s not just me under fire.” 

Nodding, you swallowed thickly before responding to him, “I’ll always be here when you’re under siege.” You noticed the way his eyes were studying your face, “Spencer,” you whispered, “I’m—“

“How’s Garrett?” He asked abruptly, inquiring about your boyfriend unprompted, watching your facial expressions for an answer before you even opened your mouth. 

You pursed your lips thoughtfully while he took a step away from you, mindfully putting space between the two of you. “He’s okay, he asked me to move in with him, but I’m—“ 

“You should do it,” he interrupted you again, putting his hands in his pockets before rounding the car. “We should get back to the precinct,” he said, turning the key in the ignition before you could even comprehend what had just happened. 

I’m confused was what you had intended to say to him, and now you were leaving with more questions than you had arrived with. Blinding pawing at the door handle while you prepared yourself for the silent car ride back to work.

"I think I want to be in love with you, but I don't know how." — Angela Carter

[luxlightly]

"If you're hurt by finding out that a person you admired did something bad or are worried about the idea they might, it shows you need to not form attachments to people you don't personally know."

I have bad news for you about how literally the entirety of human socialization and the human mind work. You can say "here's a stick from off the ground. his name is Stanley and he has a loving family" and then break the stick and people will feel hurt because they formed a positive connection to Stanley. Humans project attachment onto everything. Asking people not to feel connections to other humans is not feasible. It's not possible and, if it were, it sure as hell wouldn't be healthy.

You didn't do anything wrong if you feel hurt that someone you didn't personally know did something wrong. You're not parasitic or obsessive for wanting people you don't personally know to be good people. Being devastated that someone you liked did something horrible isn't a sign you liked them too much, it's a sign you have the basic human ability to form emotional and social connections. Your responsibility is being aware of those connections and behaving in ways that are healthy, respectful, and keep you and others safe.

Trying to just not admire people or not feel a connection to other humans won't work. Focus instead on being aware of what your relationships to other people are, what actions on your part are acceptable given that level of relationship, what actions are acceptable on their part, and what level of relationship it's realistic or healthy to project. And be ready, as with all things in life, to change your views on something or someone when presented with new information, even if you have very strong emotional connections to the subject. For example: "I'd love to get a cup of coffee with the celebrity I don't know and talk with them about a film they're in. I imagine that would be nice." <- normal human emotion "I will go to this celebrity I don't know and ask them, apropos of nothing, to get a coffee with me/I expect this celebrity I've never met WILL go to coffee with me" <- Unrealistic level of projected relationship. Crosses boundaries of normal human interactions between strangers.

"I'm devastated this actor I liked was an abuser" <- normal human emotion

"I won't believe that this actor was an abuser because I like him and therefore can tell he wouldn't do that" <- Unrealistic and unhealthy level of projected relationship. Unsafe for you and others.

You can't just "not admire" people, yes, even people you don't know personally. Instead, be careful to make sure your admiration of someone doesn't affect your ability to make judgements about them.

[thesecretdcblog]

Tim playing quietly at the foot of his mother's vanity while she gets ready for a gala, his mother watching him out of the corner of her eye

Tim grinning from behind his mother's leg at the socialite who insulted him while his mother rips them a new one

Tim trying on Janet's dresses and trying to do make-up so he can "be pretty like mommy". Janet helping to clean him up and showing him how to do it properly

Tim who doesn't mind when his parents leave because he'll know they'll always come back eventually and his mother will tell him everything when they do

Tim who is usually so in control of his emotions fully breaks down when he gets the news about his mother's death

Tim being so devastated that he's borderline catatonic during her funeral. Barely able to go through the motions of being a polite host while half of his heart is missing.

Tim Drake being the biggest mama's boy

[lesservillain]

baby daddy!eddie x mom!reader

cw: smut, non established relationship, best friend!eddie as well, idiots in love

wc: 3.8k

Closing the door as gently as he could, Eddie tip toed down the hall of the trailer and rounded into the kitchen to get himself a beer. He’d played hard enough with Autumn that she could barely keep her eyes open through her bath, but that also meant he wore himself out in the process. So after cracking open a can, he plops his ass down and turns on the TV, ready to chill until he passes out on the couch.

Well, that was the plan. Just as he got comfortable, there was a small knock on the trailer door. With a frustrated sigh, Eddie jumps back up, mumbling something about people coming to his house so late at night.

“Listen, I’ve told you all I don’t fucking deal anymore—Woah!”

Instead of some annoying kids looking for weed, Eddie was met with your sniffling nose and tear stained cheeks. He immediately went into best friend mode, wrapping you in a big hug and letting you get those emotions out.

After some crying and a soaked shoulder later, you finally peel yourself away from Eddie and attempted to talk, but only babbling came out.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Eddie says, thumbs rubbing the tops of your shoulders. “Just calm down and tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, doing your best to compose yourself.

“He-he-he g-got mar-married,” you hiccup out.

Eddie blinks at you. He knows exactly what you were talking about. Dustin told him back when that Harrington met a girl about 6 months ago and apparently they hit it off right away. The last thing he wanted to do was tell you about her considering your long time pining for him Especially considering he’s the reason Harrington would never ask you out. But you ended up finding out on your own, and devastated couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt.

It seemed soon in Eddie’s opinion, granted he would marry you tomorrow if you would say yes. When Dustin told him that he was going to be the best man that the wedding, Eddie had mixed feelings. He knew that it would kill you when you found out. That you’d react exactly as you were now.

Actually, you’re doing a little better than he anticipated.

“He came into the store and,” you blew your nose into the toilet paper he grabbed for you, “and I saw the ring on his finger when he was getting his money out of his wallet.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“They haven’t even known each other that long! He’s such an idiot…”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that,” Eddie jokes, rolling his eyes.

“Oh god, what if--do you think it’s because she’s pregnant?”

Eddie’s pretty sure Dustin would have told him if that was the reason why, but it’s not an unreasonable guess.

“I don’t know, could be? Or maybe Steve Harrington is just an idiot like you said. And maybe they’ll be divorced by this time next year. Who knows, right?”

You sighed, leaning into Eddie and resting your head against him. “I don’t even know why I’m so upset. He was never going to ask me out anyway. No one wants a young single mom. Steve has his whole life to do what he wants, why would he be with someone who has so much baggage?”

“Hey, don’t say that about Audy,” Eddie scolds.

“No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” you correct, “I was talking about myself. I’d never be with someone who didn’t accept Autumn. Even Steve Harrington. I just…I’m damaged goods, Eddie.”

Eddie could feel himself getting upset but didn’t want to make things worse right now, so he took a few breathes to steady himself. He said your name sternly, pulling your full attention to him.

“I don’t like it when you say things like that. It makes me feel like it’s my fault--”

“Eddie,” you stop him before he can get another word out, “You know that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve told you before that if I was going to get pregnant right out of high school with anyone that I wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else but you.”

Eddie knows this, and he feels the same. But it’s not what he wants.

Even though it was all a total accident, he hoped that night the two of you spent together was going to be the next step for both of you. And even though he was scared after you told him with tears in your eyes then that he had gotten you pregnant, he wished with all his might that it would bring the two of you closer together.

Which it did in a way. Obviously the two of you would be bound together for the rest of your lives, but it wasn’t in the way he wanted. You still were head over heels for Steve, and there was no way Eddie could even compare to the king.

“Yeah…I know.” He says somberly. Your brows pinch, making him worried he should have said something else.

Then your expression changed. You looked at him intensely for a moment, before your eyes became lidded and…were you leaning in?

Eddie thought fast, making a quick decision to put his hand over your mouth, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyes go wide as dinner plates, tears perching on your waterline as what hot embarrassment washes over you.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, suddenly regretting everything. This could have been his chance and he was an idiot.

You pull his hand from his mouth, sitting in silence for a moment before you begin to laugh. It catches Eddie off guard and he freezes.

“Eddie, I should be the one apologizing,” you say with giggles. “I’m the one who was stupid enough to try and kiss her best friend for a second time. We both know what happened the first time and the last thing we need is history to repeat itself.”

Eddie still felt conflicted. Your tone wasn’t sitting right with him, like there was some level of self depreciation in your words.

After a moment you stop laughing. Your face warps into worry as you stand from the couch.

“I-I need to go—“

“No, wait!” Eddie stands to grab your wrist before you could run away. He pulls you into him and hugs you tightly to him. You stand still before slowly wrapping your arms around him, gripping his shirt in your hands.

“Listen, I know you’re going through a lot emotionally right now, but…I’m here for whatever you need. Even if…” He trails off for a moment, knowing that he’s just going to hurt himself if he lets you use him. But he can’t turn you away when you need him. He’d rather you take advantage of his feelings than run off to someone else who would hook up with you without second thought.

“Even if it means crossing a boundary that we’ve already crossed before.”

Eddie feels you press into him harder, face buried in his chest. And when you look up at him, Eddie thinks he could melt into a puddle and let you mold him to however you’d like.

“I don’t think I should make any rash decisions right now,” you say with a sniffle. “I think I just need to clear my head. Let myself rot in my own misery instead of dumping it all on you.”

“Or,” Eddie says with a smile, “you could rot with me. I rented some movies and some beers in the fridge that have your name on them. I think we have some leftover pizza still, too.”

Your smile was so bright it was comparable to the sun rising. There was nothing in the world that could keep him down as long as you were happy. Eddie probably would have dropped out of school after his second failure if you hadn’t simply smiled at him and told him that he would graduate next year, for sure. He probably only did because you smiled at him every time he got a good grade.

The way you hugged him for a long time after a report card with no F’s on it kept Eddie’s head in the zone that last school year. And, well, the way your body felt under his when he finally graduated…

Eddie shook his head, wracking his brain for anything to keep his mind from thinking about that night right now. There’s no way him getting a boner while you were still holding on to him so tight would be good.

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” you finally say after staring up at him for several beats. But Eddie caught the somber look in your eyes. It was going to take a lot of distracting to get you in a good head space.

“You know, I think we might still have some popcorn, too.”

After a few drinks, some weed, and a movie and a half later, Eddie finds himself waking up on his couch at some point after falling asleep. The bright, staticy screen causes him to squint his eyes, turning his head enough to bump his chin against the top of your head.

Eddie looks down at where you’re leaning into his side. He vaguely remembers wrapping an arm around you before the two of you had succumbed to sleep. It pains him to possibly wake you but the urge to pee is what startled him awake in the first place, so he does his best to untangle himself from you and sneaks to the bathroom.

On the way back to the couch, Eddie decided to stop in his room and grab a blanket for the two of you. But when he returns, he finds you sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Hey,” you croak out, looking at him with squinted eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers back. “I brought us a blanket.”

You stretch before standing up from the couch. “I should probably head home, Eddie.”

“Sweetheart its,” he leans to check the time on the microwave, “3 in the morning.”

Your eyes go wide, hands running over your face. “It is? Fuuuuck.”

“Just stay,” Eddie says, walking over to you and wrapping you up in the blanket. You groan, feeling conflicted on if you should stay and sleep on Eddie’s couch or if you should brave the drive home.

“Hey, if you stay, you don’t have to drive all the way over here to get Fae in the morning.”

“Ugh, okay you got me,” you say, giving in. You sit back down on the couch and start to make yourself comfortable.

“Wait, you can sleep in my bed. Promise I don’t bite.”

That took less convincing as you pop back up, dragging the blankets behind you as you wobble to Eddie’s room. Eddie laughs as you plop into his bed, stealing one of his pillows to make yourself comfortable.

“Hey save some room for me,” he says, walking around to the other side to climb in. He lays next to you, adjusting in an obnoxious manner that has you giggling. You turn to face him and he does the same.

“I love you,” you say at the tail end of a giggle. It’s something said frequently between the two of you. Genuine as it’s spoken after years of friendship.

“Love you, too,” Eddie says with a sigh. Sleep soon takes you both over again. The only sounds that can be heard is the sound of the a/c doing its best to cool down the trailer.

Eddie felt himself waking once again, this time much more comfortably in his own bed. He yawned, shaking a bit as the feeling of waking overcame his body.

The sun peaking through the cracks of his curtains gave the room just enough light that he could see the room with a slight glow. Turning his head, he chanced to see if you were still laying with him. He had a dream that you’d left with Autumn and ran away with Steve that left a sick feeling in his stomach.

Much to his delight you were indeed still occupying the bed with him. Smiling wide as you looked at him, already awake where you lay.

“Mornin’,” he says in his morning voice, and your eyes flicker.

“Morning,” you squeak back. As Eddie turns to face you, your hand finds its way out from under the covers and reaches out towards him. Your fingers gently glide across his cheek, rubbing against the stubble as you push his hair out of his face.

The way you’re looking at him has Eddie’s tummy feeling funny, but in a different way from his dream. You’re looking at him the same way he looks at you.

Suddenly, you push yourself up on your arm, hand still on his cheek as you start to lean in once again. Eddie’s heart beats hard against his chest as you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

It lasts a few moments, and Eddie melts into it. It was a kiss like none he’s ever had before. Not even compared to the last time the two of you kissed before Autumn was born. This kiss felt like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter morning, the warmth spreading to every part of his body as he drank you in.

When you pulled away, Eddie chased after you, not wanting it to end so soon unknowing if it would ever happen again. When you don’t kiss him again, his eyes finally open to meet yours. They’re bouncing everywhere, scanning his face as if looking for an answer written on his skin.

“Eddie…”

But Eddie doesn’t let you ponder much longer, hand snaking around your head to pull you into him once more. This time more feverishly, the heat palpable between the two of you.

You shift so that you can bury your hands in his hair, and Eddie takes advantage of this to move himself above you. Eddie kisses you into the pillow beneath you, long kisses turning into passionate smacking, poking the fire that was burning between you.

“Tell me to stop,” Eddie says as his lips begin to move down your cheek and to your neck. He says your name breathily, “Tell me now, because I won't be able to stop once this starts.”

“I-I can’t. I won’t,” you stutter, hands grabbing at his waist as he kisses and nips at your neck. Eddie breathes against you, body alight knowing that you wanted this as much as him.

“But,” you say, stopping him in his tracks. You give him a coy smile, nodding towards the door. “You better make it quick. You know she’ll wake up at any moment.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Don’t gotta tell me twice. Better get to work then.”

Eddie suddenly lifts the blanket above the both of you and disappears underneath it. Soft kisses leave a trail from your knees to the apex between them. Eddie slips his fingers in the hem of the sleep pants he let you borrow, pulling them down with your panties in one quick motion. There was barely any light to see, so he decided to just dive in tongue first.

He ate you out like a man starved. Your thighs try hard to wrap around him as he works you up on his tongue, but his strong arms hold you open for him. Eddie groans at the way your fingers grip his hair, tugging just enough to burn so good against his scalp.

Once he added fingers, you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself quiet. It was like Eddie knew exactly what you liked, because not long after you were coming undone, riding his face as you did.

Eddie crawls up your body, head resting between your breasts as he pokes out from under the covers.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you pant, looking at him in awe.

“And that’s not even the best part,” he teases, making you roll your eyes at him. You grab his face and bring him closer to you, tasting yourself on his lips as you kiss him again.

Eddie rolls his hips subconsciously, and you can feel how hard he is as he grinds against you. You want to say you also forgot how big he was, but it’s something you didn’t want to admit you thought about often.

Your hand travels between you, fingers trailing against his skin as you reach the hem of his boxers. Slipping under it, you feel your way to his hard cock, taking it in your hand to pump him. He whines against your lips, hips moving faster in your grip. You watch with awe struck eyes as his beautiful face contorts in pleasure above you.

“Please,” he pants out as he fucks your hand, “Wanna be inside you. Can I?”

You nod silently, unbelievably turned on by your best friend for the second time now.

He works fast pulling his boxers off quickly, a loud thwaping coming from his cock smacking against his stomach after getting caught on the waistband. Your eyes go wide as you take in his size.

After almost 2 years you’re still shocked at what Eddie Munson is packing. Those dumb ass cheerleaders that picked the bone head jocks over him have no idea what they missed out on.

Eddie settled himself between your legs, spitting on his own cock to get it good and wet before rubbing it in your soaked folds. You had a moment of clarity, realizing that Eddie wasn’t wearing a condom. You opened your mouth to speak, but your words got caught up in a moan as Eddie pushed his way inside of you.

The stretch took your breath away. Eddie seesawed his way into your tight cunt, opening you up on his cock until he was balls deep inside of you. He placed his hands on either hip and started moving, holding you tight as he worked up his pace.

Every thrust felt like too much and not enough at the same time. The constant knocking against your sweet spot had you seeing stars quickly, still worked up from him eating you out. The pretty sounds that Eddie was making wasn’t helping either, but you still had enough mind to shush him so that he wouldn’t wake your daughter.

Eddie’s pace quickens, and he makes the fatal mistake of adding his thumb to the mix. It only throttles you to the edge for a second time this morning. It’s not much longer before your vision goes white, toes curling as your orgasm takes over. It's probably the hardest you’ve cum in a long time.

“Oh, fuck.”

You barely registered Eddie’s words, but you definitely felt the reason behind his curses. Eddie was cumming deep inside you, balls emptying into your pussy as you were still riding out your own orgasm.

In the moment it felt amazing, but the post orgasm bliss left you crashing as you realized the very real situation you were both in.

Eddie felt himself being pushed by you, taking him out of his own high as he stumbled back on his ass. As you open your mouth to speak, Eddie is hit with a wave of deja vu with every word.

“Did you fucking cum in me?” The words came out in slow motion and Eddie’s body broke out in cold sweat.

“I-I’m sorry. I was going to pull out, I just—“

“What? You forgot? Are you kidding me Eddie? Do you not remember what happened the last time?”

Right on cue, your daughter's whines could be heard from across the hall. You sigh, kicking the covers completely away from you and grabbing the pajama pants you had back on.

“Listen, I really am sorry,” Eddie says, looking at you with big, sad eyes. You groan, unable to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that.

“What are we going to do then, Eddie?” You ask him, walking out of his bedroom to get your daughter.

Eddie sits on the bed for a moment and thinks. He knows that you getting pregnant again while Autumn’s only and a half isn't ideal. Not that you being pregnant is ideal anyway, but honestly Eddie wouldn’t be mad about it.

He was so head over heels for both you and Autumn that he doesn’t hate the idea of another person to love is the worst thing. But he’s also not the one doing all the hard work. And if it wasn’t obvious the first time that having a kid wouldn’t fix any problems, then having a second would probably not make much of a difference in your feelings towards him.

The door opens again and Eddie watches as you enter with a squealing toddler on your hip, clearly happy to see both mommy and daddy.

“Morning, sweet girl,” Eddie cooes, scooping his baby up and smothering her with kisses, sending Autumn into a fit of giggles.

“I went ahead and changed her. If you want to dress her I’ll make breakfast.”

Eddie gave you a quick salute as you went to the kitchen, leaving him and your mini me to get ready for the day. It took a lot of wrestling but he was able to get the little one dressed, including hair done, and looking presentable for the day.

Fixing her up in her highchair, Eddie sat at the small kitchen table and breathed a sigh of relief. You shook your head at his theatrics, setting breakfast down for the both of them.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Eddie said, spooning some applesauce into Autumn’s mouth. “After we eat, why don’t I follow you to the pharmacy and we can pick you up a Plan B?”

You quirk an eyebrow in amusement. “You have Plan B money this time?”

“Ha ha,” Eddie laughs dryly at your reference to the last time you had sex, the both of you freaking out over having no money. Thankfully Eddie was able to get a good job at Hawkins Auto Body when you got pregnant. He makes pretty good money now considering he was able to get his own trailer. Money is still tight, but he can manage.

“Fine, better eat up then, or else you’re gonna have two mouths to feed instead of one.”

Eddie looks at your daughter, spitting image of him, besides your nose, and smiles. Maybe now isn’t the right time, but…maybe one day.

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 3

『The Dark Sea Gets Deeper As You Approach』

Disparities Between Our Souls You're forced to make some decisions you'd rather not do and have a bittersweet goodbye with your aunt Disclaimer(s): N/A

Chapter 2 <- Chapter 3 -> Chapter 4

The silence of the comms held countless unspoken words that piled up over the years you were gone. It was finally interrupted by Cass’s voice.

“As in our [Name?]” Her voice was full of disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Where are you. Damian could hear the urge and hope in her voice through the comms.

“I’m on a rooftop near their aunt’s house. They’ve just gone in with the other supposed-hero and the rogue.”

Finally, Damian heard the sound of Dick’s voice through the comms. “Robin, stay there and follow them if they go out. I’ll come over after dealing with some stuff in Bludhaven. Oracle, alert B when he comes back from his mission with the JL.”

“Copy.” Both Damian and Barbara replied.

“I’m coming over Robin.” Cass spoke up again, determination laced in her voice.

“Red Robin.” Dick called out.

“Yes?” Tim’s voice sounded surprised, like he had been lost in thought.

“You’re in charge of finding any information about [Name] and their partner.”

“On it.”

Throughout the whole conversation, many members of the group stayed quiet. Amongst these people was Jason Todd.

Jason had many regrets, more than he could count. Yet, one his biggest ones was his relationship with you. When you had gone missing, Jason was devastated. He was forced to confront his feelings. Forced to realise how his actions had caused you more harm than protect you, like he intended.

Those who had the misfortune of going against him the first few of your disappearance had instantly regretted it, but they did not have the pleasure of being granted mercy by the crime lord.

He thought he had finally accepted this outcome—you were gone, never to be found and you two would never have the chance to reconcile. This surprise turn of events had disrupted this mindset of his.

Jason didn’t know what to feel. On one hand, he finally had another opportunity to reconnect with you. On the other, he didn’t know how to go with his new-found chance. Clearly, you were not the same person you once were. Not the old [Name] who didn’t have any fighting knowledge. It almost made Jason laugh at how similar you and him were, but this wasn’t the time for that. He had a decision to make, to got or to not, and he had to make it quick.

The three of you of you had been at this for what seemed like hours at this point.

With such little tools and no idea why they were even broken in the first place, no progress had been made in fixing the gizmos. At times like this, you wished you were half as resourceful as Hobie Brown, but unfortunately, neither you, Miguel or you aunt were.

With it still being the middle of the night, you decided it was best for your aunt to get some rest. You did eventually persuade your aunt to go to rest, but not without some reluctance and white lies that you’d also go to sleep soon.

It was now only you and Miguel—excluding the anomaly— in the living room of your aunt’s. The silence made you uneasy, like something would pop out of the dark corners and scare you. With your adrenaline finally coming down from its high, you were left to deal with the overwhelming emotions that it left in its wake.

Mentally, you recounted the events that had occurred in just the past few hours; firstly, you were unexpectedly dropped into your home universe with no way to return to where you were before. Then, you and Miguel find an anomaly. You were ready to open the can of worms this knowledge came with so you moved on. Finally, you met your aunt after not being able to see her for 5 years, a seemingly invisible force stopping you every time you had attempted before.

So many emotions coursed through you that you honestly didn’t know how to feel.

Another problem to add to your pile was your family. You knew it was inevitable for your family to find out about you and your new identity, in fact, they probably already knew you were here, but you just weren’t ready to face them. Your habit of avoiding confrontation was always weakness of yours.

You wanted to stay away from them as much as you could. It wasn’t that you hated them, it was just that you grew to live a life without them and had almost completely forgotten what it was like to be with them and you wanted it to stay that way.

You decided to focus your thoughts back to the gizmo. This was your priority, not avoiding your family. You needed these gizmos working, stat. You and your husband had a HQ to run and an anomaly to send back to its universe.

Speaking of the HQ, hopefully it was doing alright without its leader. “Miguel, do you think the HQ is doing well?”

He nods. “Lyla’s most likely already informed the others of our disappearance. She can handle most of my responsibilities, and those that she can’t will be handled by Spiderwoman and, regrettably, spiderman.” You sighed, you knew you could trust Lyla and Jess with those responsibilities. Peter, maybe not as much, but hopefully the others will keep him in line. “Our main concern right now is to get our gizmos working again so the anomaly can be sent back.”

You felt defeated. All you had was a lack of new discoveries, useless tools and broken gizmos in your hands. Your train of though was interrupted by a familiar sound—distortion, like that of a TV. You swung your head towards the anomaly and then back to Miguel.

Shit.

You had forgotten about the glitching. You knew it was there but with so much happening, you were too busy to even remember that detail. Glitching was a painful experience, and as much as you didn’t like Doc Ock in any universe, you didn’t wish the pain of glitching upon them.

You really were on a time crunch now, unless you found a way to temporarily stop the glitching. Wait.

You did have one, and it was wrapped around your wrist right now; your gizmo. Although the portals weren’t working, you knew it still at least stopped the glitching. After all, your husband was standing perfectly fine with no glitches. As for you, this was your universe, you wouldn’t glitch at all as a native to the world.

“Should I give him my gizmo?” You stared down at the Doc Ock as you asked Miguel. His brows furrowed almost instantly at your words.

“I’m sorry? Did I hear that right mi vida?” Miguel was flabbergasted, in full doubt of your words.

“I mean, the portals aren’t working, communications are down, we’re in my universe and he’s glitching. I feel like the pros outweigh the cons right now.” You reasoned with not only him, but also yourself. You could see that Miguel was genuinely thinking through this plan of yours. You knew it was risky, but with the two main risks not working, you felt it would be fine.

Apparently, so did Miguel, as he nodded not even a minute later. “Alright.”

You took the watch off your wrist as you walked over to the Doc Ock and strapped it around his. “This’ll stop the glitching for now. Once we get back to the HQ where we can transport you back to your universe, I’ll take it back.” You spoke softly to him.

Although he couldn’t move due to Miguel’s paralysing venom, you could see his eyes light up and you took that as a thank you sign. You nodded at him before standing up again and facing your husband. “We really need to get back home soon.”

“Agreed, but we don’t have the right tools in reach to do that.” You both sighed and stayed quiet for a few seconds, letting each other try to come up with solutions. “Do you think we could go to your-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You glared at him.

“It’s really our only option right now, corazón. Unless we suddenly had money, our only other choice is to steal. They’ll be able to help us, they’re your world’s greatest detectives, are they not?” Damn it, why did Miguel have to make such a compelling argument.

“I don’t want to talk to them though.” You saw Miguel’s demeanour soften at your mumbled words.

“I know mi corazón, but let’s think about it this way. They’ll be able to help us finish what we need to faster, and after we leave, you won’t ever have to talk with them again. Don’t you want at least some closure as well? How they felt about your disappearance?” You stayed quiet, biting your nails. Your mind was in a war with itself right now. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved to see you alive and well.”

“I hate how you’re probably right.” You slump in defeat, placing your head on his shoulders. You felt his arms wrap around you, comforting in every way and you melted into his embrace.

“I’ll be by your side the whole time. You don’t need to be worried about anything.” You clung to him tighter.

“Thank you my love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You mumbled, words even more muffled by that fact that your head was still leaning on his shoulders.

“Yo también te amo.” You smiled at the familiar phrase.

…..

The sunrise came far quicker than you liked it to. With it came a new day with tasks you had to fulfil. One of which was the bittersweet goodbye with your aunt.

You waited anxiously for her to wake up. As you did, you walked around the house, nostalgia heavy. You stopped at the entrance of your bedroom.

Your room looked like it had remained untouched throughout the years. You remembered when you were younger, this room—the whole house, actually— was a lot more ruined, with paint peeling and bugs crawling everywhere. As much as you didn’t like Bruce, you were thankful that his money was able to grant your aunt with better living conditions.

You head a familiar pattern of footsteps approaching your room.

“Do you miss it?” Your aunt asked, voice soft.

“I do. I always miss when it was just us two.”

“Me too.” You stayed silent, it felt like she wanted to say more and you were right about that. “When you first disappeared, I was devastated, you know? I would sleep in your bed, letting my tears dry there. I was too scared to touch anything else in this room. This was all I had left of you.”

She put her hand on your shoulder, and suddenly, it felt like you were a little kid again, afraid of what the big world had in store for you. “I know you’re leaving today. Don’t worry about me darling. I know you’re alive and happy and that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. She turned you around to face her and cupped your face. “Don’t cry. I’ll always be here whenever you need me.”

You held her hands gently. “I promise to have back to you auntie. I’ll find a way.” You were filled with determination. Once you made it back to the HQ, you would do everything in your power to find a way to visit your aunt without some random rogue portal.

“I’ll be here waiting for as long as that will take.” You smiled at her and she returned it. It hurt you to break apart, but you knew you eventually had to.

You walked to the living room, where your husband was and nodded at him. He stood up, understanding the message. He easily picked up the anomaly and headed towards the front door. You slowly followed, reluctant to leave this place once again, but you pushed yourself.

You turned around to see her one more time before leaving. “We’ll be going now auntie. I’ll see you again.”

“Be careful out there darling.” You smiled and nodded before walking to Miguel who was waiting outside the door. You took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Taglist (open)

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @yaoizee @bat1212 @mybones537 @cim0nnin @ninihrtss @redkarmakai @a-lurking-fae @1abi @lettucel0ver @leeiasure @chericia @yotokx @amber-content @oscarissac2099 @awawage @k-anaru

I'm sorry for another late chapter guys 😭

This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, I can't lie. I started getting writer's block and then I started hating my writing so that was fun

I'm also starting to regret starting this story without a proper plot so we'll see how that goes lmao

Also, most of Batfam finally makes their appearance, yippee!!

Anyways, I watched AOT: The Last Attack in the cinema yesterday and oml I was sobbing the whole way through. I won't spoil anything just in case some of ya'll watch it but it was just so sad

As usual, mistakes are free to point out! They will be fixed as soon as possible

This week's song comes from the English translation of Black Sorrow from Alien Stage

Have a great day/night everyone! <3

[scoupsakakitty]

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights pt.2 | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The room remained silent long after Y/N left. The weight of their words, their accusations, lingered in the air like an unshakable storm cloud. No one dared to speak, no one wanted to admit what they all began to realize their mistake.

Mingyu ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “We messed up, didn’t we?”

Jihoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t just mess up. We completely turned on her without thinking.”

Joshua sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “We should have listened. We should have trusted her.”

Seungcheol, usually so sure of his decisions, felt a rare sense of self-doubt gnawing at him. His mind replayed the scene over and over Y/N’s devastated expression, her voice laced with desperation as she defended herself. And they had ignored it.

“She must hate us now,” Seokmin mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan, for once, had no witty remark, no clever way to deflect the situation. Instead, he sighed deeply. “We need to fix this.”

Y/N sat alone in her room, the echoes of their accusations still fresh in her mind. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them feel even a fraction of what she had felt. But more than anything, she just felt… tired.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. At first, she ignored it, expecting them to give up. But the knocking persisted. With an annoyed sigh, she stood up and pulled the door open only to find all thirteen members standing outside, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Mingyu, standing in the front, suddenly dropped to his knees. “Y/N, I was an idiot. No—worse than an idiot. I don’t even have a word for how dumb I was. Please, please forgive me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You’re really kneeling?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said without hesitation. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, stepping forward. “We all made a huge mistake. We let frustration cloud our judgment, and we blamed you without any proof. That was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

“We should have believed in you,” Joshua added, his usual warmth returning to his voice. “You’re our family.”

One by one, they all spoke up, each admitting their faults, each apologizing sincerely. Even Jihoon, who rarely showed emotions so openly, muttered, “I was too quick to judge. I’m sorry.”

Y/N took her time, letting them squirm under her scrutiny. She could see the genuine regret on their faces, the desperation in their eyes. And a wicked idea formed in her mind.

She sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t know… maybe I should just leave the group.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What?!”

“No, no, no!”

“Y/N, please, don’t even joke about that!”

Seungkwan looked ready to burst into tears. “I swear, if this is because of us—”

“I’ll do anything!” Mingyu pleaded. “I’ll cook for you for a year! I’ll do your laundry! I’ll—”

Y/N burst into laughter, unable to hold back any longer. “Relax, I was just messing with you.”

The collective groan that followed was almost comical. Seungcheol placed a hand over his heart, exhaling in relief. “Don’t do that! I nearly had a heart attack.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

Y/N smirked. “That’s what you get for doubting me.”

Despite their moment of panic, the mood shifted almost instantly. Hoshi pulled Y/N into a bone-crushing hug, and soon, the others piled on, a mess of tangled limbs and relieved laughter.

“Still mad at us?” Vernon asked as they finally pulled away.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “I should be. But I guess I’ll forgive you guys. Just this once.”

They all cheered, and for the first time that night, everything felt right again.

“Well… on one condition,” Y/N added, crossing her arms. “I want my favorite ice cream.”

Without hesitation, Dino shot up. “I got it! I’ll get it right now!” And before anyone could react, he was already sprinting out the door.

The others laughed, shaking their heads as they watched him go. Finally, things were back to normal.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

based on this ask !! thank you @xoxosblogsblog for another amazing request, a very emotional one to write as i’ve lost a parent, but it was therapeutic to write <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: death of a parent, crying, panic attack, descriptions of dissociating, grief, the cast being adorable :’), very angsty but a comforting ending !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N sat in her trailer, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artists had just left, the remnants of their work leaving her looking polished, camera-ready. Her character was meant to be grieving in today’s scene, but they had only given her a touch of concealer, a dusting of powder to dull the shine of the lights, and a hint of smudged mascara to make it look like she had been crying.

She was supposed to pretend to be devastated.

The irony was almost cruel.

Her phone vibrated against the counter. She glanced down at the screen, expecting to see a message from Drew, maybe a reminder from the assistant director to head to set soon. Instead, her father’s name flashed across the screen.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like him to call during the day. He knew she was working, knew she was filming one of the biggest scenes of the season. A sudden chill crept up her spine, a visceral knowing before she even answered.

With slightly trembling fingers, she swiped to accept the call.

“Dad?” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her.

There was silence for a beat too long.

Her father was a strong man, always composed, always measured in his words. But when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual warmth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and in just that one word, she felt her world tilt on its axis.

She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s your mum,” he said, and the way his voice wavered sent ice coursing through her veins.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What about her?”

His breath hitched, and then—

“She’s gone, love.”

The words didn’t compute. They didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any conceivable reality she had prepared herself for.

“What?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“She passed away this morning.”

Her father’s voice was thick, like he was struggling to hold himself together. But she barely heard him now. The words looped in her mind, repeating over and over, yet still, she couldn’t understand them.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

That wasn’t possible. She had just spoken to her mum a few days ago. She had promised to visit after the season wrapped. She had plans with her, had texts left unanswered, had so many things left unsaid.

A strange ringing noise filled her ears, drowning out whatever else her father was saying. She felt the weight of her own body disappear, like she was floating outside of herself, detached and weightless.

Her vision blurred.

The room around her suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The air too thick.

“… I know you’re at work,” her father was saying, his voice distant, “and I don’t want to take you away from that. There’s nothing you can do right now, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything here. Just—just get through today, yeah? Then we’ll figure everything out.”

Get through today.

That was the only option, wasn’t it?

She would have to book flights, pack a bag, make arrangements—but none of that could happen now. If she left set immediately, what would she do? Sit in a hotel near the airport, trapped with nothing but her grief?

At least here, she had something to do.

At least here, she could pretend for a little longer.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Okay.”

Her father hesitated. “Y/N—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice eerily calm.

“Sweetheart, wait—”

But she ended the call.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the counter with a dull clack.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She stared at the mirror, at the girl looking back at her—the girl who, ten minutes ago, had been fine. Normal. Whole.

Now, she felt like a cracked porcelain doll, barely held together, each fissure running deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Her face remained passive, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes gave her away.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She was somewhere else, floating through the spaces between reality and nothingness.

Her body felt heavy, yet she was untethered.

Her fingers curled against her lap, gripping onto the fabric of her costume as if that alone could keep her from slipping away entirely.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because if it was—

A soft knock at the door made her flinch.

“Five minutes to set!” called a PA from outside.

She blinked.

Five minutes.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She forced herself to move, to pick up her phone, to smooth down her clothes. She had a job to do.

She pushed everything else aside, packed it into a box, sealed it tight.

She would grieve later.

For now, she would pretend.

She opened the door and stepped onto set, not realising that in just a few short minutes, the cracks in her facade would shatter completely.

—

The set of Outer Banks was alive with the usual buzz of controlled chaos—crew members adjusting lights, directors conferring in hushed tones, the distant hum of the ocean blending into the background. It was supposed to be just another day of filming, another scene to capture before moving on to the next.

It was a heavy one.

Her character had just lost her father. The Pogues were there, trying to comfort her, trying to remind her she wasn’t alone. Even Rafe—played by Drew—stood nearby, a complicated mix of emotions brewing in his expression. The cameras were rolling, capturing everything.

Y/N tried to focus, tried to remember her lines, but something inside her cracked wide open.

She felt the grief swell like a rising tide, swallowing her whole. It was too big, too raw, too real.

When she started crying, no one questioned it. She was an incredible actress—everyone knew that. The scene demanded tears, demanded heartbreak. But as her sobs grew heavier, more uncontrollable, the air on set shifted.

Rudy shot a glance towards Chase, brows furrowed. Madelyn, kneeling beside Y/N in the scene, squeezed her hand, her own eyes glassy with concern. Drew, standing just out of frame, felt his pulse quicken.

Something wasn’t right.

The way Y/N clutched at her chest, the way her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged—it wasn’t just acting anymore.

Still, the cameras kept rolling.

Adrenaline surged through Drew’s veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to cut through the scene, to pull her out of whatever was happening. But he hesitated. Y/N was a professional. If this was her choice, if she was using real emotions to fuel the performance, he had to respect that.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

The sob that tore from her throat wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t crafted for the scene. It was pain—real, unfiltered pain.

That was when the director finally called, “Cut!”

But Y/N didn’t stop.

She was still sobbing, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The cast and crew hesitated, frozen in the moment, unsure whether they should intervene.

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He was by her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands grasping her shoulders. “Hey, hey—Y/N, breathe. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

Her body was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisted in anguish.

“Y/N,” Madelyn whispered, stroking her back. “What’s going on?”

“Someone get her water,” Chase called, already stepping forward.

Drew cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Love, talk to me.”

But she couldn’t.

The world around her blurred at the edges, the voices of her friends distant, muffled. She felt like she was floating—adrift in a sea of grief, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

“Come on, baby,” Drew pleaded, his own voice shaking now. “You’re scaring me.”

Y/N gasped for air, her chest constricting so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Madelyn was rubbing soothing circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances, while Rudy and Jonathan exchanged worried glances. The crew had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the scene unfold.

Finally, through the sobs, through the suffocating grief, Y/N forced out the words that shattered the air around them.

“My mum… she’s gone.”

Drew’s heart stopped.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her, his grip tightening instinctively.

“What?” he breathed.

Y/N choked on another sob, pressing her hands to her face as if she could somehow block it all out.

“My dad called me before we filmed,” she whimpered. “She—she died. I—I didn’t know what to do—I thought I could just—” She gasped, shaking her head frantically. “I thought I could just get through the day, but—”

Drew didn’t let her finish.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse them together. She collapsed into him, gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands.

The rest of the cast looked on, their own eyes brimming with emotion. Madelyn covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Jesus, Y/N…” Chase muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—” Her voice broke again. “I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Drew murmured against her hair. His own eyes were wet now, his throat thick with emotion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She let out a broken whimper, gripping him tighter.

Madelyn sat beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind. Rudy joined a moment later, then Jonathan, then Chase. A pile of bodies, all holding onto her, surrounding her with warmth, with love.

The weight of Y/N’s revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a sombre pall over the once-bustling set. The cast remained huddled around her, their collective warmth a fragile barrier against the encroaching chill of grief.

Drew held her as if anchoring her to the present, his fingers gently threading through her hair. “We’re here, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone.”

Madelyn, her own tears silently falling, whispered soothing words, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re with you.”

Chase knelt beside them, his usual playful demeanour replaced with earnest concern. “Whatever you need, Y/N. We’re family.”

Rudy and Jonathan exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared resolve. “We’ll get through this together,” Jonathan said softly, his voice steady.

As Y/N’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet tremors, the director approached, his expression a mix of compassion and uncertainty. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked gently.

Drew looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I think she needs some time. We… we need to get her home.”

The director nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “Of course. We’ll arrange for flights immediately. The production will cover all expenses.”

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes swollen and glassy. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” Madelyn insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re family.”

The crew moved with quiet efficiency, making the necessary arrangements. Within the hour, flights were booked for Y/N and Drew to return to her hometown. The cast remained by her side, offering silent support as she navigated the haze of shock and sorrow.

As they prepared to leave, Y/N turned to her friends, her voice trembling. “Thank you… all of you.”

Chase stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. “We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

Rudy nodded, his eyes earnest. “Take all the time you need.”

Jonathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep things running smoothly here.”

Madelyn hugged her tightly, her voice breaking. “We love you.”

Drew took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

As they departed, the set remained in a hushed stillness, a testament to the profound impact of shared grief and the strength of chosen family.

The grief wouldn’t disappear. The pain wouldn’t lessen. But in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a every emotional one, but i hope you all enjoy it !! my requests are still open until i go away on wednesday so please send some in :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[actual-changeling]

we do not talk enough about the moment right before crowley puts his sunglasses back on. the "nothing lasts forever" is devastating and if you're like me your eyes were so full of tears you couldn't see the screen the first time you watched it (just like crowley, look at us all twinning in sadness!).

there is a shift that happens in his eyes and i think it is absolutely fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time.

we begin with crowley averting his gaze from aziraphale's face and staring off into the distance instead, and you can see his spirit break. that crowley just lost the one thing in the world he cannot live without and we can see it written across his face like a neon sign.

then, as you'd expect, he gives into the need to cover up his pain, to try and make himself less vulnerable, and even before he lifts his glasses he looks down so aziraphale can no longer see his eyes.

now, the next part is what would not let me out of its grasp all day. we know it happens because of his demeanour afterwards and up until the kiss, but you can actually watch as crowley makes himself numb to the world.

i am intimately familiar with dissociation as a trauma and stress response, and while you can never fully control it, you do eventually find the switch in your mind that makes you snap back into the haze. crowley has had six thousand years to get really, really good at leaving reality behind when he needs and/or wants to.

that's exactly what he does.

he still looks sad, and yet there's just something distinctly distant in his eyes, the shift from openly heartbroken to "i don't want to feel any of this let me leave".

glasses? on

emotions? off

hotel? trivago

i have stared at those four frames more than any person probably should and i don't know if it's the light, if i am going insane, or if there is a single tear sliding out of his right (our left) eye. i'm probably insane and the light is a bitch so if anyone has some high resolution shots or anything that could answer that question without a doubt PLEASE do add it.

by now you are probably ready to threaten me with a knife in a dark alley but before you do that or drive your car off a cliff, let me tell you the best part:

aziraphale notices.

they might be communicating on two different frequencies but aziraphale knows crowley. he knows and loves him, and, most importantly, over the last few years he has gotten used to seeing crowley without his glasses. aziraphale could probably write a book on the expressions in his eyes alone and watches that shift happen and is devastated.

look.

he tries to make himself hope the same second, tries to convince himself crowley is putting on his glasses so they can leave together, but he knows.

aziraphale sees the light leave crowley's eyes, sees crowley leave, knowing that he is quite literally running away from him. you and me against the world, angel, but in that moment crowley firmly pushes him back to "the world" (or tries to, anyway).

the entire season we see crowley take off his glasses whenever he enters the bookshop to the point where he's running around without them on in broad daylight with jimbriel right there.

can you imagine how hurt and confused aziraphale must be?

because what crowley is telling him, if we really, really break it down, is that aziraphale is no longer a safe person for him. and repairing that trust is going to take time and work, no matter how much crowley loves him, how badly they love and need each other.

anyway to seal this off and really rub in the pain - how it started vs. how it ended. <3

oh one last thing: now crowley no longer has a single person he can be himself around, no one that knows him, no one he trusts. no one in whose presence he can take his glasses off.

and outside of the bentley and his own flat, he no longer has a place to do so either. the bookshop was theirs. with aziraphale gone, is it really a safe place anymore? is it somewhere he can just let himself be knowing he will be looked after and protected?

easy answer: no.

alright, off i go. see y'all on the next angst post or in the tags.