#That's it. That's all I understood of the words she said.

[barcaatthemoon]

your best girl || alexia putellas x reader ||

You comfort Alexia when she returns after the Olympics.

18+

Everybody had a job. You had nearly forgotten that with the craziness of the Olympics. Alexia worked hard to be the best captain for her country that she could. There was only so much that her on-pitch presence could do. Their issue was at the coach's level, and the team suffered because of that. Alexia had only come back to you a couple days early after being knocked away from the medals, and that was where your job started.

It was always difficult gauging the amount of space to give Alexia. You understood how devastating a blow it was, having lost the chance for a medal at your first Olympics. Back then, you had wished that someone would have helped you pick up the pieces of yourself, but instead, you tried to brave it all on your own. Alexia wasn't like you, and that was where you apprehension about talking to her came in.

The thought of smothering Alexia and pushing her away haunted you constantly. You needed to do something to show her that you were there for her that wasn't over the top of dramatic. And so, you dropped as many little hints that you were just waiting for her to come to you. You thought for a moment that you'd end up driving yourself mad waiting for Alexia, but the silence and tension in the apartment only lasted for a few days at most.

"What is all of this?" Alexia asked as she stood behind your desk chair. You tried to turn, but Alexia was holding you forward. You could feel her lean down a bit, reading over your analysis of the games for work. "You've been busy."

"Never too busy for you though," you told her. Alexia dropped her hands from your chair, finally allowing for you to turn and face her. "I'm glad to see you up and around a bit."

"The bed felt a little cold, and I know that it's not really a big thing, but I was hoping that you had some time to join me," Alexia said. You nodded, quickly saving the small additions you had made to your analysis paper before shutting your computer down and following Alexia into the bedroom.

It looked like she had been cleaning a bit before she came to get you. The nest of blankets that Alexia had created to curl up and wallow in was now dismantled. She had tidied up her laundry from the floor and made the bed, which you knew were big steps. Aside from that, you didn't let the candles on the bedside table or the songs from your R&B sex playlist playing.

"How exactly am I helping you warm up the bed?" you asked teasingly. Alexia played it innocent as she sat back on the bed. She patted the spot next to you, and you all but rushed over to join her. Sex hadn't been on the table for you mentally when Alexia got home, but you were a bit relieved to not be waiting weeks like the last big loss Alexia had faced.

You didn't understand how someone so amazing could get down on themselves so easily. Alexia was under immense pressure from fans, but it was nothing compared to what she put herself through. You felt guilty learning from those around Alexia that it only got worse when you came in the picture. In your eyes, you were washed up and spat out by the game, but Alexia held you in the regard that some had during your prime.

"I did have a couple of things in mind. I think that I need a little reminder of who I am." Alexia ducked her head down until her face was tucked into the crook of your neck. She was being shy, like she was ashamed of really asking for what you wanted. Still, you completely understood wht she needed. It wasn't exactly what had become your normal, but you were still definitely up to reminding Alexia that she didn't have to win everything in order for you to love and cherish her.

"I get that you need this for what happened in Paris, but forget about football and the Olympics completely. Right now it's just the two of us. I am just me, and you are just you." Alexia struggled to take your words to heart at first, but that was expected. You were used to this little speedbump, but it was the most important part of everything in your eyes. "You love me despite the fact that I haven't worn a jersey of my own in three years. I'll love you even if you never put another Spain or Barcelona jersey on again. I'll love you when the day comes that your body can't handle the game anymore, and I will take care of you when you inevitably push yourself too far again. Do you know why?"

"No," Alexia answered. You turned her face so that she was looking at you and you only.

"Because I did not fall in love with Alexia Putellas, the footballer. I fell in love with the woman who doesn't know how to tread lightly, so she wakes me up at odd hours every single time that she gets out of bed. I fell in love with the woman who goes out of her way to take care of her community and everybody that she cares about. I fell in love with the woman who runs into the arm of the couch every single morning because she's too busy watching me walking into the kitchen. I fell in love with you because of what I saw off of the pitch," you told her. Alexia was blushing deeply, unsure of what to do with praise in that sense.

"I just wanted to win and make you proud. You got this new job after working so hard these past couple of years to learn Spanish. You're doing so much, and what have I done to compare?" Alexia confessed. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Alexia was constantly doing things that often made you feel a bit inferior, so it blew your mind a little to hear that Alexia had been feeling this way too.

"Ale, you are the best soccer player in the world. I'm only here because I gave up and called it quits. You're doing amazing things all of the time. You're the best in the world, and let's face it, I wouldn't have gotten my foot in the door if I wasn't your girlfriend. I could have worked and worked and worked forever, but they wouldn't have cared." Alexia's face changed from its formerly soft expression to a hardened one. "I'm not here to argue about my achievements with you, I'm here to remind you that this one setback won't define your worth."

"Just you wait, they'll be referring to me as (Y/n) (Y/l/n)'s girlfriend. Hopefully one of the better ones," Alexia said. She sounded so confident and sure of herself that you had to believe her.

"You'll always be the best one. Hopefully you'll also be my last one," you told her. Alexia leaned in and kissed you, slowly pulling you on top of her. You let the kiss progress naturally, neither of you pushing things too far without the other pressing equally as much.

"Take this off," Alexia requested as she started tugging at the hem of your shirt. You sat back and started removing the pieces of your clothes that Alexia asked you to. In turn, she briefly moved you off of her lap to completely undress herself. The tension in the room thickened a bit as she laid down again, legs spread as you stood at the end of the bed.

"You look unreal," you muttered as you moved onto the bed. You didn't want to leave Alexia waiting. Alexia didn't want to wait either, guiding your head between her legs without any ounce of hesitation. You could see that Alexia was already wet. She wasn't soaked but still undeniably wet.

You didn't have a chance to tease Alexia. She guided your face to her cunt, movements on the cusp of being pushy. Alexia was almost always in control, and she doubled down whenever you were topping. She didn't want to wait around or be teased, Alexia wanted to cum. You still had your chance to revel in the taste of her, even if it wasn't in the same way that she got to with you.

It didn't come as a surprise to you to have Alexia grinding her hips to move against your tongue. She didn't seem to want your fingers at all, working herself up on just your mouth. You loved it, loved knowing that you could make Alexia feel so good with just a few simple movements. Topping Alexia gave you a rush that you'd be riding for the next couple of days, until Alexia felt up to the task of "putting you back in your place."

"I'm so fucking close. Don't stop, please don't stop," Alexia swore. She wasn't usually one for pleading, but you'd take it. Her hands were gripping your shoulders tightly, nails digging in as you savored every drop of her that you could. Alexia let you continue with the strokes of your tongue past her first orgasm, only pushing you away after the second. She rode one high into the next before her brain and body seemed to catch up to each other.

She was sensitive, and her legs jerked shut, nearly hitting you in the process. You didn't sit back and stare, instead going straight into the bathroom to get a warm washcloth. Alexia let you clean her up, not saying anything to you until after she had grabbed new clothes to wear for the night. You stripped the bed and put everything in the washer, slightly surprised to find Alexia waiting for you in the kitchen when you were done.

"I don't think I let you know how important you are to me. I don't know how badly I would have spiraled without you here," Alexia told you. You blushed as she wrapped her arms around your waist and held you from behind. "Tomorrow, I start training again. I've only got a few years until the next World Cup and Olympics."

"I mean, I guess," you sighed. Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek before she grabbed a snack to take into the living room. You went decided to go to bed, already well aware that Alexia wouldn't get to bed for another hour or so at least. You set an alarm for 1, deciding that if she wasn't in bed by then, you were going out to the living room to collect her yourself.

[jaysng]

when you have to go on bed rest — park sunghoon

frustrated and emotional reader, stuck on bed rest during pregnancy, opens up to caring husband, sunghoon. overwhelmed, she asks him to hold her, seeking solace in his embrace as he gently reassures her, reminding her of her strength. [wc. 1.4k]

PAIRING. husband!sunghoon x preg!wife!reader

GENRE. reader is feeling hurt, so angsty fluff

NOTE. this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now and i’ve been contemplating whether to post it or not.. but here i am guess

you hated being on bed rest.

every minute of it felt like a punishment. you were used to being on your feet, handling things your way, but now you were confined to your room, relying on everyone else to do what you couldn’t. and while your logical mind understood that it was for the baby, the emotional weight of it all was suffocating.

you sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had personally wronged you. the ache in your back had returned, your legs felt stiff, and your mood was steadily getting worse.

the sound of the door opening broke you out of your sulk. sunghoon stepped inside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small plate of sliced fruit in the other.

“you didn’t eat much earlier,” he said, setting the plate on the bedside table.

“i wasn’t hungry,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

he frowned slightly but didn’t push. “you still need to eat something.”

you sighed, glancing at the plate but not making a move to pick it up. the simple act of eating felt exhausting, and your frustration only grew.

sunghoon lingered for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. he didn’t say anything, his gaze quietly observing you.

“what?” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

he shook his head, unfazed. “you just seem upset.”

“of course i’m upset, hoon!” you burst out, throwing your hands up. “i’m stuck in this stupid bed all day. i can’t even get up to get my own water. my body hurts. my head hurts. and—” your voice wavered, “—and i feel so useless.”

his expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. he just let you spill it all out.

“i can’t even…” you trailed off, your hands trembling as you clenched them into fists. “i don’t know. i feel horrible. and i don’t want to talk about it, but i can’t keep it in either. i just—”

you broke off, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

sunghoon hesitated for a split second before shifting closer, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched.

“can you just… hold me?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “please?”

his eyes softened further, and without a word, he slipped his arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you against his chest.

the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it was grounding. you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as the dam finally broke.

“i feel like such a mess,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

“you’re not a mess,” he said quietly, his voice calm and certain. “you’re just overwhelmed. it’s okay.”

his hand moved slowly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. he didn’t try to fix anything or offer solutions—he just let you cry, let you feel.

“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“you don’t have to take it alone,” he said simply. “i’m here.”

it was such a sunghoon thing to say—straightforward, without unnecessary embellishments. but somehow, that made it more comforting.

“i hate being like this,” you whispered. “so… weak.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowed. “you’re not weak,” he said, his tone firmer now. “you’re growing a whole human inside you. that’s… incredible.”

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “doesn’t feel incredible.”

“doesn’t mean it’s not,” he countered, his fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “and even if you feel like you’re falling apart, it’s okay. i’ll hold you together, for as long as you need.”

you looked at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes.

“thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

he didn’t respond with words, just wrapped his arms around you again, holding you close like you were the most important thing in the world.

and for the first time that day, the frustration in your chest eased, just a little. enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this.

© jaysng 2024 | do not repost or plagiarize.

[lamiadrowned]

Hellooo! those jinx dating headcanons were so cute, could you maybe expand on Silco meeting Jinx's partner? 🩷

*:･ﾟ✧ silco meeting jinx’s partner

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

this made me so happy to write, the flashback we got of younger silco is heavy on my mind :,) missing him

it would definitely be a lot less intimidating than you’d expect!

in the month or so that you’ve been with jinx, silco isn’t immediately distrusting of you since she talks often about how great you are. not only that, but he can see the difference you’ve made in her life and her mental state. how cheery she becomes when she talks about you. how big her smile gets when he asks about you.

however, it seems she’s a bit embarrassed at the idea of introducing him to you. so, being the protective father that he is, he takes the initiative.

one day, as you’re heading home from work, you quickly reach for the switchblade in your back pocket when you feel a hand on your shoulder behind you.

you turn around to see there’s a woman (who is considerably taller and buffer than you) standing there, clearly surprised to see a knife pointed at her. “my name is sevika, i’m here on behalf of silco. he wants to see you in his office before the day ends. is now a good time?”

thankfully, you recognize the name. jinx had talked about going on a few missions with her. you lower your knife and shrug. “uh��� yeah. yeah, now’s fine. lead the way.”

she nods and proceeds to walk with you a few streets down to the building, offering some polite conversation and reassurance– this meeting is solely for the purpose of introducing himself to you, since his daughter won’t.

she takes you to the door of silco’s office, opening it for you and wishing you good luck.

you don’t immediately see silco, but you do hear his voice. “take a seat wherever you’d like.”

once sevika shuts the door behind you, you take a deep breath and follow his instructions; sitting down at his desk and watching his own chair spin around so that he can finally come face-to-face with you.

your anxiety is through the roof and your heart won’t slow down no matter how many deep breaths you take, but you’re able to muster a polite smile.

he sees right through it, though. of course. like father, like daughter. “you seem frightened. i apologize if sevika gave you a scare.“

“oh, no– she was really nice. it’s just… i wasn’t expecting a meeting with the kingpin of the underground today.” you joke.

he laughs, which makes you a bit more comfortable. “another apology is in order, then. i know this is sudden, but jinx… she gets so bashful at the idea of introducing us. i figured, why don’t i take the big leap?”

you nod. “yeah, of course. she talks very highly of you.”

“and you, as well. she talks my ear off, a million words a minute if she finds a way to bring you up.” silco shakes his head with a growing smile. “it’s impressive, how quickly she’s become smitten with you. i’d think you were a sorceress if i didn’t know any better.”

you’re flattered by his kind words, and a bit excited by the fact that she seemingly talks about you so much. you must be doing something right.

the two of you continue on as you answer all of the questions he asks about your upbringing and your current life, and you ask questions about his. it almost begins to feel like you’re talking to an old friend, not the most feared and influential man in the lanes.

however, at one point, he suddenly becomes very serious.

“now, i feel this is an appropriate time to tell you this. you seem to be a genuinely good person, which is all too rare these days.” silco sighs. then, he clasps his hands together and casually leans forward onto the desk, resting his chin on his fists. “with that being said, if i ever come to find out that you have made my daughter suffer in any way, and you will never know peace again. do i make myself clear?”

your eyes widen. you’re finally starting to see why the entire population of zaun is scared witless by him. “understood. it will never come to that, though. i can only hope you take my word for it.”

silco nods in approval of your answer. he’s very impressed by your ability to remain calm in the face of his intimidation. it only proves to him that you’re as good as you seem, and that your intentions are pure– you have nothing to hide.

after a brief silence, he opens his mouth to speak again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of his office door slamming open.

“she’s missing!”

you’re shocked to hear jinx. she sounds frantic, voice hoarse and pitchy, like she can’t contain her terror. “i checked everywhere, high and low! we need to send one of your goons to–”

she’s silenced when she sees you turn around in your chair and meet her glare. her look of horror turns into one of confusion. “what the hell is going on here? is this an intervention?”

you snort at her question, patting the chair next to you, inviting her to come sit down. her shoulders slump and she lets out a dramatic huff as she sulks over to sit beside you. her arms cross defensively. “i don’t know what you weirdos think i did, but those fireworks going off last night were not mine, and to be frank, it’s kind of offensive that you’d assume i–”

“jinx, if you don’t mind,” silco puts a hand up, imploring her to stop talking. “we’ll talk about those fireworks later.”

“what?! i just said they weren’t mine.” jinx scoffs.

“you ramble when you lie. don’t you think i’d know that by now?” silco sighs. “that’s beside the point. since you had no plans to introduce me to y/n, i decided to introduce myself.”

you hum in confirmation. “that’s all. no intervention.”

it takes jinx a long moment to process this information; it seems as if she forgot silco has eyes everywhere, and when he wants something done, it will be done.

you’re almost expecting her to be upset before a beaming smile replaces the scowl on her face. “un-fuckin’-believable! i’m searching all over zaun for you, while you’re here, kicking back with him?!” she points in his direction.

“precisely.” silco steps in for you, aware that this is one of those times where she is very happy, yet tries to pretend that she is very upset. “if it’s of any reassurance to you– to both of you– this relationship has my badge of approval.”

instantly, you feel a sense of pride in knowing that you’d made such a good impression on him. he’s a man that’s very hard to impress, as far as you’ve heard.

you reach for jinx’s hand and squeeze it. her smile is almost as big as yours now. “look at that. i aced the big interview, and i haven’t gone missing.“

[dissapointu]

All Arcane characters.

How would they react if they were in a bad situation and ended up in a difficult spot with their s/o across from them, totally unharmed.

They thought their s/o would help them out but was surprise to see us turn and rush away like a scared mouse, resulting them to the defend theirselves.

🤷 short answer: we got scared and ran away, leaving them behind

if their s/o ran away, leaving them in a tough spot:

————————————————————————

Vander:

The fight was intense—too intense. Vander had his hands full with enemies surrounding him, but he always expected you to be there, fighting by his side. He turned for a split second, looking for you, ready to get through this together. But then he saw it—you were running. Like a scared animal, darting into the shadows, leaving him to defend himself alone. His heart sank, confusion and hurt mixing in his chest.

His breath was steady, though, and his fists were still strong as he fought back, making sure they didn’t think they had the upper hand. But he couldn’t stop the sting of abandonment. “I thought we were in this together,” he muttered to himself, eyes flicking to the empty space where you once stood.

When the fight was over, he stood tall, a silent disappointment settling deep in his bones. He’d protect you to the end, but now, he’d be waiting for you to explain why you ran. He deserved answers.

Jinx:

It was chaos. Explosions. Fights. The kind of madness Jinx thrived in. She expected you to be at her side, playing along with her crazy world. But when she turned, seeing you dash away like a frightened bunny, her heart stopped for a moment. “What the hell, Y/N?!” she screamed, her voice laced with hurt and disbelief. The wild energy she had was suddenly gone, replaced by a frantic, hurt panic.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She couldn’t. Her mind spun into a whirlwind of chaos as she threw herself at her attackers with everything she had. After the fight, when the dust settled, she’d be furious. She wouldn’t yell, though. She’d just… watch you. Cold and distant. “You left me,” she’d say, her voice trembling with something more than anger.

Vi:

Vi didn’t need backup—she was used to fighting alone, after all. But she thought you’d be with her. She thought you’d be her partner in this, but when she looked over, you were gone. Her brow furrowed, and the weight of betrayal hit harder than any punch she’d thrown. Her punches were fast and furious, each one fueled by the anger coursing through her veins. But inside? She was hurt.

When it was all over, she’d turn to find you. “What the hell was that about?” Her tone was sharp. “You think I can’t handle it without you? You think I needed you to save me?” She was angry. Angry at the situation, but mostly at you for running.

Sevika:

Sevika didn’t flinch when things got bad. She never did. But when she caught sight of you running away, her eyes narrowed. There was a flash of something—disappointment, but mostly anger. She didn’t need anyone to fight for her, but she thought you’d be there. She thought you’d be strong.

After the fight, her steps were heavy as she walked toward you, her gaze unwavering. “I didn’t expect you to be a coward,” she said, voice low and dangerous. She wasn’t going to beg for an explanation—she’d make you come to her.

Silco:

Silco was no stranger to betrayal, but this? This felt different. When you ran, his heart didn’t skip a beat—no, he didn’t have time for that. He fought, every movement calculated and precise. But inside? It was the kind of hurt he couldn’t shake.

Once it was over, he’d find you. He’d never raise his voice—that was beneath him. But he’d make sure you understood how much you’d disappointed him. “You don’t leave me,” he’d say softly, his gaze sharp. His tone wouldn’t hold anger, but there would be no mistaking the weight of his words.

Ekko:

Ekko was used to being the one who ran. He didn’t expect you to run too. When you bolted, his heart dropped, confusion clouding his mind. Why did you leave him? He fought through the pain, taking down enemies with precision, but every time he landed a blow, he couldn’t shake the disappointment. You left him.

Once it was over, he’d stare at you from across the room. “Why’d you leave me?” His voice wasn’t angry, but the hurt was there, deep and raw. You were supposed to be there with him. Together.

Jayce:

Jayce always wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. But when you ran, his world tilted. His hand clenched around his weapon, his thoughts scattered. He couldn’t understand. Didn’t you trust him? Didn’t you believe in him?

As the fight went on, he did his best to keep his cool, but the sting of betrayal made his attacks fiercer. After it was over, he’d turn to find you, his voice low but filled with disappointment. “I thought we were in this together.” His gaze would be soft, hurt, but still firm. Why?

Viktor:

Viktor’s mind was sharp, his focus honed like a blade. But when you ran, it knocked him off balance. His heart skipped a beat. Was he not enough? Was he too weak to keep you there? He pushed through the pain, every step he took calculated, every move precise. He couldn’t lose. Not like this.

When the fight was over, he’d take a moment to gather himself, his breath shallow. He wouldn’t yell—he never did. But when he found you, his words would be quiet, but full of meaning. “I thought you knew me better than that,” he’d say, the hurt hidden behind his calm tone.

Caitlyn:

Caitlyn had always counted on you. She never doubted you’d be there. But when you ran, her heart plummeted. She fought through the chaos, but something was off. She couldn’t stop thinking about you, about why you’d left. Didn’t you trust her?

After the fight, when it was all over, she’d find you, her gaze hard but concerned. “I thought we were a team,” she’d say, her voice wavering just slightly. “Why didn’t you stay with me?”

Mel Medarda:

Mel had never expected to rely on anyone, but she’d thought you were different. When you turned and fled, her heart tightened, and she was forced to keep her composure, her voice cold. She wasn’t surprised—no, not really. She didn’t need anyone. But the look of abandonment hurt more than she let on.

When it was done, she would find you, her eyes cold but searching. “Did you really think I couldn’t handle this without you?” she’d ask, her words sharp like glass.

Ambessa Medarda:

Ambessa was all about power, and she didn’t need anyone. But when she saw you run, she was… disappointed. She thought you’d be stronger. But she didn’t let it show. She took down her enemies with a practiced ease, her movements calculated.

After the fight, she’d stand before you, arms crossed, and would stare you down with those piercing eyes. “You think I can’t handle things on my own?” Her voice would be icy, the words cutting deeper than any weapon.

Cecil B. Heimerdinger:

Heimerdinger was used to thinking quickly, but when he saw you run, his heart sank. The sudden abandonment was something he wasn’t prepared for, though he didn’t let it stop him from pushing forward. After the battle, he’d find you, adjusting his glasses with a quiet but stern gaze. “I had hoped you’d be more capable,” he’d say, his disappointment palpable.

Salo:

Salo wouldn’t show his hurt, but deep down, it stung when you ran. He had been prepared for anything but that. He didn’t say anything during the fight—he didn’t need to. But when the dust settled, he’d face you, his tone low. “I don’t understand,” he’d say. “You didn’t think I could handle it?”

Scar:

Scar was a survivor. But when he saw you run, he paused for the briefest second, a flicker of something in his chest. It wasn’t betrayal—it was confusion. He finished the fight, but when it was over, he’d find you. “You left me. Why?” The question was quiet, but the weight behind it was immense.

Maddie Nolen:

Maddie was fierce, but when you turned tail and ran, it shook her. She wasn’t the type to rely on anyone, but she thought you were strong enough to stand by her side. When the fight ended, she found you. “What was that about?” Her voice wasn’t angry, but the confusion was clear. You left me.

Lest:

Lest never expected to be abandoned. When you ran, she gritted her teeth and fought harder, but deep down, she was… hurt. When the fight was over, her voice would be quiet, but full of meaning. “You left. Why?”

[xaverie]

So. I love Evan Kelmp. And - imagine that I'm trying to choose my words carefully here.

I've been getting annoyed with him over the last three episodes. Because. I don't like how he tends to impose his beliefs. About what is correct and should happen. On the other characters. And our Black characters, specifically. Which. Was really put on clear display by his interaction with The Qohlye.

Evan seeks to be understood. But I don't think he has.. put in the required effort to reach that same level of understanding with his friends, or in general. Perhaps because they haven't said things in the exact way that he needs to hear them. But he behaves as though he does understand, even though I personally think. That there are things he's missing.

The treehouse conversation. Lots of people seem to get and relate to Evan's side of the convo, which is fantastic! But not as deep an understanding of Jammer's side. Evan decides that the correct thing is for Jammer to come out not hide his magical experiences. He jumps to a few conclusions about the reason - first that maybe Jammer was ashamed, then that he wasn't confident it would go well.

Instead of asking for clarification about what "They need me to be Whitney, you guys need me to be Jammer" means, he had made up his mind. Evan likes that Jammer is magic because that is the way in which Evan feels most connected to Jammer, thus everyone should admire Jammer for his magical abilities the way Evan does. And if Jammer hasn't allowed for that it's some kind of rebuke of Evan, of magic, and of Jammer's own self. Therefore the only correct thing is to merge these identities, but really just be the Jammer that Evan knows.

And I'm not saying Evan is wrong here. But in the same way he's missing the fact that Jammer did try to expose his magic in S2E1, but he couldn't prove it because magic is fucking broken. He's also missing how naturally we, as Black people, fall into code switching. Not just historically as a method of survival, but for practical reasons, privacy reasons, or just to keep our peace. To treat that unilaterally as the same thing as a kind of toxic compartmentalization, or hiding the true self (all of them are true selves), was. Kinda. Sad to me.

Not to take away from Jammer's triumphant success on Galamanis or the freedom represented by growing wings, because this is what he chose and I love that he made those choices. But it also represents potentially giving up fitting into his mundane life and dream career, something he had fought so so hard to keep thus far, and destroying 'Whitney'. This, more than anything before it, might be a fundamental shift in identity.

The same way it made me a little bit sad that Evan had assumed Jammer didn't mean "family" literally, when I immediately recognized that of course he did. There has never been a point in American history where part of being Black and being family hasn't meant - we may have to be apart, but as soon I'm ready (as soon as we're safe), I'm coming back for you, no matter what. It is THE very first promise, the foundational truth, or the only thread of hope that tied so many Black families together through all these generations.

So while everyone recognizes what a sweet moment it was, I also hope people feel the gravity and the history behind "I dream of making that space for you." And the weight of how many people must have said that before him. And what a profound act of love it's always been because sometimes that's all we have.

When Evan tells Sam, "I think you are the most powerful wizard," she instantly replies, "I hope not." Evan's response to this was essentially - who were are is true whether we want it to be or not. Which, to be fair, is both consistent with what he expressed to Jammer and with his own experience. What it leaves out is that our hopes are also who we are. And that maybe the same way he mistook her love toward him for general gregariousness, he is still misunderstanding her a little.

While he deferred to Sam on the matter of whether they should pursue the Qohlye or not, I think it was still Evan's (or Brennan's) idea that not only must all four of them be chosen, but that The Qohlye must be the best choice for Sam.

When the Qohlye says 'I think you're only here because you're convinced you need to be the same as your friends,' is he wrong? When he asks why she needs to be chosen by his magic specifically, she can't answer on her own. When Sam was given the choice between Power and Understanding she immediately chose understanding because of COURSE she did. (She instantly replies, "I hope not." I hope not. My heart breaks.)

And yet. Evan insists that she's given the power anyway. Because that's what fits neatly into what he already believes is correct and should happen. He believes in winning and rewards. He believes she deserves that power and that they need it. So even though I know he does this out of love, he doesn't even consider for a moment that he might be wrong.

Because Sam does get the power, she does thank him, and again not to diminish Sam's accomplishment - once again Evan gets what he wants and is proven right.

Except.

When The Qohlye doesn't give him the answers he wants in the exact form that he demands them. Evan decides that this is a crime for which The Qohlye deserves to die. The Qohlye, who helped return him to life. Who has a strong connection to his friends. (Who chose to be Black, which meant so much to Jammer that he cried.) Who asked each of his friends, in turn, if they thought The Qohlye meant what Evan thought he meant. Who demonstrated that he is not (and cannot be) obfuscating something that is apparently obvious to everyone else.

Evan refuses to accept that yes, The Qohlye can give him information, but cannot understand it for him. And Evan is not ready to Understand because Evan keeps choosing Power. Understanding takes work, even (or especially) when it doesn't come naturally to you. And answers will not always come in a clear and concise way. And this makes him so angry that he wants The Qohlye dead.

While Evan always presents his beliefs and demands as logical and rational, his reaction to The Qohlye's refusal to engage on his terms was simply entitled and immature.

[asrielinfected]

I Can Treat You Better

Paring: Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: You’re speaking to Jenna about your ex boyfriend that broke up with you. Things seem to escalate from then on.

Warning: Profanity

Authors Note: Ngl, I got lazy and rushed a bit. So I apologize if there is any mistakes.🫡

Words counted: 1.4K

You and Jenna were bestfriends since childhood. No matter the situation you both would be there for each other.

And of course you call her to meet up with you, and talk about your toxic relationship with your boyfriend. Well ex boyfriend.

There was a thing about your best friend that you didn’t know. Jenna had been falling for you hard. Ever since you were kids and it never seemed like her feelings for you would stop anytime soon.

When she heard you got a boyfriend she was absolutely devastated, but she knew that she needed to stay positive and supportive for the sake of your friendship.

So when she heard you guys broke up she couldn’t help, but feel a little relieved.

You’re currently here with Jenna, sitting at a table in a restaurant, gossiping about how toxic he was, while Jenna listens.

“I can’t believe I even dated that guy. He was a fucking jerk. I was just too blind to notice,” You rolled your eyes to the thought of him and grumbled as you took a sip of your drink.

“Yeah, Y/N from the way you described him he is a total asshole, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Jenna commented.

“I know right!? Who the hell does he think he is, moving on so fast. Actually.. I’m going to see who he decided to leave me for, I feel sorry for them.”

As you pick up your phone to go look you kept on rambling about him, but Jenna still seemed to listen no matter how much you talked, not taking her eyes off you for even a second.

Jenna finally decides to speak again after you’ve been angrily talking about your ex.

“I can treat you better than he can,” Jenna says quietly but loud enough for you to hear.

You then put down your phone, and look at your friend after those words came out of her mouth.

“What did you say, Jen?,” You looked at Jenna Ortega with confusion.

You were so oblivious to Jenna’s feelings towards you.

Jenna finally snaps out of her loving gaze she was staring at you with, and immediately started to think about something to cover up what she just said.

“I meant that he treated you shitty. If I were him I wouldn’t have ever thought of leaving,”

“Oh, exactly! I was such a good girlfriend to him. Still he chose to be disloyal.”

After you said that, there was some silence between you two until you spoke again.

“Yknow I’m so glad we’re friends, Jen,”

As those words left your mouth Jenna couldn’t help, but smile. “Im glad too, Y/N,”

There’s a thing about you that made her fall in love. You always made her feel wanted when she was with you. You were truly a great friend to her. She just wishes you both could be more.

You smile back at her, but then you soon realized that you had to get back to your house, because you were about to have company over.

“Shit! I lost track of time. I’m sorry but I have to leave. I’ll text you when I get home.”

You grabbed your things, quickly pay for the bill, and leave. But not without giving Jenna a hug.

Jenna wished that hug would’ve lasted longer but fully understood you had other places to be. And with that, Jenna also puts all her stuff in her purse and returns to her apartment.

She went ahead and hopped in the shower for 30 minutes, and then went to get dressed in her pajamas to relax.

Jenna checked her phone, and saw the message you left for her 10 minutes ago.

It read, “Me family came. sorre that we could not had talke more longer :(”

jenna saw the message, and texted her back, “No worries. Also Y/N your grammar is awful.”

“Go fuck yourself, Ortega”

Jenna snickers at your response, “no need to get angry Y/N, Im going to go to sleep, love you.”

Jenna texted that, and went ahead to close her phone. She laid down on her bed, about to go to sleep but she had a notification pop up on her screen saying,

“Love u toooo”

Jenna Ortega smiled brightly at the sight, and then went to sleep.

The next morning she was awaken to noise in her kitchen. She lives alone.

She knew being famous would mean meeting crazy fans, but not a person breaking into her home!

The poor girl was already jumping into conclusions.

She quickly grabbed her pepper spray and walked slowly to the kitchen, and saw that the persons back was facing towards her.

The mysterious person turns around when they heard footsteps stop. As they do, they get sprayed in the eye with pepper spray.

It turns out it was just you making breakfast for Jenna.

Once Jenna noticed it was you she immediately threw the pepper spray on the ground.

You screamed in agony as you fell on the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK, JEN!?”

Jenna may had forgot that she gave you the keys to her apartment.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!”

She quickly ran to get you water. As soon as you got the water you poured it on your eyes, hoping that the pain will go away.

Newsflash, it didn’t.

It still helped ease the pain though. Jenna kept on apologizing as she sat you down in her bedroom.

“Jenna please be quiet, it was an accident it’s fine”

“No Y/N that was completely my fault. I totally forgot that I gave you a key to my apartment. Yknow how fans are these days. Can you at least open your eyes”

“I’ll try,” You say as you opened both of your eyes, but not completely. All you saw when you opened your eyes was Jenna’s face close to yours.

Jenna obviously knew what she was doing but has to stay professional because she was the one who caused this.

“Just wait a few minutes. It’ll feel better. I’m sorry again”

You nodded, and closed your eyes again as your back laid down on Jenna’s bed.

It had been quiet for a few minutes and Jenna went ahead, and broke it.

“Y/N, can I just say something really quick. I know this isn’t the time, but you’re already here.”

You sighed and sat up in Jenna’s bed again, you could now open your eyes again without it hurting like hell, “Go ahead and say it, Jen.”

What you didn’t prepare for is that Jenna was about to confess her whole entire feelings to you.

The girl took a deep breath in before speaking, and she spoke quickly, “Y/N I can’t hold back my feelings for you anymore. I had feelings for you for a while, and I mean, a while. I know this isn’t the proper time, because I just pepper sprayed you, and your boyfriend broke up with you, but I feel like I wouldn’t have an opportunity like this again if I don’t say my feelings for you. I love you I really do. I can treat you better than those guys, if you just gave me the chance to do so.

You stared at Jenna with wide eyes, your mouth open in shock and you trying to process all that she said.

This is why she never spoke about her relationship status, this is why she avoided questions about having an crush, this is why.

It’s all starting to come together now.

You actually did not know what to do in this situation. Your best friend had romantic feelings for you. How could you be this dumb.

But then, Jenna let her inner thoughts win over her, and hesitated before grabbing both sides of your face and pulling you into a kiss.

You were even more stunned when she did that.

You felt her try to deepen the kiss and you instantly pull away.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t deal with this today..”

You quickly get off her bed and leave the apartment.

Leaving her disappointed and guilty on why would she do that and say that.

First your boyfriend broke up with you. Second, you get pepper sprayed by your bestfriend, because she thought you were an intruder. Lastly, that bestfriend confessed her feeling for you, and kissed you.

This is a lot to take in

[inkandtension]

Tie That Binds.

Minho adjusted his tie for the third time, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions, weren’t they? Celebrations of love, laughter, and promises of forever? Yet, here he was, standing in an impeccably tailored suit, about to marry a woman he barely knew, feeling anything but joyous. His reflection stared back at him, the crease between his brows deepening with every second. The tie felt like a noose.

“Stop sulking, hyung,” came Changbin’s teasing voice from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You look good. A real scholarly heartthrob.”

Minho shot him a glare that would have silenced most people. Changbin, however, was immune. “I’m not sulking,” Minho muttered under his breath, though even he didn’t believe the words. His fingers tugged at the tie again.

“You’re brooding, then,” Changbin replied cheerfully. “Brooding scholar. It’s a vibe.”

Minho sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. His mind wasn’t in the room; it was too busy turning over the absurdity of his situation. Years spent lecturing on logic, dissecting literature, and championing the idea of individual agency had somehow led him to this moment—a meticulously arranged marriage, orchestrated by his mother and some aunt whose face he couldn’t even remember.

“Can’t back out now,” Changbin added, pushing off the doorframe with a grin. “Unless you want to send all the guests home and deal with your mother’s wrath. And trust me, hyung, I’ll be the first to sell popcorn and watch that drama unfold.”

Minho shot him a flat look but said nothing. Changbin wasn’t wrong. Backing out wasn’t an option, not when the woman he was about to marry came with glowing recommendations. A surgeon, his mother had informed him with a delighted clap of her hands. Accomplished, brilliant, kind, and apparently drop-dead gorgeous. The perfect daughter-in-law material, in other words. His family had done everything short of hanging her résumé on the wall like a trophy.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his blazer. As he shrugged it on, he couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping into a role he hadn’t auditioned for—a leading man in a play where the script had been written long before he entered the stage.

Y/N’s palms were sweating, and no amount of discreetly dabbing them with the edge of her dress seemed to help. She stood at the altar, her heart pounding in her chest, as the murmur of guests filled the room. Her eyes flitted to the door, waiting for Minho to appear.

For the past week, her life had been a whirlwind of surgeries, late-night meetings with wedding planners, and answering endless texts from her mother. It felt surreal, like she’d been thrown into someone else’s dream wedding—one she hadn’t exactly volunteered for.

“Why am I doing this?” she whispered to her best friend, who stood beside her in a pastel bridesmaid dress, looking far too amused for Y/N’s liking.

“Because your parents threatened to disown you if you didn’t at least try,” her friend whispered back with a barely-contained laugh.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It was true. Despite all her achievements, she was still that shy little girl seeking her family’s approval. Being a world-class surgeon hadn’t changed that. The wedding might have been their idea, but here she was, going through with it because walking away felt too much like failure.

Her thoughts scattered like confetti the moment the doors opened. Minho stepped in, and everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was tall, lean, and devastatingly handsome. His black hair was styled to perfection, framing his sharp features. His suit hugged him like it had been crafted by someone who understood the definition of precision, and the air of quiet confidence he exuded was enough to make her breath hitch.

Her best friend let out a low whistle, leaning closer. “Okay, I take it back. If you don’t marry him, I might.”

“Shut up,” Y/N hissed.

Married life was... odd, to say the least.

Minho spent his days teaching university students, delving into the intricacies of Shakespeare and Kafka. Y/N spent hers in a hospital, saving lives and dealing with emergencies that left her too drained to care about trivial things like cooking or cleaning.

They had an unspoken routine:

Y/N would come home late, exhausted, and Minho would have dinner waiting for her.

Minho would stay up grading papers while she crashed on the couch, sometimes falling asleep mid-sentence while recounting her day.

They’d exchange polite “good mornings” and “have a nice days,” but deeper conversations were rare.

It wasn’t awkward, per se—just... unfamiliar.

Over the weeks that followed, something shifted.

Minho started texting her during the day, little things like, Don’t skip lunch, or Did you sleep last night?

Y/N found herself bringing home snacks for him, claiming she’d picked them up on a whim, though she’d actually spent way too much time in the store debating which ones he’d like.

They started watching movies together on weekends, bickering over genres. Minho preferred psychological dramas; Y/N loved rom-coms.

“You seriously think this is funny?” Minho groaned one night, watching the lead actor trip over a series of increasingly ridiculous obstacles.

“It’s hilarious,” Y/N shot back, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t miss the way her laugh made his chest feel warm.

…

“You know,” Minho said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, “I didn’t think married life would mean sharing my coffee stash with someone who performs literal surgeries before I even wake up.”

You glanced up from the stove, where you were stirring scrambled eggs for the both of you. "I didn’t think it’d mean coming home to someone who alphabetizes their bookshelf and gets irrationally angry when one book is out of place.”

“Touch my books again, and it’ll be war."

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Good morning to you too, husband.”

The word still felt foreign. You’d been married for three months now, after a whirlwind of family introductions and a mutual agreement that, while neither of you believed in love at first sight, you could give companionship a chance. He was a literature professor, calm and composed with a sharp wit, and you were a surgeon, thriving on adrenaline and precision. Two opposites in every sense of the word, now sharing the same roof and calling it home.

“Don’t burn the eggs,” Minho teased as he set the table, placing his usual cup of black coffee at your spot.

“They’re perfect, thank you very much,” you replied, sliding the pan off the burner. “Unlike someone’s last attempt at cooking pasta.”

Minho feigned offense. “Excuse me, my pasta was avant-garde.”

“It was burnt.”

The morning ritual of trading barbs had quickly become your favorite part of this arrangement. Despite the awkwardness of the early days, you’d found a rhythm. You respected each other’s space, cheered each other on, and occasionally stole moments like this—warm and light, like the eggs you plated and brought to the table.

Minho sipped his coffee, glancing at you. “Long shift today?”

“Not too bad. Just six hours,” you said. “You?”

“Grading papers,” he said with a grimace. “Seventy essays on whether The Great Gatsby is a love story or a cautionary tale.”

“Ah, the joys of shaping young minds,” you teased.

Minho shook his head, but his smirk softened. He looked at you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“At what? Mocking you?”

“That too,” he admitted, “but I meant… this. Us.”

You froze, caught off guard. He wasn’t usually this candid. “I guess we’re both trying,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm.

“I’d say we’re succeeding,” Minho said, reaching out to steal a bite of your eggs with his fork. “Even if you do insist on putting ketchup on your eggs, like a heathen.”

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

The truth was, Minho had a knack for sneaking past your defenses. Whether it was his quiet attentiveness when you came home exhausted or the way he made sure to send you texts during your long shifts (“Don’t forget to eat. And drink water. And sleep. I’m grading your habits, 2/10 so far”), he was making it harder not to fall for him.

As you cleaned up the dishes together, Minho cleared his throat. “By the way, my department’s hosting a dinner next week. Spouses are invited.”

“Oh,” you said, your heart skipping a beat. “Am I—?”

“You’re coming,” he interrupted, looking at you like it wasn’t even a question. “I need someone to laugh at my jokes when my colleagues inevitably talk about Chaucer.”

You snorted. “You’re assuming your jokes will be funny.”

He leaned closer, his voice low. “I don’t need them to be funny. I just need you there.”

Your breath caught, but Minho had already turned away, heading to his study. “Have a good day at work, Dr. Ketchup.”

“Have fun with Gatsby, Professor Burnt Pasta,” you called after him, hiding your grin.

You stood in the kitchen for a moment, fingers brushing the counter where his hand had been seconds ago. Maybe this marriage wasn’t just about making it work. Maybe, just maybe, it could be something more.

(You couldn’t make it to the party, an emergency surgery happened, you apologised though, his colleagues were a bit too sad when you didn’t make it)

It was supposed to be a peaceful Sunday morning for Minho—his one precious day to lounge in sweatpants, sip coffee, and enjoy the rare luxury of a slow, uneventful routine. He had even entertained the idea of making you breakfast before you left for work, something simple yet thoughtful. But fate, as always, had other plans.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted his rare moment of domestic bliss. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself away from the stove, glancing warily at the pan on low heat. As he shuffled to the door, half-asleep, he wondered who could possibly be bothering him on his sacred day off.

The door creaked open, revealing Felix, one of his students, standing there in all his youthful glory. A textbook was tucked under his arm, his expression bright and hopeful.

“Professor Lee!” Felix greeted, his tone unnaturally chipper for a Sunday.

Minho blinked slowly, still processing the intrusion. “Felix? What are you doing here?”

“You said you’d help with my essay on Sunday,” Felix reminded him, his tone tentative but insistent.

Minho racked his brain, piecing together fragmented memories from office hours. “Right…” he muttered, groaning internally. He vaguely remembered agreeing to it but hadn’t expected Felix, the popular, gossip-loving, poster-child of charm, to actually follow through. “Yeah, come in.”

As Felix stepped inside, his eyes scanned the space with open curiosity. It was his first time seeing his professor’s home, and it wasn’t what he expected. The cozy, lived-in atmosphere seemed at odds with Minho’s perpetually serious demeanor in class. His attention was quickly snagged by a pair of stylish, feminine glasses sitting on the coffee table. Girlfriend? Felix wondered, tilting his head.

Before he could dwell on the thought, the distinct sound of heels clicking against the floor made him freeze. A moment later, you emerged from the hallway, dressed sharply for work. Felix’s eyebrows shot up, his thoughts immediately scrambling for an explanation. You blinked, just as surprised to see someone new in the living room. “Oh,” you said, your tone polite but slightly off-guard. “Hi.”

Felix, now officially overwhelmed, managed to blurt out, “Hello”, he said, before his gaze flickered back to the coffee table, then to you, as he didn’t know how to address you.

No way, he thought, it’s the doctor who came on news for saving a K-pop idol, from almost death.

“Minho!” you called, turning your head toward the kitchen. “Is this one of your students?”

Felix, his curiosity reaching critical levels, edged closer to the source of your voice. Peeking into the kitchen, he found Minho by the stove, a pan in hand. Smoke curled lazily upward, and the sharp scent of burning food filled the air.

“Minho,” you said, stepping into the kitchen with an incredulous laugh, “are you burning food again?”

Minho startled, nearly dropping the pan. “I’m not burning it! I’m… enhancing the flavor,” he argued, his tone defensive.

“Enhancing?” you repeated with a laugh. “Minho, cooking is about creating something edible, not staging a kitchen fire. It’s amazing how often you mix those two up.”

“I was trying to make you something before you left for the hospital,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed but reluctant to admit defeat.

Your playful smile softened at his admission. Gently, you reached over to turn off the stove. “That’s sweet, but maybe stick to teaching literature instead of culinary experiments.”

Felix, lurking just out of sight, stared wide-eyed as you roasted him. The banter, the easy familiarity—it all added up. They’re married?

“Go sit down,” you told Minho, nudging him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make something quick before I leave.”

Minho grumbled under his breath but obeyed, brushing past Felix on his way back to the living room. Felix hurried to take a seat, trying to appear nonchalant, though his mind was racing.

When you passed through the room moments later, coffee in hand, you offered Felix a warm smile. “Nice meeting you. Don’t give him too hard of a time with your questions.”

Felix nodded mutely, watching you leave. The moment the door shut behind you, he turned to Minho, who had returned with two glasses of juice.

“Professor…” Felix began slowly, his voice thick with disbelief. “Is she your wife?”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he sipped his juice. “Yes. Why?”

Felix blinked rapidly, struggling to reconcile this new information. “No reason,” he mumbled, though his expression betrayed his shock.

Moments later, you returned to the hallway, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. Minho met you by the door, leaning casually against the frame.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll try,” you replied, a familiar warmth in your voice. You both knew it was a promise you likely wouldn’t keep.

Felix, still reeling from the day’s revelations, hovered awkwardly nearby. As you stepped outside, he called out suddenly, “Have a good day, Mrs. Lee!”

You froze, the unexpected title catching you off guard. It wasn’t unpleasant—just unfamiliar. Slowly, you turned, offering Felix a polite but flustered smile. “Uh… you too,” you managed before hurrying to your car.

Minho chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe as he watched you leave. “Mrs. Lee, huh?” he mused aloud, mostly to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Felix, now thoroughly overwhelmed, buried his face in his hands. Sundays, he realised, were never as peaceful as they seemed.

Minho shook his head, walking back inside. “Come on, let’s get to your essay before you start narrating this like a drama.”

The next day at school, Felix did exactly that.

Felix leaned forward dramatically, hands splayed wide as he began recounting his Sunday adventure to a growing crowd of curious students in the cafeteria. His voice, filled with excitement, caught the attention of several nearby tables, each eager to hear more.

"Guys, listen up," he said, flashing a grin. "You won’t believe what I saw at Professor Lee’s house yesterday."

A few students glanced at each other, intrigued, as Felix's words hung in the air. He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to keep everyone hanging on his every syllable. "So, I went to his place for some essay help, right? And the first thing I notice when I walk in is this super cozy vibe. You know, soft lighting, a hint of fresh coffee... real domestic bliss. But then—then, I spot these feminine glasses on the table."

Hyunjin, who had been lounging back in his chair, rolled his eyes. "What’s so weird about glasses?" he asked, unimpressed.

Felix raised a finger, signaling that this story was about to take a turn. "Wait for it. So, as I’m trying to figure out who’s glasses they are, out walks this stunning woman. She’s in full professional attire—like, the whole deal. She’s walking like, like a CEO walking into an important meeting. And guess what? She’s his wife. Dr. Y/N. The surgeon."

Hyunjin blinked, his expression shifting from indifference to shock. “His what?” he practically shouted, hands flying to cover his mouth as his eyes widened.

The murmurs of disbelief spread like wildfire among the crowd, each person leaning in a little closer, straining to catch every word.

"You’re making this up," Jisung said skeptically, shaking his head as he crossed his arms.

Felix smirked, leaning back in his seat with an air of triumph. "I’m not! They’re so romantic, it’s almost nauseating. I’m telling you, it’s like one of those cheesy rom-coms. He even tried to cook for her."

"Professor Lee? Cooking?" Hyunjin scoffed loudly, half-laughing in disbelief. "That man lives off convenience store meals. There's no way he was cooking anything decent."

Felix leaned in closer, lowering his voice for effect. The group went quiet, eager to hear the juicy detail. "He burned it," he said, his face full of mock sympathy.

The table erupted in laughter, the absurdity of the image painting a perfect picture in everyone's minds.

"But that’s not even the best part!" Felix exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. "No, no. The best part is how she roasted him. And I mean roasted him. And then, do you know what he said? He said he was trying to make something special for her before she left for work. I mean, come on—imagine that. Your husband burns breakfast out of love for you. Isn’t that just... romantic?"

Jisung couldn’t help himself and muttered, "That doesn’t sound romantic. That sounds tragic."

Felix ignored him, continuing with the fervor of someone who had just witnessed the most entertaining drama. "And the way they bantered? Oh my god, guys, it was like something out of a rom-com. She laughed at him, and he got all offended but secretly pleased—it was like watching this whole love story unfold before my eyes. You would think they had a love marriage, not some arranged one."

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. "Wait, they’re in an arranged marriage?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Felix nodded solemnly, as if he were revealing some deep, hidden truth. "Yeah. But you’d never know. The way they looked at each other, the way they interacted—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were madly in love."

By now, half the cafeteria was hanging on Felix’s every word, the whole campus’s girls were there(for felix’s charm) of course.

And, as expected, the rumors began to spread like wildfire. What started as Felix’s casual recounting of a Sunday visit quickly turned into a full-fledged mystery. Everyone was dying to know more about Professor Lee’s mysterious wife—and, more importantly, if they could have a glimpse into this romance that Felix had so dramatically described.

…

Minho was halfway through grading essays in the faculty lounge when his colleague, Chan, approached him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Minho,” Chan started, plopping down in the seat across from him.

“What?” Minho asked without looking up.

“So… I heard some interesting things about you and your wife,” Chan said casually, his tone laced with amusement.

Minho froze, his pen hovering over a student’s paper, Felix’s. “What things?”

“Oh, nothing major,” Chan said, feigning innocence. “Just that you’re apparently head over heels for her, cooking her breakfast and all that. Burnt, of course.”

Minho’s eyes traveled through the paper in his hands and it clicked. “Felix.”

Chan laughed. “So it’s true?”

“Partially,” Minho muttered. “He came over to the house for essay help and caught us in the middle of a normal morning.”

“Normal?” Chan raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, you’re living in a K-drama.”

“Don’t start,” Minho groaned.

Chan grinned, leaning forward. “Come on, though. Is it true you tried to cook for her?”

Minho hesitated before muttering, “I might have… attempted.”

Chan burst out laughing. “Wow, you really are whipped. I didn’t think you had it in you, Minho.”

Minho shot him a glare. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Chan said, smirking. “But, honestly, it’s nice to see you so… happy. You’re usually such a grump.”

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his pen and went back to grading(maybe unfairly) , pretending not to notice the smug look on Chan’s face.

As Chan got up to leave, he clapped Minho on the shoulder. “By the way, I think Felix might be your biggest fan now. Watch out, or he’ll start writing a romance novel about you two.”

Minho groaned, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Meanwhile, you were eating lunch with your colleagues, when a message from Minho popped up.

Minho: Felix told half the campus we’re madly in love. You: We’re not? Minho: That’s not the point. You: It’s not a bad rumor to have, Professor Lee. 😉

Minho stared at the screen, shaking his head. Felix might’ve been overly dramatic, but maybe the kid wasn’t entirely wrong.

[wundergeek]

Excerpt from a 4K word fic of me being Very Normal About G'raha along these lines - - -

THEN

I returned, dazed, to the bottom of the lift.

Alisaie gave me a too-innocent smile. "How was your talk with the Exarch?"

Shit. She knew. Of course she knew.

I fought down a surge of panic. We'd never made what we had official - in fact, Alisaie had shut me down every time I'd tried to mention my burgeoning feelings. But she still deserved to know that I'd kissed someone else. "Alisaie, I..."

"You want to fuck the Exarch," she said, smirking.

My cheeks burned. "It's complicated," I mumbled.

Which it was. I'd kissed the Exarch, but I wasn't sure I wanted to fuck him. On the other hand, I'd wanted to fuck G'raha, but never got a chance to kiss him.

"I don't know how I feel about fucking the Exarch, but I did kiss him. And I'd like to do it again. But. I won't if you don't want me to."

To my relief, Alisaie shook her head. "No promises, remember? We could all die tomorrow, so why not chase what happiness you can today?" She rolled her eyes and punched me fondly in the arm. "Besides. Do I look foolish enough to think I can put a fence around a heart big enough to love the entire world?"

For the second time that day, profound, unutterable relief. She understood. "Thank you."

Alisaie waved her hand airily. "If you want to thank me, go get your boy."

I laughed.

- - -

NOW

The soul vessel is pulsing slowly, but G'raha is still unconscious. My magical senses tell me something seems to be happening, but it's happening a lot slower than it did with the Scions.

"Gods damn it, G'raha." I snap. "I had to watch you die, so if you haven't somehow managed to pull this rabbit out of your hat, I'm going to be... very cross with you." My voice breaks as the last comes out as a sob.

I put my head on my knees and weep.

I've cried myself out and am sitting there, trembling miserably, when G'raha finally stirs and opens his eyes. I see recognition, followed by confusion reflected in his red eyes. "Savvel?"

"G'raha!" I manage to give him a watery smile, but my heart is still in my throat. "How much do you remember?"

He blinks as he searches his memories. "I remember Elidibus," he says slowly. "And climbing the Crystal Tower and... Gods. Oh Gods, I remember turning--" I shush him as I pull him into my arms and stroke his back. He sobs and buries his face in my neck.

"I've got you, G'raha. We're in the Source. You're okay." My voice breaks, and I realize that I'm grinning like a fool and crying at the same time. "Everybody is okay."

"Everybody? ...really?"

"You're the last to wake up, on account of all the pesky security systems you've got around here."

G'raha laughs weakly, and it hits me all at once that somehow we did it. We won, and he's okay - better than okay! - he's alive, awake, and seems to have all his memories intact. My arms tighten convulsively around him and I nuzzle into his hair. "You're an idiot and I forbid you from sacrificing yourself again," I choke out. "Do you hear me?"

G'raha laughs again, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "sometimes sacrifices have to be made."

"No." My voice is firm, the most firm, and I am definitely not giggling. "I don't accept that."

"You wouldn't."

And then G'raha's mouth is on mine. We kiss in a delicious frenzy of mouths and hands and moaning, so much moaning, and I realize that Alisaie was correct. I do want to fuck the Exarch.

Read the whole fic on AO3

G'raha, I would die for you

Okay. Replaying Shadowbringers rn and G'raha just got abducted by Emet-Selch, and this whole scene hits just as hard on the fourth play-through as it did on the first. Look at this fuckin face. This is the face of a man who loved you from a distance for A HUNDRED YEARS assuming you didn't even remember his fucking name, until you call out to him just as he's about to sacrifice his life for yours.

He's about to teleport himself into the Rift and fuckin' die, and still, that proof that you remember him, that you matter to him makes him so fucking happy.

And. Like. Take a minute to think about that.

Not only did he come up with this insane scheme to rewrite history, then actually have the brilliance to pull it off, but... he has lived MULTIPLE LIFETIMES for you, and walked into this situation anyway, fully thinking that he was going to die, and totally prepared to sacrifice more than anyone could possibly comprehend. Like - imagine living long enough to see the small community of refugees you harbored to grow into a vibrant city. Imagine being part of their lives as the first residents of the Crystarium have children, grow old, and die, even as their children are having children of their own.

Imagine an attack that happens during that second generation that kills a couple with a young child and taking her in because she has no one to care for her. Imagine taking time, despite all of your responsibilities and literally being on the clock to save the world, to raise her to be strong, loyal, and unfailingly excellent at what she does. She isn't your blood, but she's the closest thing you'll ever have to a daughter, and still you don't hesitate to leave when it's time to see your scheme through to its ultimate end - your ultimate end.

Imagine what it would have been like making those final preparations without being able to tell anyone that you were saying goodbye.

Imagine having tea with Chessamile and agreeing with her that you need to do this more often.

Imagine discussing improvements to the Crystarium with Katliss that you know you'll never see.

Imagine gossiping with Bragi and knowing you'll never get to hear how things turned out.

Imagine visiting Moren to give him a book and saying nothing as he insists that he'll return it to you when he's finished.

Imagine having lunch with Lyna, your daughter, who will find herself in charge when you're gone, and having to give her instructions about what to do in the event of your death.

Imagine having that much love in your life - an entire city that you built from the ground up, and whose residents you loved with all your heart, and who loved you just as strongly. And calmly bidding that entire life farewell as you take an amaro to Kholusia to rewrite history by saving the life of the person you love, thinking that you were nothing more than a minor footnote in their previous adventures. Then imagine finding out at the literal last second that they not only remember, but cared deeply about you the entire time, and still having the strength of will to sacrifice yourself anyway.

What an icon. What an absolute fucking legend.

[rxqueenotd]

damnatio memoriae:

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by ‘Prima,’ was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima’s life and the lives around her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of war, ancient rome as a warning all in itself.

notes: there’s a lot of backstory here but I promise it is all pertinent to the story! I really did my best to research and make sure to write something I’m proud of. The dates are 100% not correct and I also pulled characters from the show “Barbarians” on Netflix. Some of this is not historically accurate (for instance, their mother didn’t die till years later.) This idea, however, was born from A. Me being insane and B. Many sleepless nights. The events of this fic begin before Gladiator II and will not exclusively follow the movie’s timeline or chain of events (aka Caracalla’s brain isn’t fried in the beginning and no one important is dead… yet) also, big thanks to @trashmouth-richie for listening to me scream about this for months and @londonfog-chan for beta’ing and becoming a fast friend.

⟡ Imperator- Septimius Severus

⟡ Augustus- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus “Caracalla”

⟡ Caesar- Publius Septimius Geta “Geta”

I

Rome, Fall AD 205

“You have his favor, Prima,”

Varus had said, his words echoing in your mind like the toll of a distant bell. He spoke casually, the sun casting long shadows across the marble courtyard while the Imperator was being formally welcomed home by a group of high-born Romans, the elite nobility of the court.

“Mother, what did Varus mean by that?” you asked later that night, your voice muffled as you chewed a piece of bread at dinner. The flickering candlelight danced in the air, illuminating the empty chair across the table where your father should have been—his absence a perpetual reminder that Rome was his first wife, his first love, his everything.

“The Imperator favors you,” your mother began, her tone measured yet distant. “It is obvious that he has taken a special interest in you.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken truths.

“Do you think the Augustus had his wife killed?” you questioned, your innocence shining through like pure snow under the midday sun.

Visibly annoyed, your mother sipped her wine, the deep red liquid swirling in the glass like her thoughts. She paused, searching for the right words to quell your endless questioning.

“Plautilla and her brother were exiled after their father’s death, which followed the confirmation of his treachery,” she said, her voice carrying an air of finality, as if she were divulging information that should be inherently understood, “No one is dead except the traitor.”

It was all she would give you, a riddle wrapped in a mystery, until you would later stumble upon the truth.

__________________________________________________________________

“Ari,” you whispered, pulling back the sheer curtain to reveal his figure, his back turned to you.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, joining him at the balustrade, looking out into the distance.

He shook his head, his expression somber.

“I’m being made prefect.”

He stood gazing longingly over the view of Palatine Hill, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his breastplate. As he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, holding a depth that mirrored the ocean on a sunny day. To call Ari German would only be half true. When Varus had taken him from the Cherusci tribe as a child, a mere eight years old, he was intended as a token of their submission to Rome. Raised in the image of Rome under the guardianship of a renowned general, Ari had found himself instead in the care of your mother, surrounded by slaves, servants, tutors, and nursemaids. An unmarried Roman general had neither the place nor the time to be a father. Ironically, despite these circumstances, Ari had molded himself into your life as naturally as the turning of the tides. His hair, dark as the endless night sky, was flecked with subtle highlights, and his muscles tensed beneath the fabric of his tunic. For all intents and purposes, Ari was the epitome of a Roman citizen, a Roman officer—tall, broad, with a face chiseled from marble. It only made sense that he stood guard of your household when your father was away, which, admittedly, was frequent.

“Wow,” you replied sarcastically, “shall I pretend to be shocked?” Your gaze lifted to meet his, a rueful smile playing on your lips.

“It is the natural order of things, is it not?”

Ari nodded, his silence a heavy cloak around him.

“Tell me,” you pressed on, “do you believe the young Augustus had his wife killed?”

“Why?” Ari’s eyes sparkled with a playful smile, “Are you afraid you’re next?”

You sighed, the weight of the world seeming to press down upon you. “What are our fathers planning?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, his voice low, “But I’m not sure either of us have a choice in the parts we must play.”

__________________________________________________________________

Babylon/Parthia, Spring AD 206

When the moment for travel arrived, a goat was sacrificed on the altar in honor of Neptune, its blood soaking the ancient stones. You, alongside Ari, your father, Varus, and two of your most trusted servants, then embarked on a ship bound for Parthia.

“I understand why you’re here,” you said, peering at Ari through the blur of his swaying figure as the ship rocked on a particularly rough set of waves, “But I don't understand why your father is involved.”

“Germania,” Ari began, leaning in to make himself heard over the sound of the sea, “He has been appointed governor.”

You shook your head, a mix of surprise and concern flickering across your face.

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

Ari nodded solemnly. “We’re leading three legions.”

Varus, despite his strengths, had always struggled with acknowledging his faults. When he had taken Ari from his home—where he was born to their leader, the Reik—he viewed it as a rescue. However, his decision to revoke the agreement that exempted the tribes from paying tributes to Rome had sparked rebellions.

“I assume you’ll accompany him once this brief meeting concludes?”

“No,” Ari replied, shaking his head. “Father will present his plans to the Imperator and update him on recent events. Afterward, he and I will journey to meet with the nearest legion.”

“What?” You couldn’t hide your astonishment, “You’re leaving me?”

“You’ll be assigned a new set of guards soon,” Ari reassured, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

You eyed Ari suspiciously just as Varus and your father descended the small set of steps, their gazes meeting yours expectantly.

Together, the two men had always been a force of nature. Varus, at the peak of his military career, had aligned with Septimius Severus when he seized power, claiming new territories in the name of the Imperator. A power vacuum had emerged following Commodus’s death, which your father exploited, advancing from the senate to being elected consul by the people—an office he maintained through each subsequent election. Where Varus led, your father inevitably followed, the bonds of their shared childhood—reared by the same nurses and tutors—unbreakably strong. It was only natural that the two of them would undertake this journey together—the culmination of their ongoing efforts to please the Imperator.

Upon your arrival in Parthia, the chaos unfolded before you, its impact muting your entrance. The once majestic city was a shadow of its former glory, stripped of its power and reduced to ruins.

Parthia had been devastated, its lands desecrated by the advance of the Roman army. Although your four-day voyage was free from conflict, your nerves raged, mirroring the tides after a fierce storm. Most of the Roman forces had moved northward, heavy with the spoils of war. This included hundreds of slaves and treasures beyond all imagination. Every village in their path had been ruthlessly flattened and set aflame. Every well poisoned, livestock slaughtered, the surviving Parthians–few and unfortunate– were mercilessly sent to meet their gods.

Formal greetings were promptly exchanged among the men. Nearby, two boys observed you intently. They were presumably the young Augustus, Caracalla, and his younger brother, Geta, who had not yet achieved the rank of his elder sibling, having only had the title of ‘Caesar’ bestowed upon him. You recalled meeting them years ago when their father had briefly governed Sicilia. All of you were mere children then, no older than six. Your father counseled as needed, allowing you to run freely with the two boys within the confines of the governor's villa under the strict eye of the nastiest nurse you had ever met. You had crossed the threshold of eighteen now, the elder brother barely a year your senior.

They stood an arm's length apart, arms crossed over their chests, eyes squinting as they scrutinized you from head to toe. You wondered how they hadn’t melted under the sun, their skin milk-white despite the unforgiving heat searing down.

As you approached the Imperator, you were taken aback when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it before you had even had a chance to bow your head.

“Prima,” he bellowed, his deep voice startling the servants behind you, “welcome to our humble camp.”

‘Humble’ was certainly a choice word. Even with half the army marching back towards Rome, numerous tents filled with officers, praetors, and generals were arranged in a grid-like formation along the wall that surrounded the city.

“Thank you, Imperator,” you replied with a smile. “It is my honor to be here.”

Next came a tour of the grounds and an explanation of the recent pillaging and destruction, led by Septimius with his two sons beside him and the rest of the men following. You were ushered away, escorted to where you would be sleeping, your servants trailing behind, pleasantly surprised to find your belongings had already been neatly arranged inside the elegant, yet functional, tent.

The antechamber was lit by two oil lamps, casting a warm glow that highlighted the tapestry emblazoned with your family's crest, a striking sight upon entering. The structure itself was supported by ornately carved wooden poles, strategically placed throughout the space. Fabric partitions divided the tent into designated areas for sleeping and dining, creating a sense of order and privacy.

A wooden bed, adorned with light bedding atop a plush feather mattress, promised comfort. Next to your sleeping quarters, a separate section was reserved for your servants, ensuring that both privacy and accessibility were maintained. Nearby, multiple chairs and folding tables were arranged, with the floor beneath them covered in luxurious animal skins.

"What do we do now?" asked Aeneas, your trusted servant and longtime friend.

You shrugged as you sat down on a chaise. "We wait."

__________________________________________________________________

Being seated between the two brothers at an early dinner was far from what you had expected. You knew they would be close, but having you sandwiched between them was less than ideal. As soon as you entered the room and saw them snickering, you could sense their mood. It had been years since you had been this close to either of them, but the memories of the insults hurled back and forth during your childhood were vivid. You quickly remembered the streak of cruelty that seemed to run deep in both brothers.

As a servant pulled out the chair for you, you smiled, bowed your head, and took your seat.

"How nice of you to finally join us," Geta remarked, his smile dripping with sarcasm as he took a modest sip of wine. Caracalla giggled beside you, prompting you to sigh.

"I came as soon as I was called," you assured him, picking up your glass for a sip.

"Brother, are you sure she wasn’t the servant? That slave they brought in was much better looking." Caracalla chimed in. At that moment, you knew exactly what game they were playing.

You huffed, but your smile never wavered.

"You know, the women in the palace snicker as you walk by. Caracalla, what exactly is a ‘penis aciculatus?’" you asked, maintaining a casual, laid-back smile.

"If you hadn't grown tits, I would’ve sworn you were a boy all this time," he retorted. "Perhaps you still are."

"And you would like that, wouldn’t you?" you spat back, leaving Caracalla speechless as Geta picked up the slack.

"Someone must tell the servants to stop feeding dogs at the table," Geta said as he grabbed your plate and handed it to the nearest servant.

"May I please have more olives?" you asked politely, receiving a nod from the servant who took your plate away. You sighed, relieved that a scene had been averted.

All three of you exchanged fake smiles, appearing to get along splendidly to the other men at the table, who were lost in their own conversations.

"I’m going to marry your father and have you both crucified," you smiled, letting out a faint laugh.

"Not if we kill you first," Caracalla retorted.

"I heard your father sent out a search party just to find someone willing to marry you, Prima," he added with a giggle.

"I’ve heard they had to hire servants of a certain height to follow you around just to reach things up high," you responded, eliciting a laugh from Geta, which in turn caused Caracalla to clench his fist, nearly rearing it back to land a punch in his brother’s direction.

“Prima,” Septimius called out, his booming voice cutting through the tension that was nearly turning physical between you and the brothers, “do you ride?”

“She does,” your father interrupted before you had the chance to respond, “I’ve always said she would have made an excellent charioteer in another life.”

Septimius smiled, nodding approvingly.

“Good, because there’s something I’d like to show you after dinner. A quick ride will get us there in no time.”

“Sounds excellent, Imperator,” you replied, offering him a genuine smile.

“‘Sounds excellent, Imperator,’” Caracalla mimicked in a high-pitched tone.

“No wonder your mother died,” you retorted calmly, “She probably couldn’t bear the thought of spending another moment with either of you.”

“Magae,” Caracalla hissed through clenched teeth, “You filthy little wench.”

You responded only with a smile, echoing his signature giggle back at him.

___________________________________________________________

Septimius rode at the center, astride his horse with Caracalla on his right and you on his left, flanked by a number of guards. The knowledge that the Praetorians had secured the surrounding blocks of Babylon, creating a protective bubble around the heart of the empire, did little to ease the knot of fear in your stomach. The possibility of a stray arrow, one capable of changing the fate of the empire, laid heavily on your mind as you rode through the town.

Caracalla was deep in conversation with his father about Alexander the Great, barely pausing for breath as the three of you approached the ornate building ahead.

“That building houses Alexander’s deathbed.” Septimius announced, slowing his horse.

His eyes sparkled as he glanced at Caracalla, offering him a glimpse of the past as if bestowing a wish upon him. You found it strange, recalling what little you knew of Alexander and his rise to the level of a god. Dismounting, Septimius assisted you down while Caracalla rushed ahead, his expression a mix of awe and fervor.

You wandered away from them towards the residential quarters of the palace, accompanied by two guards. The decor was as lavish as it was ancient, befitting a ruler though only governors had resided there for years. Entering a room, you stumbled upon a modest scene consisting of a bed raised on a three-step dais, a small tiled pool, and a simple podium. It was unremarkable, and you felt no urge to call out until Caracalla burst into the room, exclaiming, “This is it.”

“You like Alexander,” you observed, watching his reaction closely.

“No, I admire him,” he corrected sharply. “He expanded a small nation to rival the expanse of Rome in just thirteen years.”

“Julius Caesar also idolized him,” Septimius added, entering the room.

“And he was stabbed twenty-three times,” you blurted out impulsively.

Caracalla’s piercing gaze met yours, charged with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavy. Septimius smiled, as if you had made his point for him.

"Since you know everything, what do you know about Alexander?" Caracalla hissed, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up, testing your knowledge.

Septimius stood at the edge of the room, leaning against the doorway with baited breath, watching the exchange unfold.

"I know of his triumphs, his beginnings, his end," you began, your voice steady, "But I was always more fascinated by his mother, Olympias."

"They say she slept with a bed full of snakes." Caracalla interrupted with a dismissive wave.

"And she secured the throne for Alexander by orchestrating the death of his father and his young bride," you countered firmly.

"She had their newborn daughter dragged across a hot brazen iron oven. His wife slit her wrists and bled out in a warm bath because of her grief," Caracalla retorted, challenging your morality.

"Olympias ensured her son's legitimacy and handed him the empire on a silver platter," you responded, emphasizing her role in Alexander’s rise without highlighting her alleged brutalities.

"That's why I’ve brought you two here today," Septimius interjected, stepping forward and looking between you both. "Who we surround ourselves with is crucial—family is important, our legacy is important."

You exchanged a glance with Septimius, then Caracalla, absorbing the gravity of his words.

"The two of you will be married once we return to Rome," Septimius declared with a smile.

You quickly masked your surprise, bowing your head respectfully. Caracalla crossed his arms, his face contorting with disdain.

"I am grateful for the honor, Imperator."

"I am not marrying this witch, father," he spat vehemently.

Septimius gave you an almost apologetic look. "Prima, please leave us."

You exited as requested, their escalating argument fading behind you. Caracalla’s insult hung in the air.

"She probably sleeps with snakes!"

"Enough!" Septimius’s voice thundered.

Stepping outside, you exhaled deeply, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

Caracalla brushed past you, his shoulder bumping yours.

"Witch," he muttered under his breath as he mounted his horse.

"I assure you, the only snake I will ever lay with will be you," you shot back sharply.

For a moment, a smirk flickered across Caracalla’s face, almost pleased by your retort. But then his expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the reins and rode off.

⟡ latin translations ⟡

⟡‘penis aciculatus’- prickly penis

⟡ magae- witch

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, just let me know.

dividers by @ghoulbloggerrr

[yaseraphine]

RANT ABOUT THERAPY AND WHY IT'S NOT MY CUP OF TEA 🤡

+ trying to guess the therapist's rising and our synastry and ranting about it cause I am tired man (and too sensitive lol)

Really messy post btw just a disclaimer lol

Just had my first therapist appointment since 2021 and what can I say....it was REALLY awkward. I don't know how people are able to spill their deepest traumas like that bro she just sat down and told me to talk 💀 like what I thought she would interview me or start the first appointment with pre-made questions to make a profile, regarding my background, family relationships,etc .. It was really messy and I was so confused throughout the whole thing.

I understand it's a privilege to afford therapy (it was 60euros for 45 minutes lol of course it is) but it is much more complex than just spilling your guts to a random with a degree.

Something about me is that I always thought i didn't really need therapy, no matter how painful a situation was for me. And it wasn't only therapy, it was also opening up to my own friends 💀 i could take care of myself like i always did anyways so whats the point of paying for it ? I understood people who needed it and felt helped by it. But it just wasn't for me. I have realizations on my own consistantly thanks to my self-awareness and trained and developped intuition.

What pushed me to go back to therapy even though i was , and still am, very skeptical in its effectiveness on me, is that this year, I realized asking for help won't actually kill me and that i have my limits as a human being.

I fear this appointment just unfortunately kind of validated my initial more negative feelings towards therapy and the idea that I don't really need it.

As a really introspective and painfully self-aware person who has a hard time asking for help (but is actively working on it), I really don't know what kind of therapy could help me, really. I know I probably have a few blind spots, but it's so out of my comfort zone to open up like that. I kind of hate it.

I want to keep an open mind, and probably try another therapist but damn if I don't f*ck with any, it just feels forced .. I trust divine timing for that because I don't really want to put myself in such a situation again.

Right now, I feel dirty knowing a random woman knows about my deepest traumas in a really messy and all over the place way. She has fragments of my soul, and despite me having somewhat giving my consent for it, it was too fast. Maybe it's my 8th house moon conjunct Lilith (1181) in Leo that is speaking but I feel literally violated. Strong words but this how uncomfortable it was for me.

Guessing the therapist's rising sign and ranting about 12th house synastry...

Random but I think the therapist in question had a Virgo or Leo rising... I already said it's the most common rising signs (especially virgo) and I am losing patience. We probably had a 12th house synastry that's why our exchange was really weird and scattered. She kept on making weird faces while I was talking telling me she didn't understand what I was trying to say.... I know it all too well because EVERY single person I knew or had interacted with that had a leo rising, my interactions with them were like this. I was saying stuff and it felt like it went in one ear and got out in the other. Like they could hear me but not listen and understand what i was trying to say. This kind of reminds me of Willy Wonka's relationship with Mike TV or wth his name is, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Tim Burton's movie. Wonka always said stuff to him whenever he opened his mouth like "I cannot hear a single thing you say because you're speaking gibberish"or whatever. (Me being Mike TV and Leo risings being Willy Wonka).

This is how every single one of my interactions with Leo risings went, no matter their gender or age. It was always like that.

[jessjad]

Rightfully deceived

Chapter 5

Summary: When a marriage promise forces Y/N to step up for her younger sister, she gets something she always wanted. But when the truth comes out, her new husband Dean is not so happy about the mix-up. Will she loose it all? Or will she be surprised in the end?

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5355 (Sorry! 🙈)

Warnings: 18+ only!!! arranged marriage, some tension, angst, perilous situation, smut

A/N: This is a long one, guys. But I didn't want to split it up again. All mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Running down the stairs Y/N saw Millie standing at the bottom who called after her, but she could not stop. She told her that she needed a minute and kept running out of the castle. She did not care about the looks from the others as she ran towards the staples. But she did not stop there.

Benny called after her, Sam too who stood next to him, but Y/N gave them no reaction. After she left the stable behind her, she just kept running. Up the next hill as far as her feet would take her and until the castle was no longer visible. Y/N first stopped again at a small group of trees where she could hide inside. She needed time to think and just wanted to be alone. At least for a little while.

Here, her tears could fall freely and her heart could break. Another crack breaking the smooth red surface. She just didn't know what to do anymore. Dean wasn't on her side. No, he preferred another woman. And of course she understood his anger, but it had been over two months now. He should slowly get used to it or at least try to understand her side. It wasn't easy for Y/N either.

The fact that she loved Dean didn't make it any easier. His distance and that cold shoulder hit her hard. It could be so easy, if only he saw her as more than the woman who had robbed him of his happiness. He didn't mention Helena anymore, but sometimes she had the feeling that he looked at her and saw her sister's face.

Maybe she should just walk away, pack her things and disappear. Unfortunately it wasn't that easy. She had no money of her own and there was no question of her taking Dean's money. And she couldn't and didn't want to go back to her father. She missed her clan and the life she was used to for so long, but she actually wanted to start over here with Dean. She loved him and that was the problem. Deep down, she just couldn't leave him. She was hopelessly lost.

A cool wind rushed through the branches and leaves, swirling the fabric of her dress. If only she had grabbed a coat. She found a moss-covered spot near the roots of a large tree, where she sat down and leaned her back against the trunk. She wasn't ready to go back yet.

Dean had just stared after Y/N before the anger caused him to sweep his desk empty with his arm and knock any objects onto the floor. He took a few deep breaths before took to his heels and ran after her. At the bottom of the stairs, Millie was standing exactly as he had left her before.

"Where is she?" he asked and Millie pointed a finger to the door.

"She went out."

So Dean made his way towards the entrance of his castle, but Millie hold him back.

"Dean, wait!" she lightly grabbed his arm to stop him. "Don't go after her. At least not right now."

"What?" his brows furrowed. "But I need to talk to her."

"I know her, Dean, believe me. She was so upset... give her some time to calm down. No matter what you said to her now, she would take it the wrong way."

"I... I don't like that. I should talk to her right now. There was a misunderstanding that needs to be cleared up."

And by that he meant the last sentence that slipped out of his mouth. He shouldn't have said that and he had to clarify that. But he also had to clarify other things. Y/N's words had made him think and he had realized that his behavior towards her simply wasn't fair. However, he had been staying away from her for different reasons than she probably assumed.

"What happened up there?" MIllie asked.

Just as Dean was about to tell him about the package, the door opened and Benny and Sam walked in. So the two men were also brought up to date and then Dean expressed Y/N's suspicion that it was Cassie. Sam and Benny exchanged a look that didn't go unnoticed by Dean and Millie looked down so as not to reveal that she knew about this assumption.

"What? You already knew about it?" he asked incredulously.

"Dean..." Sam started. "Cassie always wanted to marry you."

"So what? That's her motive? She knew that I was going to marry someone else."

"Yeah, but she was not happy when she heared that Y/N is not the right woman." Benny said.

"I mean... you only need to look how she behaves infront of you." Sam pointed out.

"And how she behaves towards Y/N. She makes it pretty clear that she is not happy that Y/N is here."

Well, that were news to Dean. But on the other hand, he had been gone for a while. He had never noticed that Cassie avoided Y/N like that. No matter who he saw Y/N with, they all seemed to like her now and she seemed to get along with everyone. She fit the bill really well.

"Okay. This is not happening. Not under my watch." Dean said and made his way back up the stairs. "Call everyone into the dining hall!" He had to do something.

Fifteen minutes later all the clan members were gathered around the large table, at the head of which Dean stood, the package in his hand. A murmur went through the crowd as no one could really explain what the problem was. Dean looked around and saw Jo and Alex standing with Cassie. Benny was standing near the door and Sam was across the room from him. Millie had fought her way to Jo without Cassie or Alex noticing her.

"When I came back from my business trip today, I actually had the impression that everything was fine. But then Y/N found this in our bedroom." and with a thud he dropped the package onto the table after removing the lid.

The severed cat's head almost fell out of the box, causing shocked exclamations among those present.

"This is a threat that should go to Y/N. But this threat also goes to me and I cannot and will not accept that. Y/N is now my wife and I had the impression that you all received her well But apparently I was wrong."

An incomprehensible murmur now went through the crowd, accompanied by the underlying question of who could do such a thing. Dean observed the reactions of the different people, but couldn't notice anything unusual, not even with Cassie.

"So that's how it's going to go here now." Dean raised his voice a little so that everyone would really listen to him. "Whoever did it has the opportunity to own up to it and admit it now. However, if that person doesn't speak up and I find out who it was...then God have mercy on him."

It was slowly getting dark and the temperature had dropped noticeably, but Y/N still couldn't go back. She had seen Sam and Dean riding horses across the countryside, calling out to her. She could also hear Benny, who was probably looking for her somewhere near the stables. Still, she couldn't reveal herself.

If Dean confronted her now, she would probably pour her heart out to him. She had noticed one thing in the last few hours. Her nerves were pretty thin and she wouldn't be able to handle any further rejection of her confession. She still hadn't completely calmed down. So she would now wait until the men gave up their search for the day and then sneak into Arrow's stable.

It took a few hours until Y/N felt safe enough to head back. By now it was pitch black and the cold was now creeping into her bones. Even though she was probably no longer visible, she walked slowly and deliberately. Always keeping an eye on the castle and its surroundings while she ducked again and again.

A lantern was burning in the stable and the candle wouldn't last much longer. However, it still provided enough light for Y/N to find the right box. As soon as Arrow recognized her, he whinnied happily and raised and lowered his head. She immediately tried to calm him down so that he wouldn't give her position away. However, that took a few moments.

"Oh Arrow. What am I supposed to do?"

The horse pushed Y/N's head closer to him as soon as the young woman stood in the box with him. As if he understood her words and recognized that she was struggling inside. She hugged him back, enjoying the feeling of safety and familiarity in that moment.

"That came from the stable! I think it was Arrow!"

Suddenly she heard Benny's voice, which seemed to come from the castle. But he wasn't alone.

"I'll take a look!" Alex called back, seemingly closer.

Oh no, she didn't want to be discovered yet. But after looking around and not really finding a place to hide, Y/N went to the end of the box, sat on the floor and piled the hay up above her. She tried to hide under it as best she could and just hoped she wouldn't be noticed.

Then she heard footsteps coming towards her. She could still see a little through the pile of hay above her head and at some point she saw Alex's legs and how he was walking through the stable. He stopped briefly at Arrow, spoke a few words to him and then went out again.

"She is not here. Everything looks normal." Alex stated as he seemed to walk back to the castle.

Relief flooded through Y/N ​​and she was able to release the breath she had previously been holding. Quietly and carefully, she dug herself out of the hay again. The candle in the lantern barely gave off any light now. Arrow came over and sat down next to her, resting his head on her lap. Y/N also leaned into him a little.

"Just a little longer." She whispered while petting Arrow. "I'll just stay with you a little longer and then I'll go back."

Dean paced around the bedroom. It was already the middle of the night and Y/N still hadn't returned. A bad feeling slowly began to spread within him. After all, it was his fault that it had gotten this far. He had scared her away and made her feel like running away was the only solution. His absence and the silence with which he had punished her had been too much.

And yes, he now knew that he had unconsciously punished Y/N with his behavior. He hadn't married the woman he wanted and in a way Y/N was to blame. But that wasn't really why he had acted like that. Because now he also knew that there was an even more confusing reason for him. He stopped in front of the window and looked out into the cold, dark night.

Back then he had already imagined everything in his head. What the wedding with Helena would be like, their life afterwards here in his castle. What the next five years could have been like. The first child, then the second. For a long time these had just been fantasies for him, but after he got to know Helena, he could easily imagine that the fantasies could be true. He had really had feelings for the young woman.

But then the wedding night was over and in the next morning came disillusionment. He hadn't married Helena, but Y/N. That really threw him off track. And yet there were parallels between him and his wife. That's why he took her with him. And actually he had planned to just see how it goes. It was just the way it was now.

But the journey back to the castle alone had been a challenge. As soon as Y/N sat in front of him, his penis began to stir again. Her soft, round ass against his hips, the scent that wafted from her hair into his nose, had inevitably brought back the images of their night together.

And from then on, every night had been difficult for him. Every minute he had been alone with Y/N ​​he had had to pull himself together. So often his fingers had itched to hold her in his arms or even kiss her. But he wasn't sure if she would have wanted that. After all, she had married him out of necessity and not because she wanted to.

So he went on business trips. But the distance didn't make things any better. When he lay in bed at night and let his thoughts wander, he always saw Y/N in front of him. He thought of her, of the things she had told him and of their night together. She had really caught him off guard and made him long for her. How crazy was all that?

He couldn't stay in the room any longer. With his coat in hand, he made his way back downstairs. The castle lay still and quiet, peaceful, as if nothing had happened. He opened the door and stood on the stairs, his gaze turned back to the dark landscape. His wife was out there somewhere and he was just hoping she would come back so he could talk to her and explain himself. So he could finally do it right.

"Dean?"

Slightly startled, Dean turned to the voice and recognized Ellen, who was standing in front of the kitchen with a candle in her hand and looking at him in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" she asked and came over to him.

"Y/N is still out there somewhere. She still hasn't come back." his gaze turned back.

"But she will come back eventually. She probably just needed time. After what you told me, Dean... you really made a mistake."

"I know!" he exclaimed angry at himself. "But I'm hoping it's not to late now."

Ellen didn't say anything else, but her heart ached a little for Dean. She was also worried about Y/N and hoped that she would show up again soon. She placed a warm hand on Dean's shoulder, showing him her silent support. After a few minutes, however, she broke the silence again.

"Has anyone come forward about the allegations yet?"

"No. And it looks like noone will either."

"She was really on edge last week. Whoever followed her had made her feel really uneasy."

"You also knew about it?" Dean asked surprised.

"Yes. She told me about it."

"Did she also tell you that she that she suspected Cassie?"

"No. But that does not surprise me." Dean looked at Ellen questioningly and she smiled a little. "Have you ever seen how she looks at you? She's jealous. And she's ignoring Y/N since the moment she came here. It would make sense."

With that Ellen was right, but he could hear a 'but' in her sentence. So he asked he to explain.

"when you called the meeting this afternoon and showed us what it was about, Jo overheard Cassie talking to Alex."

"And?" Dean now was eager to know.

"She wasn't as shocked as everyone else about the contents of the box, but she was probably still surprised. And then she said to Alex that she thought the act was good and that it was a shame that she hadn't thought of it herself."

"So she indirectly admitted that it wasn't her... And Jo believes her?"

"Yes. And I believe that too, by the way." now Dean looked surprised and Ellen explained her statement. "She once helped me in the kitchen and was supposed to pluck a chicken. She almost vomited. And the animal was already dead."

"So she couldn't have killed the cat." Dean mused.

"No. Not her. Unless she had an accomplice. But I believe Jo that it wasn't Cassie. My daughter has known her longer than I have."

That made sense in Dean's eyes. "But who was it then?"

"That's exactly the question, Dean. Who did it?"

Early the next morning Benny made his way to the stable. He hadn't been able to find any real peace either. So he wanted to check on Arrow. The sky slowly became brighter, making last night's frost glitter like stars. It had been the coldest night yet. He lit the lanterns and then ran the boxes. Everything seemed quiet, but when he glanced into Arrow's box, he had to do a double take.

There, right next to Arrow in the hay, lay Y/N and she was pretty pale. Benny walked straight towards her, which startled the horse, but it remained calm on the ground. Upon closer inspection, Benny saw that Y/N had sweat on her forehead and her lips were blue.

He didn't have to think about it for long. Benny lifted her out of the hay into his arms and made his way to the castle. She urgently needed to get somewhere warm and Dean needed to know about it too. He hadn't left the stable when Alex stood in front of him, looking quite frightened.

"Go call Dean. Tell him I found Y/N and that she needs help." Benny ordered, but Alex didn't seem to be able to move. "GO!"

Suddenly the young man came back to life and turned around to run back into the castle. Benny also hurried to get there while speaking quietly to the woman in his arms. He noticed how she was shaking and the cold radiating from her body worried him deeply.

He was just walking in the door when Dean appeared in front of him and took Y/N into his arms. But the two were not alone. Apparently Alex had woken up half the castle.

"Benny, ride off and bring the doctor here immediately! Don't take any detours and if he refuses, then tell him that money doesn't matter!" Dean called over his shoulder as he hurried up the stairs with Y/N.

Millie followed Dean straight up the stairs and opened the bedroom door for him when they reached the top. After they entered, Millie pulled back the covers so Dean could lay Y/N there and tuck her right back in.

"Millie, can you please get a few more blankets from the guest rooms? I'll light the fire in the meantime so that it gets warm in here."

"Of course." Milllie said and set off straight away.

After Millie disappeared from the room, Dean looked down at Y/N. Her face was so pale that her blue lips formed a shocking contrast. God, this was all his fault. Just because he once again spoke first before he could think about his words. So he did something useful and started the fire in the fireplace.

Still, it took over an hour for Benny to get back. Only he didn't have the doctor with him, but someone else. A thin man with dark skin sat on another horse. Not as dark as Cassie's skin, but different nonetheless. He wore a turban on his head.

“Doctor MacGregor wasn’t home. He was called to an emergency in Dundreggan last night. But his guest from India is also a doctor." Benny pointed to the man next to him and introduced him. "This is Mr. Gupta. He's an... ajurwedish doctor. Correct?"

"Yes." the man said with an strong accent. "And I'm here to help. If you're willing to let me."

For a moment Dean was skeptical, but then he remembered that every second counted. And so he gave the man his hand and explained the situation to him as they made their way up to Y/N. He saw the concerned and puzzled looks from some of the others they passed, but he ignored them.

Mr. Gupta examined Y/N thoroughly, explaining every step and his findings to Dean. They had already done the right thing by wrapping her up warm and heating the room well, but that wouldn't be enough.

"She is hypothermic. Her body temperature is already in the critical range. Under no circumstances should the room lose heat. At some point she will try to free herself from the blankets, but that must not happen either."

Meanwhile, Millie was back in the room and she and Dean took in all the information and agreed on care for Y/N in the next few days.

"In addition, I will prepare a decoction and a warming paste for her. If used regularly, her condition should improve in the next week. But it will take time."

But Dean didn't care. The main thing is that Y/N would feel better soon. He wouldn't lose her like this. That was out of the question.

Y/N felt weird. She felt hot and cold at the same time, her head was pounding and she was shaking. She noticed noises but couldn't identify them. In general, she didn't know whether she was dreaming or awake.

Whenever she tried to free herself from the sea of ​​blankets under which she felt buried and was sweating from the heat, Dean's face appeared above her, encouraging her to stay under the blankets.

Other times, when the cold made her shiver and she felt the blankets being pulled away, she tried to bury herself under them again. But even then Dean's face appeared, reassuring her that it wouldn't take long as he caressed her. But when he stopped, these parts of his body became really warm and drove away the cold.

And sometimes she had a terrible spicy taste in her mouth that made her thirsty. Then Millie was with her to help her drink. Or were those just dreams too? She simply couldn't tell the difference and so she always hoped that her consciousness would just slip back into the silent nothingness where she could no longer feel anything.

The next time Y/N woke up she felt different. More awake with a clearer mind. She was still cold, but she finally felt like herself again. And she realized that this wasn't a dream. She was really awake. With tired limbs, she moved slowly and moaned slightly.

"Y/N? Y/N!" She heard Dean's excited voice and searched for him with her eyes once she got used to the brightness.

"How are you? Do you need anything?" suddenly he was at her side, holding her hand.

"No, I... I'm fine. I'm just... a little tired and I'm still a little cold." She said quietly, wondering what even happened.

But it didn't take long for the memories to catch up with her again. She didn't go back the night after she escaped. She had fallen asleep at Arrow's side and had lain in the freezing stable all night. It had been her own fault.

She saw Dean take a deep breath and close his eyes briefly before speaking again. "Stay there. I'll call Millie and the doctor." and then he disappeared through the door.

Half an hour later, Dean made his way outside and walked over to Sam, who was chopping firewood. With a firm step he ran towards his brother, who looked at him worriedly after noticing him. Sam put down the axe.

"Dean? Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine." answered the older man, took the ax in his hand and began to boldly chop wood.

"Are you sure? Is something wrong with Y/N?" Sam probed.

"No." he swung the axe. "She woke up and was lucid again." again the ax thundered downwards. "She's doing much better than she has in the last few days." with the third blow the log was split.

But then Sam realized what was really going on with his brother. He had seen how the guilt had eaten away at Dean over the last few days. He had made huge accusations against himself, even if he hadn't admitted it. So Sam left him alone with the firewood, knowing that Dean would have to use it to release his pent-up emotions. But still the hope spread within him that this was finally the turning point.

An hour later, most of the firewood had been cut down and Dean was sweaty and exhausted. But he felt better. Now it was time to start all over again.

He made his way back into the castle when Mr. Gupta came out. Dean thanked him for his help and said goodbye to him with kind words. The doctor had made another decoction and prescribed Y/N two more days of bed rest in addition to a hot bath, but he was sure that she would recover completely. She just had to take it slowly and Dean would make sure of that.

When Dean came into the bedroom, it wasn't as warm as before and Y/N was still sitting in the hot tub. She was slightly startled when she saw Dean come in, but didn't say anything. That hit Dean a little, but he could also understand her behavior. After all, he was guilty of it himself and it was entirely up to him to change that.

He undressed and walked towards the tub. Y/N scooted forward to make room for him and once he was in the tub, she wanted to get out. But Dean stopped her and made her sit back down. He picked up the bar of soap that was lying on a small stool next to the tub and immediately recognized the scent. That's why Y/N always smelled so seductive.

By now the bar of soap was pretty thin and he made a mental note that he needed to bring her some again. After Dean had cleaned himself up, he leaned back in the tub and gently pulled Y/N along by the shoulders. She reacted a little stiffly at first, but quickly relaxed again and secretly enjoyed the feeling of finally being able to be so close to Dean again.

When the water slowly got cold, they got out of the tub again. Dean first so he could grab a towel for Y/N. He held it out to her openly after Y/N also had both feet on dry land and wrapped it around his shoulders. Suddenly they were so close. Body to body, face to face that Dean cleared his throat and had to take a few steps back so he didn't do anything rash.

"Dry yourself off and then go back to bed. I'll get you some real food." Dean said as he quickly got dressed and then disappeared from the room.

Later that evening, when Y/N was slowly making her way to dreamland again, Dean sat by the fire and looked over at the bed. Y/N lay there with her eyes closed, cheeks rosy, hair down and a relaxed expression on her face. And for the first time in days, Dean was able to breathe deeply.

After he had brought his wife and himself something to eat upstairs and they were sitting together, he remembered a situation that had happened in his childhood. On one of their trips when he and Sam were younger, his brother once fell into a frozen lake. Her father noticed immediately and didn't hesitate for a second to pull him out and Sam was quickly fine again.

Nevertheless, he had told Y/N about it and she seemed to just absorb his words. So he didn't stop talking. He told her about many things and she literally hung on his every word. Why hadn't he done this before? It was so easy to confide in her and even though he didn't like talking about himself in general, he felt comfortable with Y/N in doing so.

The tiredness slowly overcame him and so it didn't take long until Dean settled down in bed. Moving close to Y/N, he quickly fell asleep too.

But just a few hours later, Dean woke up with a start. He didn't know why, but his hand immediately searched the side of the bed next to him, expecting to feel Y/N. But her side was empty and already cold.

“Y/N?” he exclaimed, sitting up at the same time.

"I am here. I couldn't stay lying down anymore." She replied quietly with a smile and his eyes found her directly.

She was sitting by the fire, her hair falling over her shoulders and she had a book in her hand. But Dean couldn't take his eyes off of her. The orange glow of the flames painted her face and made her appear almost angelic. Dean's breath caught in his throat and he sank back onto the bed.

'God, she is so beautiful. Why didn't I notice this before?' he thought to himself.

After a moment he straightened up slightly and looked over at Y/N again.

“Will you please come back to bed?”

Y/N looked at him a little surprised, but then nodded. "Okay."

She put her book aside and came back to the bed. Dean had already lifted the blankets, implicitly inviting her to slide closer to him. Y/N was very happy to accept this offer. Once she was at his side, her head on his chest, he covered them both again.

"You really scared me." Dean said shortly afterwards into the comfortable silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Y/N replied quietly.

Dean looked down at Y/N. "Please don't just run away again. Not until I can talk to you."

Upon those words Y/N looked up at Dean. "I won't. I promise." and she meant it, because she wouldn't be able to go through this again.

They looked deeply into each other's eyes and suddenly it was as if time stood still. Dean couldn't hold back anymore. With a hand on her cheek, he leaned down to Y/N until his lips were on hers. He kissed her carefully at first, but Y/N didn't seem to mind the kiss. And as soon as Dean felt her tongue on his lower lip, he was done for.

He deepened the kiss and turned a little more towards Y/N, who was able to put her leg on his hip. His hand moved up her thigh until it came to rest on her ass.

She buried her hands in his hair and began to slowly rub herself against him. She moaned slightly into his mouth while his hand, which was on her butt, went back to wandering. The nightdress that Y/N was wearing had slipped onto her own hips. With his thigh he opened her legs a little more so that his already stiff cock could nestle against her warm center.

Dean could already feel how wet she was and he had to hold himself together not to just push into her. But when Y/N's hand landed on his ass shortly afterwards and she pushed him closer to her, he literally slid into her. So he turned her so that she was lying on her back and sank his last few inches into her.

They both groaned and Dean wasted no time. He moved slowly but forcefully inside her. He carried out each of his thrusts with passion as he uncovered Y/N's breasts and caressed them there with his mouth. He licked her nipples and bit them tenderly, making her moans grow louder.

At some point he picked up the pace a little and licked from her breasts over her collarbone to her neck. That bittersweet pressure built up inside Y/N again and she searched with her lips for Dean's, who was only too happy to kiss her back.

He felt Y/N start to throb around his cock and began to chase his own orgasm. Y/N moved with him, holding onto his shoulders and as she jumped over the edge, he followed her just seconds later. He poured himself deep and hard into her while Y/N enjoyed the aftershocks.

They both looked deeply into each other's eyes as their pulses slowly calmed down. But neither really wanted to let go of the other. So they lay there entangled in each other and fell asleep together again.

A/N: I told you that everything would get better again. Let's just hope it stays that way. 😶 Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

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[jeonsblackgf-writes]

High times & Hellfire | Eddie Munson

summary: Eddie Muson wasn’t the ordinary drug dealer to you, he was something more…you just can’t quite put your finger on it yet.

warnings: smoking

word count: 5,233 (she’s a long one sorry)

pairing: eddie munson x black!reader

AN: im trying to get into writing in the second person. pls lmk how i did lol. this is my first time doing this.

—————————————————

It’s 1985, and Hawkins High is buzzing with the energy of senior year. Everyone’s excited for graduation, but no one more than you. You were popular, smart, and had a reputation for being both sweet and spicy—just like your personality. You weren’t a cheerleader, not by any means, but you had an effortless cool about you that made everyone want to be your friend. Or at least be around you. You had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room, but it was all a balancing act—a way to keep yourself untouchable while still enjoying all the attention.

And there was Eddie Munson. He was your go-to guy for anything you needed, but mostly, you were there for the weed. Eddie was, without a doubt, the coolest kid at Hawkins. Hell, the guy practically ran the Hellfire Club, his own little universe where the outcasts ruled. But while the rest of the school might not have understood Eddie’s brand of chaotic charisma, you got him. You always had.

And Eddie, he liked you in a way that made your connection feel like it was more than just transactions. He knew you had a sharp mind, that you didn’t need him for the weed alone. He respected you for that—something most people couldn’t see past the smoke and mirrors. You two had a bond, and it was undeniable.

It was late on a Friday afternoon when you met him at the usual spot. The corner of the parking lot near the back door of the school—hidden away from prying eyes, a space where you could just… be. Eddie had a new stash for you, as usual, and you couldn’t wait to see what kind of goodies he had this time.

“Hey, beautiful,” Eddie greeted, a grin stretching across his face as you approached. He leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, your voice smooth like honey, but with just enough edge to let him know you weren’t here to play games. You reached for your pack of cigarettes, matching his vibe, pulling out a long, thin one. You’d been smoking for a while now, and your preference had shifted to the slow, relaxing kind of high that came with marijuana. It was Eddie who had introduced you to it, and he’d been your supplier ever since.

“You know, I was just thinking,” you said, taking a drag of your cigarette. “I could just come to your Hellfire meetings and hang out, but… that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up, amused by your comment. “Are you offering to join the ranks of the legendary Hellfire Club? We might just make an exception for you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you laughed. “I’m just here for the goods today.”

Eddie smirked and fished around in his jacket pocket before pulling out a small baggie. “Got something special today. Gotta try it before you buy it, as always.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s so special about it this time?”

Eddie leaned in closer, the familiar scent of musk and weed mixing with his cologne. “It’s a hybrid—half sativa, half indica. Thought it might be right up your alley. Something that’ll give you a good high, but still leave you with that clear head you like.”

You took the bag from him and examined it, the little nugs inside looking especially pristine. “You really know me, Eddie.”

He chuckled, “Of course I do. We’ve been doing this for what? A year now?”

It had been just about that long since Eddie had first made you one of his regulars, back when you’d stumbled into his world by accident. You remembered the first time you’d asked him for weed, how he’d given you a skeptical look but agreed, a little wary of selling to someone who wasn’t exactly his usual crowd. But you charmed him in your own way, and from that moment on, he’d always had something for you, a steady supplier who treated you like someone more than just a customer.

You smiled, tucking the bag into your jacket. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. You wanna join me for a smoke? Or are you too busy making Hellfire plans?”

Eddie gave a dramatic sigh, looking at the time. “I suppose I could spare a few minutes. The dungeon calls, but I can always get back to my party planning later.”

You led the way, walking to the secluded spot behind the school where the two of you had smoked together countless times. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and weed as you both settled against the brick wall, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot.

As you lit up the joint, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Eddie. His wild hair, his clothes, his whole chaotic energy… It was all so intoxicating. Not just his weed. Him, too.

“Tell me,” you said, as the smoke filled your lungs and drifted lazily upward, “what’s the deal with the Hellfire Club anyway? You guys just get together and play Dungeons & Dragons, or is there something more?”

Eddie chuckled, taking the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment too long. “It’s a little more complicated than that. We’re like… a family. All of us are outsiders in one way or another. We get together and forget about everything else. The world doesn’t always treat us right, but at least we have each other, you know?”

You nodded. “I get it. You guys are a good crew. And, hey, it’s not like the rest of Hawkins is exactly kind to you either. You make it work. That’s what matters.”

Eddie’s gaze softened, his usual devil-may-care expression giving way to something more genuine. “Yeah, well, it’s easier when you’ve got someone like you around.” He paused, almost as if he was waiting for your reaction. “You don’t exactly fit the mold of the rest of the people who hang around here.”

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and gave him a sideways glance. “I’m not like everyone else. Never have been.”

“And that’s why you’re here with me.” Eddie grinned, leaning back against the wall, looking almost mischievous. “You’re not the typical pretty, perfect cheerleader who can’t do anything but look cute. You’ve got brains. And attitude.”

“Is that a compliment, Munson?”

“Take it how you want,” Eddie smirked. “But yeah, it’s a compliment.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth, the world outside fading away. It was moments like these that made you feel like everything was right—like you could forget about the pressure of school, the looming future, and just exist in this small bubble with Eddie.

You could feel the warmth of the sun fading as evening approached, the chill setting in with the promise of a long night ahead. You were getting lost in the high, the connection you shared, and the way Eddie made you feel—like you were the only person who mattered in the whole damn town.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight, Eddie?” you asked, tapping the ash off your cigarette.

“Well,” Eddie began, “we’ve got our usual Hellfire session, but after that, I might just have something a little more… personal planned.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Oh really? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave you a sly grin, his eyes flicking to yours, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken words. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the weed anymore.

“Maybe we’ll find out after the meeting,” Eddie said cryptically, his tone suggestive.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As the smoke continued to swirl around the two of you, the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the air grew crisp. Eddie’s words lingered in the space between you, a little mystery in them that you couldn’t shake. There was something more, something beneath the surface of your usual banter, and you couldn’t help but be curious about where it might lead.

“You’re not planning on skipping the Hellfire meeting, are you?” Eddie asked, breaking the comfortable silence, his voice a little teasing. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke that drifted lazily into the cool evening air.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not that heartless. Besides, I’m curious about what new adventures your D&D crew is going to get into.”

Eddie laughed, that deep, infectious chuckle that you always found so endearing. “It’s more than just an adventure. It’s a full-on journey,” he said with a mock-serious tone. “I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. It’s gonna be epic.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You and your Hellfire. You guys are like a secret society, plotting world domination through dice rolls.”

Eddie shot you a wink. “That’s the plan. One dungeon at a time.”

You finished your cigarette and flicked it to the ground, crushing it under your boot. You’d already smoked the joint he’d rolled for you, and now you were feeling that familiar wave of warmth and calm, a gentle high that made everything feel a little more… right. It was hard to explain, but whenever you were around Eddie, time seemed to slow down. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, the company, or a little bit of both, but you always felt at ease with him.

Eddie stood up, brushing off his jacket as he held out his hand to you. “Alright, enough of the smoke break. Let’s get this over with, and then we can really get to the fun part.”

You eyed his hand for a second before taking it, your fingers briefly brushing against his. The touch sent a small shock through you, something electric, and for a split second, you hesitated. But only for a second. You grabbed his hand and let him pull you up, feeling his warmth as he steadied you.

“You know,” you said, giving him a playful smile, “I think I could get used to this. Hanging around with you, I mean.”

Eddie grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “I’m a hell of a lot more fun than most people around here, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, glancing down at your shoes as you both started walking toward the school’s main building. “You definitely are.”

By the time you reached the Hellfire Club’s meeting spot, the large, old boiler room in the basement of Hawkins High, the rest of the group was already there. You’d been to a few meetings before, mostly just hanging out while Eddie and the others played their game, but tonight felt different. It was like you and Eddie were sharing something unspoken, and you weren’t sure if anyone else had noticed.

The air inside the basement was thick with the smell of pizza and soda, and the usual energy of the Hellfire Club filled the room. The usual cast of characters was present: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will—all the guys who were usually inseparable from Eddie. You were the only one who didn’t quite fit the mold, but that didn’t bother you. If anything, it made you feel like you had an edge, a way of seeing things no one else did. Eddie made sure you were never an outsider.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dustin said with a grin, looking up from the game board where his character was just about to face off against a monstrous dragon. “The queen of cool herself.”

You shot Dustin a playful look, sitting down on the old, mismatched couch in the corner, close enough to Eddie but not directly in his space. Not yet.

“Queen of cool?” you repeated with a raised eyebrow. “You better watch it, Henderson. I could teach you a thing or two about being cool.”

Eddie chuckled, sitting at the head of the table with a smug look on his face. He seemed to enjoy the banter that flowed so easily between you and the others. It was almost as if you were part of their world without needing to be directly involved in their game.

“So, what’s the plan tonight?” you asked, leaning back into the couch, taking another drag of your cigarette. “Are we saving the kingdom again or slaying more dragons?”

Eddie grinned widely, clearly excited. “Oh, we’re doing both, baby,” he said, gesturing to the map he’d spread out in front of him. “We’re heading into the depths of the Underdark tonight. Things are about to get real dark and twisted.”

“Sounds fun,” you said, eyes glinting. You were high enough now to enjoy the sound of their nerdy talk, even if you didn’t totally understand all the references. Hell, you didn’t need to. You were here for Eddie.

The session kicked off with all the usual enthusiasm, everyone getting involved in their characters’ quests and battling off the imaginary beasts Eddie had conjured up. You could see how deeply invested they all were, the way Eddie led them through the storyline with a mix of humor and intensity, his voice deepening as he described the dungeons and creatures that lurked within.

But as the game went on, your mind wandered back to Eddie. He was in his element, clearly, but there was something about the way he kept glancing over at you that you couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just a look—it was a pull, a silent conversation that played out between you and him with no one else in the room aware.

You shifted on the couch, catching his gaze for just a moment. Eddie’s lips quirked into a knowing grin, and your stomach fluttered. You had the feeling this meeting wouldn’t just end with pizza and dice. No, there was something else in the air tonight. Something that had been building up for weeks now.

The game continued into the night, but you could feel the tension between you and Eddie growing with every passing minute. After a while, the guys started to lose interest, their focus drifting from the game to the usual late-night chatter and laughter. Eddie noticed it too, his eyes drifting back to you, and he suddenly stood up.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for tonight,” Eddie announced, standing up from the table. “I think we’ve battled enough monsters for one evening.”

The guys groaned in protest but didn’t push him on it. They were used to Eddie’s whims, especially when his focus shifted elsewhere. He turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“So, you ready to get out of here?” Eddie asked, the question almost too casual, though you could see the spark in his eyes.

You didn’t need to say a word. You just stood up, following him as he made his way toward the door, his hand brushing against yours again. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed his hand, holding on just a little longer than necessary.

When you stepped out into the cool night air, the world outside seemed quieter, more distant. It was just you and Eddie, two souls connected by more than just weed or friendship. Tonight, it felt like you were on the cusp of something new.

“You know,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I never figured you for the type to wrap up a D&D session early.”

Eddie’s grin was all teeth. “Maybe I just have better things to do.”

“Better things, huh?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Eddie’s gaze flickered to yours, his tone dropping. “Let’s find out.”

You and Eddie walked in companionable silence, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallways of Hawkins High. The night air was cool, the stars above twinkling faintly as you made your way toward the parking lot. There was a strange, electric buzz in the air—something unspoken, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. The weed was still swirling in your mind, adding a dreamlike quality to everything around you, but it was more than that. It was Eddie.

He stopped just short of the parking lot, turning to face you, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to blur. The only thing that mattered was the way his eyes were locked on you, the way his lips twitched into a smile, like he was trying to figure out something about you—or maybe about himself.

“So,” Eddie started, his voice low, “we’re alone now. The game’s over. No more Hellfire. Just you and me.”

You tilted your head, feeling your heartbeat quicken. “Yeah, I noticed. I’m starting to get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something.”

Eddie took a step closer, closing the gap between you, and you felt that familiar heat rise in your chest. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “But I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “Eddie, if you’re trying to be mysterious, it’s working.”

Eddie’s grin spread wider, but there was something different about it now. It wasn’t just playful—it was sincere, almost vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t seen before. His usual bravado was still there, but now it felt like he was letting down some of his walls, just a little.

He took another step toward you, and this time, you didn’t move away. You let him close the space between you, your body responding to his presence in a way that was almost instinctual. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint musk of the weed still clinging to your clothes.

“I think,” Eddie said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been wanting to say this for a while now, but I didn’t know how.”

You looked up at him, your pulse racing. “What’s that?”

He met your gaze, his dark eyes full of something that made your stomach flip. “I don’t just want to be your weed guy, y’know? I’ve… I’ve been wanting more than that for a while.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, you just stared at him, your heart thumping in your chest. Was he really saying what you thought he was saying?

You took a deep breath, your voice steady but filled with curiosity. “More? Like what, Eddie?”

Eddie ran a hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit that you knew well. He was always a little unsure when it came to anything outside of his comfort zone, but you could see that he was trying. Trying to make himself vulnerable in a way he rarely did with anyone.

“I don’t know. I’m not great with words, okay? But I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Not just as… y’know, a friend who smokes with me, or a girl who comes to my Hellfire meetings. I think you know that, right?” His eyes were earnest now, and the usual sarcasm in his voice had faded.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves. This felt different than anything you’d expected when you first started hanging out with Eddie. The connection you shared had always been strong, but this? This was something new. Something uncharted.

“I… I had a feeling,” you admitted, your voice a little softer than usual.

Eddie stepped even closer now, until you were standing mere inches apart. You could feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you in this moment.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely a breath. “You think I’ve been wanting this too?”

Your eyes flickered to his lips for just a second, before locking with his gaze again. You nodded slowly. “I think you have.”

The smile that broke out on Eddie’s face was the most genuine you’d seen from him all night. His hands hovered at his sides, as if unsure whether to reach for you or not. But you didn’t need to wait for him to make the first move. You stepped forward, your hand resting gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“Then why don’t you kiss me, Eddie?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with something stronger than curiosity now. Something more like desire.

Eddie’s breath hitched at your words, and for a second, you thought he might freeze up. But instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours just lightly at first, testing. The feeling of him so close to you, his warmth, his breath, the sweet taste of the cigarette smoke still lingering on his lips—it was everything you’d wanted and more.

The kiss deepened, slow and tentative at first, but then with more urgency, more passion, as if neither of you could hold back anymore. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of his body against yours setting every nerve on fire. You could feel his heartbeat racing beneath your palms, matching your own. His lips were soft but demanding, a perfect mix of tenderness and hunger that had you leaning into him, wanting more. He let out a soft moan, the sound going straight to your core. As he was tilting his head as he continued to dig deeper in your mouth, Eddie’s hand slid up to your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. His lips were warm, urgent, as though he was trying to anchor himself to you in a world that seemed to be falling apart. You responded in kind, your hands tangled in his messy hair as the world outside faded away.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and a little dizzy, you both stood there for a moment, eyes locked. You didn’t need to say anything—everything was clear in the way he looked at you, the way you felt connected in this moment that was somehow both familiar and brand new.

Eddie’s voice was rough as he spoke, his hand still resting gently on your waist. “So… that’s what you were waiting for, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, still feeling the lingering effects of the kiss on your lips. “Maybe,” you replied, voice teasing. “I’m not always the easiest to read, Munson. But I think you figured it out.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed so far away. It was just you and Eddie now, no longer just a supplier and a customer, no longer just friends. Something had shifted, and you both knew it.

“We should probably get out of here before the guys start wondering where we went,” Eddie said after a beat, his voice lighter now, but still laced with that underlying tension. He pulled away, but not too far. “You wanna head back to my place? We can watch a movie, or… whatever.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you both turned toward the parking lot. “I think I’m in the mood for whatever, Eddie.”

He looked at you, that familiar mischievous spark back in his eyes. “I’m glad you said that,” he said, and the two of you headed out into the night, the start of something new between you both unfolding with every step.

The drive to Eddie’s place was short, but the tension in the car felt palpable, the silence between you both almost electric. You had a feeling neither of you quite knew how to break it, but you also didn’t mind. There was something comforting in the quiet, the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind as you drove under the streetlights.

Eddie was focused on the road, but you could feel his eyes glancing over at you every now and then, like he was checking in, making sure you were still there, still with him. The air between you was different now, charged with something unspoken, a kind of anticipation that hummed in your veins.

When you finally reached his trailer, the small, worn-down place that had always been a refuge for Eddie, he killed the engine and turned to face you. His eyes were soft now, a little more serious than usual.

“So…” Eddie began, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous gesture. “You wanna come inside, or…?”

You gave him a smile, the kind of smile that made your heart race a little. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The two of you got out of the car, and as you walked toward the trailer, Eddie’s hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together. It felt so natural, like it was always meant to be this way. The gesture was simple, but the connection was undeniable. You didn’t need to say anything—there was no need for words right now. The pull between you two was strong enough on its own.

When you stepped inside Eddie’s trailer, the familiar warmth of the place enveloped you. The dim lighting, the cluttered shelves filled with band posters, books, and strange trinkets—it was quintessentially Eddie. It felt lived-in, comfortable, like the world outside didn’t exist here. You’d been in and out of his place a few times before, but tonight, everything felt different.

Eddie turned on a lamp, casting a soft glow across the room, and motioned for you to sit on the couch. He took a moment to grab a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to you with a grin. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against yours before taking a long swig.

You watched him for a moment, the way his hair fell in loose waves around his face, the way he moved so effortlessly, like he was always in his element here. There was a sense of calm about him that you admired, something that had drawn you to him from the very beginning.

“So, uh…” Eddie said, his voice slightly hesitant but still light. “What now? We’re alone, and the night’s ours, so… what’s next?”

You tilted your head, leaning back into the couch and looking at him with a mischievous smile. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

Eddie’s gaze flickered from your face to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might shy away, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed the distance between you, sitting down next to you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” Eddie said softly, his voice almost a whisper. He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, this time more urgent, more insistent, like he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

The kiss was different this time, more than just a playful tease. There was a depth to it, a connection that reached beyond the physical. His hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your body responding to the heat of his touch. Every kiss, every brush of his lips against yours, was like a promise—one you couldn’t quite understand but couldn’t deny either.

When you finally broke away, gasping for breath, you rested your forehead against his, the soft rhythm of your heartbeats syncing together.

“That,” you breathed, “was… exactly what I needed.”

Eddie chuckled softly, his fingers tracing small circles on your arm as he leaned back, but his eyes never left you. “I’m glad I could be of service,” he said, his voice low and teasing again. But there was something in the way he looked at you that made the teasing feel more like a genuine moment of affection.

You reached up, gently pushing a stray lock of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “You know,” you said with a playful smile, “I think I’m starting to get why people can’t stop talking about you.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Oh yeah? And what exactly are they saying?”

You shrugged casually, trying to hide the way your stomach fluttered at the thought of him. “You’ve got your own thing, Eddie. People like you because you’re different. You don’t try to fit in, and I respect that.”

He let out a soft laugh, clearly pleased by the compliment. “I’m not trying to fit in. Why would I want to be like everyone else?”

“You shouldn’t,” you agreed, giving him a smile that was equal parts affection and mischief. “Being yourself is way better than trying to be anyone else.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the genuine Eddie, the one behind the jokes and the loud persona—the one who was unsure but never afraid to be authentic. He reached out and brushed his hand over yours, his touch gentle and almost shy.

“I like being around you,” he said, his voice quieter now, a hint of vulnerability in his words. “I always have.”

The sincerity of his words caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I like being around you, too.”

There was a beat of silence between you two, a moment where everything felt perfect, like you were both waiting for something to happen but not in a rush. Eddie’s eyes flickered down to your lips again, and you could feel that familiar tension building once more.

Without saying another word, he kissed you again, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened, and you responded in kind, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

And for a moment, everything outside of that trailer—outside of this room, outside of Hawkins—faded away. It was just the two of you, lost in each other, lost in a feeling you both had been searching for without knowing it.

When you finally broke away again, both of you breathless and with flushed cheeks, Eddie gave you a soft smile. His thumb brushed over your lip, the gesture tender, and it made your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little rough from the kiss, “this isn’t what I expected our night to turn into, but I think it’s exactly what I needed.”

You smiled back, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “Same here.”

Eddie leaned back into the couch, pulling you with him so that your head rested on his shoulder. The two of you sat in silence for a while, the peaceful quiet of the trailer wrapping around you like a blanket. Outside, the sounds of Hawkins were distant, but here, in this moment, everything felt right.

“I think this is the start of something pretty great,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of promise.

Eddie didn’t say anything at first, but you felt his arm tighten around you in agreement. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice filled with that same warmth. “I think it is.”

And just like that, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, your connection deepening in a way that neither of you had expected, but both of you knew was real.

——————————————-

AN: luv me some eddie, how i do ?

[darkfalcone]

Puppy

Pairing: Dark!Sofia Falcone x Reader

Warnings: Noncon, Non-Consensual Stress Reliever (???), Manipulation, Dissociation, Crying, Mommy Kink, Face Slapping, Pussy Spanking, Spanking, Mocking, Mean!Sofia, Pet Names, Fingering, Spit Kink, Degradation, Branding, Begging.

Summary: Sofia’s stressed and she wants to hurt you, but knows she needs to keep you semi-calm.

A/N: ohhh this is fucked up, but I couldn’t help it | based on this ask

You had known Sofia for a few months before she had asked you on a date. Of course, you said yes and since then, the two of you had been dating. That was ten years ago and although she was in Arkham, you stuck by her side. You made sure to visit her once a week and when you could, you sometimes went twice a week. Despite everything, you thought your relationship was going great. That was until she got out of Arkham and she had found out that her brother was dead.

Sofia took over her family business and invited you to live with her. As soon as you said yes, she had her men drive her to your shitty apartment to pick up you and your stuff. You were a little taken aback by how fast she wanted you to move in, not giving you a chance to allow you to get things ready for your move. You didn’t think anything of it, instead, pushing your concerns away to be as excited as she was. You sat in the backseat of the last car that had pulled up that Sofia was in, even though you tried to tell her that you’ll help them move things into the cars, she wouldn’t allow you to. When you finally dropped the argument, Sofia placed her hand on your thigh before getting closer so she could kiss on your neck. You flinched as one of her men walked by, ultimately pushing Sofia off you.

“What?” She frowned. “Do you not want me to touch you?”

You shook your head, “N-No! I do, it’s just… not… here…”

Sofia took her hand off your thigh, turning to look out the window. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what to do or even say. By the time her men finished getting all of your stuff out of your apartment, it was dark out and she still hadn’t said a word to you since you denied her. The feeling of her pretending that you weren’t there was beginning to make you antsy and you hated it.

The drive to her mansion was going to be a long and awkward one and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch her. This was all so much for you - she had just gotten out of Arkham, found out her brother died, and invited you to live with her. All in a span of a day and the more you thought about it, the more you felt bad with the way you reacted to her. You hadn’t been intimate with her in ten years and she just missed physically touching you. You couldn’t blame her though, you missed touching her too.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just get really shy.”

Sofia huffed and you wished you could see her face. “I understand, but things are different now. If I want to touch you in front of my men I will, it’s been ten long years and we have so much to catch up on. Understood?” She questioned.

”I-“ you swallowed.

The words got stuck in your throat as she placed her hand back on your thigh.

“You?” She pushed, moving her hand up your thigh slowly. “It’s an hour ride, are you going to give me what I want or is our first night together in ten years going to be me fucking someone else in the other rooom while you sit in our bedroom?”

Your eyes widen at her words, surprised at this sudden attitude of hers. You’re hurt and you weren’t sure of what to say to it, but without a word, you pull your pants down as well as your underwear. You feel your face heat up at the thought of her driver knowing what Sofia was about to do to you.

Sofia got closer to you and instantly her mouth was back on your neck, sucking gently on the skin. “That’s a good girl, already knowing your place.” She whispered, slipping her hand into your underwear.

You squeezed your eyes shut - biting your lip as her cold fingers rubbed your clit. Sofia bit your neck again, but this time sucking on the skin harder than before, she rubbed you harder.

“I don’t want you holding back the noises you’re making for me just because others can hear you.” she snapped, pinching your clit hard.

”Ow!” you cried out. “Please Sofia, it hurts!”

Sofia finally stopped pinching you, chuckling as the both of you heard her driver groan. You tried to close your legs but Sofia bit down on your neck, a warning for you to stop that. When she pulled away, she spat on your face before pulling her fingers out just as her phone began to ring. She let out a sigh before picking up the phone and answering it.

Even in the dark and with her not saying anything, you could tell whoever was talking was annoying her. You wiped her spit off your face just before she placed her hand on your thigh. You stayed quiet as she began to talk, unsure of what she was saying as all you could focus on was your heart pounding.

“Well,” Sofia groaned. “I’ll be having a meeting with Oz in the morning.”

“What time?” her driver asked.

Sofia dug her nails into your thigh as hard as she could, causing you to cry out. You tried to pull her hand off your thigh, but she was stronger than you.

“Ten in the mornin’.” Sofia said. “That means our first night together will just be us sleeping because you need to be up as well.”

“Wait- why do I have to be up if this is your meeting?” you complained.

Sofia hummed quietly, taking her hand off your thigh. Although she was frustrated and annoyed, she couldn’t help but smile at the attitude she had come to love. It’s a shame, really. Sofia was going to break you and you were clueless, but that’s what was going to be the best part about it.

The rest of the ride, Sofia held your hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb gently. Her men took your stuff in and she led you into the mansion and up the stairs to her bedroom. You gave her a kiss, thankful that the loving girlfriend you’ve had for years was out and with you in her home.

“I have some towels in the bathroom if you’d like to take a shower tonight, I have a lot of shower gels and things you would like.” Sofia informed you. You nodded, making your way towards the bathroom - stopping yourself when you realized you had no clean clothes upstairs with you.

“I uh… my clothes are in boxes…” you began, earning a small smile from Sofia.

”Ah, yes.” Sofia got up from her spot on the edge of the bed. “Let me go get you some of your stuff, you can shower now and they’ll be out on our bed when you get down.”

Our.

You smiled at that, rushing to give her a kiss before heading into the bathroom. Although she had been gone for ten years for a crime she didn’t commit, it felt as if the two of you had never been apart.

You took a rather long shower, enjoying the hot water without having to change the settings every few minutes. You were definitely going to get used to it. After you were done, you turned off the shower and got out. You were quick to dry yourself off and to your surprise, Sofia was putting all your clothes in drawers you had assumed to be ones she cleaned out just for you.

“Th- Thank you, you didn’t have to do that for me.” You said, grabbing the clothes off the bed. You got dressed, sitting down on the bed as you watched Sofia put more of your stuff away.

”Oh but I do,” Sofia said, focusing on putting your stuff away. “You stuck by my side this whole time when you could have easily left.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. You hated having her spend so much on you, especially when this was only her second day out of Arkham. You loved her so much and all you really wanted was to spend time with her to make up for the times she couldn’t hold you or just be around you.

”After my meeting with Oz, I think it would be fun if I take you to the store and you can get whatever you want.” Sofia suggested, changing the subject.

“I- you don’t have to do that, I promise.” You said, but she glared at you.

”Will you stop doing that? You and I haven’t been able to do anything together since we started dating and if I want to spoil you, I will.” She snapped.

”I’m sorry,” you began. “I don’t… I just feel bad, plus, I’ve got work at ten in the morning…”

“At that grocery store that you hate so much? Absolutely not, you’re going to call and quit before my meeting. You won’t be needing a job, not when I’m out and able to take care of you.” Sofia stated, but you sighed.

She was right - you hated your job so much, but it paid your bills and it gave you something to do. Sofia could take care of you but you wanted to still work, having been there for a full five years now, you got used to how shitty the job was. You sat in silence as you watched her put more of your stuff away, yawning as you started to get tired.

“You can lay down if you’d like, I’m almost finished with most of your clothes and I can finish the rest of it tomorrow.” She stated.

You nodded, moving off the edge of the bed and you got under the covers. You whimpered, her bed was softer than yours was.

“I love you,” you sighed as you allowed sleep to take over.

You woke up to an empty bed, stretching before you slowly got out of the bed. You were surprised to find a box on the end of the bed with a note that read: Wear this today, I had it ordered for you a while ago.

You took a long shower, not wanting to have to quit your job so you decided to buy yourself some time. Finally, you got out and dressed in the outfit she had wanted you to wear. A skirt so short if you bent down, everything would be on display.

You made your way down the stairs slowly, shifting uncomfortably as you held your skirt down. You were greeted by Sofia in the kitchen, where she was cooking food. She smiled at you, signaling for you to come sit down. You sat down, squeezing your legs shut as the skirt rose up too high for your liking.

“I see you saw the gift I left you upstairs,” she smiled. “You look so good in it and honestly if I didn’t have this meeting, I would take you right here.”

You whimper, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Sofia noticed quickly, biting her lip as she continued to cook the breakfast she was making.

“But I want to respect your wishes, so our first time in a long time will be in our bed.” Sofia hummed, taking a sip of her wine. You were confused, remembering that she had been touching you in the car the night before - but you excused it, thinking that she just wanted to play with you a bit. You weren’t going to question her, not after last night - the last thing you needed was for her to ignore you for hours again.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Wine this early in the morning?”

“If you were having to deal with Oz this early in the morning, you’d drink too.” she smiled, putting food onto your plate. “Now eat up, we have a long day ahead of us.”

You ate the food quickly, not realizing that you were hungry until the food had been in front of you. You drank some of the orange juice she had put out for you - Sofia was an excellent cook and you knew you could get used to this.

“You ready, love?” Sofia asked.

You nodded, wiping your face before the two of you headed to her car. Her driver was already waiting and as soon as you got in and buckled up, he pulled away. The ride was quiet, but Sofia continued to move her hand up your thigh. You stopped yourself from pulling away, remembering how she acted when you did it the night before.

When they stopped at the restaurant, Sofia got out and told you to stay with her driver. You sighed, pulling out your phone to call your job. You quickly told them that you were sick and you wouldn’t be able to come in today - thankful that you barely called off to begin with so they never gave you shit for it. Her driver looked at you through the mirror and you began to panic.

“Please don't tell her,” you begged. “I really enjoy my job at the end of the day.”

Her driver stayed quiet as the two of you sat there and waited for her to get done. You were growing impatient, wishing that you could have gone to work with how long this was taking. Scrolling through your phone was beginning to get boring and all you wanted to do was keep yourself busy. You closed your eyes, deciding to take a nap to kill time.

You woke up as a door was slammed shut, causing you to jump up. Sofia was silent and you could tell things didn’t go as planned. You placed your hand on top of the one that was closer to you, causing her to flinch.

“Take us to the store, I need to get a few things.” Sofia stated and her driver nodded.

You looked out the window, watching as the buildings and people passed by. You were too busy to notice Sofia was staring at you, refusing to take her eyes off you. The store was bigger than the grocery store you worked at and the two of you made your way into the store.

“Ya know how you talked about how much you like to collect stuffed animals?” Sofia pointed out, letting you grab a cart and push it.

“Yeah?”

Sofia smiled, looking down at your ass as she walked behind you. “I’m gonna buy you one today, you can pick it out and if you want anything else you can get it. Food, electronics, anything you want I’ll get it for you.”

You led the way to find the toy section, finding the stuffed animals quickly. You had told her about your stuffed animal collection a month into dating her, and it made you happy with how she remembered it all these years ago. You looked over your options, wanting to pick one that you planned on cuddling with every night with Sofia.

“There’s so many options to choose from,” you smiled. “But this puppy, the black one, is the cutest.”

“Yeah? Is that the one you want, baby?” Sofia questioned, “Are you sure you want the puppy?”

“Yes I’m sure, Sof,” you nodded. You were a little confused as to why she was questioning you so much about it. But you placed him in the cart, pushing it towards the electronics. “Is it okay if I get a laptop? I… nevermind, it’s too much to ask for.”

Sofia stopped you, pulling the waistband of your skirt, causing you to cry out. She let go of it, smirking at the way it snapped against your skin. “You can get whatever you want, nothing is off limits. You want a laptop? We’ll get you the best one. What were you about to say after that?” she asked.

“A… a gaming system. I know it’s silly, but-“ you began, but she cut you off.

“It’s not silly, whatever system you want we’ll get you and as many games as you want.” Sofia said, her tone voice was tight and you could tell she was getting frustrated with you.

“Okay… and snacks and that’s all for now.” You said.

Sofia nodded and the rest of the trip went in a blur and when you heard the total of how much everything was, you felt nauseous. She just handed the person her card and as soon as she got it back, the two of you left the store just as her driver pulled up. You got in with her as he put the bags in the trunk.

Once the two of you were back at her mansion and her driver brought all the bags to her room, she watched you set up your new gaming system to her TV. You were excited to play, never having enough money to even buy a game console after all your bills. You turned to Sofia, watching as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Thank- Thank you so much, Sof, I really appreciate all of this.” you said, moving away from the TV to sit next to her.

Sofia sat her glass down and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it before she placed her hand on your thigh.

“Go get your stuffed animal, let’s pick out a name for it.” Sofia smiled, and you got up to grab it.

You brought it over to her, sitting back down and placing it on your lap. You smiled down at it and in that moment, Sofia wanted to ruin you but she had to hold off just a bit longer.

“I like the name George.” you commented.

Sofia took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew smoke in your face. “That’s a cute name, I like it.”

Sofia put her cigarette out, and put it on the ashtray before leaning in to kiss your neck. You whimpered, setting the stuffed animal down on the floor as she pulled your shirt off you. Sofia threw it across the room, laughing at the shy look on your face.

“I… wait-“ you began, but Sofia continued.

She unclasped your bra, slowly pulling it off you. Sofia frowned as you covered yourself up and without a word, she stood up and walked into her closet. You sat there, wondering what she was doing until she came out. She hadn’t changed, but before you could ask what she was doing, she pulled out one of the guns you knew she owned.

“I’m so sick of you acting so repulsed by me,” Sofia snapped. “All I’ve wanted to do since being back from Arkham is fuck you and you can’t even fucking let me.”

“Wait- Wait, Sof… I haven’t been acting like that. Honest!” you began. “I- I just want to spend some time with you before we… you know…”

“Fuck?” Sofia finished your sentence for you.

“Sofia,” you began, holding yourself. “You can’t… Please just put the gun down.”

Sofia shook her head - getting closer towards you. “Take the rest of your clothes off. Now.”

You were left with no choice - standing up off the bed and as you began to pull the skirt down. You kept your eyes on her as you kicked it off, but before you could pull your underwear off, Sofia got closer to you. She forcibly turned you around and bent you over the edge of the bed.

Sofia put the tip of the gun to the back of your head as you were trying to wiggle out of her grip. You began to shake uncontrollably as you felt her take the safety off. “Why shouldn’t I just get it over with and kill you right now?” she asked, rubbing your ass through your underwear.

“B- Because you love me, please don’t, Sof. Please don’t kill me.” you begged as Sofia moved so she had a knee on your lower back to hold you down. She dug her knee into you hard, causing you to cry out.

Sofia brought her free hand down against your ass not once, but twice before she spoke up again. She was frustrated, huffing at how much you were shaking. “Can you stop fucking shaking for a few fucking minutes? Fuckin’ hell.”

“Please stop,” you cried out, but she pushed the gun against you harder. “Please… I- I- why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I want to hurt you, baby, you’re so fucking pretty and it makes me want to hurt you.” Sofia admitted. “Ever since I got out yesterday and seeing you in person to where I can reach out and touch you, I’ve had this need to ruin you.”

Sofia grabbed your underwear by the waistband and ripped them completely off you. You whimpered, trying to wiggle out of her grip once more.

“Stop fucking moving, now.” she snapped, getting off you. “You’re making it so much harder for me to not hurt you.”

Sofia kept the gun focused on you as she walked around the bed to grab your stuffed animal. She licked her lips at the sight of your ass, making a mental note to fuck you there eventually.

“Lay on your back and spread your legs.” Sofia commanded.

You knew that she still had the gun pointed at you, so you had no choice but to do as you were told. You turned to lay on your back, slowly opening your legs. You felt your face heat up as you watched her gaze go from your face down to your pussy. Sofia licked her lips before shoving the stuffed animal at you.

“Hold him, baby.” Sofia said, voice laced with fake sympathy. “Hold George while I hurt you.”

You grabbed the stuffed animal out of her hands, holding it hard against your chest as you watched her pull her shirt off with one hand. She was still pointing her gun at you, but thankfully she placed it down on the bed next to you. Sofia pulled her pants down, revealing a strapon that you weren’t sure how long she had been wearing it.

“Spread your legs further for me.” she instructed, grabbing her pack of cigarettes. She took one out of the package and brought it to her lips. Sofia lit it, but before you knew it, she pushed it onto your stomach, causing you to scream out. “That’s my good girl.”

You cried harder, squeezing George as hard as you could. Sofia lit the same cigarette once more, this time putting it out on your pubic bone. You screamed louder and if you weren’t in so much pain, you would think she just came with the way she was out of breath.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty while you scream.” Sofia moaned. “Can you give me one more?”

“Please no, Mommy,” you begged, but your voice was weak. You bit down on George’s ear, preparing yourself as she lit the cigarette again.

Sofia leaned in, bringing the cigarette down onto the part of your chest that George wasn’t covering. She smiled down at you as you screamed, the noises muffled by your new stuffed animal.

Sofia sat up, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. She spat on your pussy, rubbing it in with the tip of the strapon before slamming all the way into you. You cried out, squeezing George as hard as you could as she started to fuck you at a brutal pace.

She grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look at her while her other hand pushed your leg up. She spat in your face, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Releasing your face, she grabbed George out of your grip.

“Please, please give him back, Mommy,” you begged, causing Sofia to laugh.

“Then you better keep your eyes open while I rape you then.” she said, allowing you to grab George from her hand.

You held him even tighter, not wanting her to try and take him away as you fought to keep your eyes open. You watched as she looked down at your pussy as she continued to fuck you. You tried to think of anything other than her taking what she wanted and it was beginning to work. You stared at her, but all you could think about was you on a vacation, far away from Gotham. The sand felt good on your skin as you sat down to watch the waves of the ocean. Before you could think about it any more, Sofia slapped you across the face as hard as she could.

“Oh Puppy,” she hummed, causing your eyes to widen at the nickname. “You don’t get to leave while I’m fucking you.”

“Please just stop,” you begged, but your words were weak. “I’ll do anything just l stop it.”

”Stop it.” Sofia mocked. “You don’t get to tell me to stop, Pup.”

You shook your head, “Stop- Stop calling me that.”

Sofia pouted, faux sympathy, “What? ‘Puppy’ is your name now, you picked it.”

Before you could say anything in response, Sofia pulled out of you quickly, forcing you on to your hands and knees. Sofia lined up with your entrance, this time taking her time pushing into you. Finally she pushed the full length of the strapon into - rubbing the small of your back before she grabbed George from the side of you. Handing you the stuffed animal without a word, Sofia began to fuck you at rough pace. With this angle, it was painful and you tried your best to hold yourself.

You pulled away a little and Sofia grabbed your hips roughly, not allowing you to run away.

“You don’t run away from my cock while I’m fucking you, Puppy.” she scolded you, reaching down and shoving your face into the bed. Sofia held you down in place, reaching down with one of her hands to rub at your clit. “Tell Mommy how much you love being used like this.”

When you didn’t answer, Sofia pinched your clit harder than she did the night before. You whimpered into your stuffed animal - unable to cry anymore with how much you had.

“I don’t like this.” you stated.

To your surprise, Sofia let go of your clit. She pulled out of you, and you turned around and sat up. You took a few deep breaths, wiping your face as you held onto George. Sofia stood in front of you, awkwardly standing in place as she kept her eyes trained on you.

“You don’t like when I rape you?” Sofia questioned with a frown. “If you don’t, then why are you so wet? Spread your legs, now.”

You bit your lip, slowly opening your legs knowing that Sofia wasn’t giving you an option - you also didn’t want her to pick her gun back up.

“That’s a good pup,” she praised, making your stomach turn. You looked down at George, biting your lip before you looked at Sofia. “Such a naive thing…”

Sofia got closer, bringing her hand to your pussy. She rubbed your clit with the palm of her hand, humming at how wet you were. You whined as she took her hand off your pussy, but she brought it down hard against you. You instinctively tried to close your legs but Sofia held them open. She continued to spank your pussy, over and over, causing you to cry out.

“Am I hurting you, Puppy?” Sofia asked, closing her fist and hitting you as hard as she could. “Answer me.”

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Mommy. Please stop-“

Sofia shook her head, “No, you didn’t like me fucking you even though you’re so fucking wet. So I’m going to really hurt you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as she raked her nails against your thigh hard. You stayed still, too exhausted to really fight back. You sniffled, “Please… I’ll- I’ll let you��”

“You’ll let me what?” Sofia asked, reaching up to slap you across the face. “You’ll let me what, Puppy?”

When you didn’t answer right away, Sofia wrapped her hand around your throat, squeezing as hard as she could. She only let up just as you started seeing stars, smiling as you gasped for breath. Her eyes went wild as she watched you, taking in the sight of you gasping for air.

“Tell me what you’ll let me do.” Sofia repeated, pinching your nipple before bringing her hand down to your pussy. She rubbed at your sore clit, her movements softer than what you expected her to do.

“R- Rape me,” you whispered. “Please… just please stop hitting me, Mommy. I can’t take any more of it.”

“Oh baby, “ Sofia sighed, gripping the base of the toy. She pushed in all the way. “Then that’s not rape, Puppy... This isn’t rape, you’re so wet that I slid in so easily and you just asked me to do it.”

Sofia decided that she had dragged this all out, she began to fuck you harder. She held your legs open, watching the toy go in and out of you. You knew that you were going to have bruises tomorrow from how hard she was holding them down. Your body began to betray you, getting closer to the edge as she continued the pace. She let go of one of your thighs to rub your clit roughly, bringing her attention to your face. Sofia smirked - normally she would stop when you had your eyes closed, but you looked too good for her to stop.

“You want to cum while Mommy’s raping this pretty little pussy?” Sofia questioned, bringing her free hand up to your neck. She just held you in place, not putting any pressure on you. “Ask nicely and Mommy’ll let you cum.”

You held onto George harder, realizing that you couldn’t hold out for much longer. You whimpered, “Please can I cum? Please, please! M’can’t hold it anymore, Mommy.”

Sofia chuckled, placing her hands on either side of you as she fucked you harder. “Go on, cum on Mommy’s cock like a good fuckin’ girl.”

You came silently, squeezing your eyes shut as you brought George up to your face. Sofia watched you do it as she fucked you through your orgasm.

“Such a good little Puppy for your Mommy.” Sofia praised, stilling her movements once you came down from your high. She leaned down, kissing your neck before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. “Mommy only wants to make you feel so good… Will you behave next time and let me make you feel good?”

You nodded, whimpering as she pulled out of you.

“Good girl.” Sofia hummed. “I think for the next time I fuck you, I’m going to get you such a pretty collar. Would you like that, Puppy? Would you like Mommy to spoil you again?”

You were too exhausted to speak up, humming as she got off the bed. You heard Sofia drop the strapon to the floor, making a comment about how she’ll clean it tomorrow. She helped you to your feet, leading you towards the bathroom.

“Going to get you all nice and cleaned up, Pup.” she commented, grabbing George out of your hand gently. “I’m gonna put him up on the dresser, okay? He’s only for our special occasions.”

You nodded, watching as she let go of you to put George on the dresser before she brought you into the bathroom. Sofia cleaned you up and before you could go and grab some clothes to sleep in, she stopped you.

“Silly Puppy,” she smiled. “Puppies don’t wear clothes.”

[dostoyevsky-official]

I’m about to tell you the craziest love story in literary history. And before you ransack the canon for a glamorous rebuttal, I must warn you: Its preeminence is conclusive. Dante and Beatrice, Scott and Zelda, Véra and Vladimir. All famous cases of literary love and inspiration, sure. But these romances lack the 47-year novelistic drama of the craziest story. They lack the stolen gun, the border crossings, the violation of federal law. They lack the forged birth certificate and clandestine love letters. But above all, they lack the leading lady: the secret muse.

[...] I don’t pretend to understand women,” McCarthy told Oprah Winfrey in 2007, commenting on the lack of them in his novels—despite the fact that he was married three times. And for decades, readers took him at his word.

Upon McCarthy’s death, however, the mystery of his personal life has drawn close enough for us to unravel assumptions into their opposites: Cormac McCarthy did not shirk womenkind in his novels. On the contrary, it turns out that many of his famous leading men were inspired by a single woman, a single secret muse revealed here for the first time: a five-foot-four badass Finnish American cowgirl named Augusta Britt. A cowgirl whose reality, McCarthy confessed in his early love letters to her, he had “trouble coming to grips with.”

[...] It’s monsoon season, and lightning bobs and weaves in the corner of your eyes all day like floaters. There are three separate storms to the south, delicately wind-tilted on the horizon. Lightning races them in a stitchless thread, and to the north rain shimmers through the sheerest rainbow, stamped perfectly horizontal against the mountains like the execution line on a document.

[...] Britt says she lived a normal life until the age of 11. That year, and for reasons she never quite understood, her family moved from the snowy plains of North Dakota to the border town desert of Tucson. This is where the muse’s novelistic question mark emerges. An origin story beginning on an ellipse. Something hideous happened to her in the desert. Something traumatically violent. Something that destroyed her family.

Every time she was hit, whether by her father or a foster parent, she would disappear inside herself. It could take weeks, months to reemerge. It got to the point where if it happened again, she didn’t know if she’d ever come out. And she could no longer live like that.

“So I’ve decided I’m not going to be hit anymore,” she told McCarthy at that motel pool. Here she pauses, and you must imagine the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard—a sweetness that isn’t afraid to pull triggers first and ask questions later. “I’m just going to shoot anyone who tries.”

“ ‘Well,’ ” McCarthy said, “ ‘That would explain the gun.’ ”

“And that was so Cormac,” Britt laughs. “And I thought, Thank God this man gets it.”

Just imagine for a moment: You’re an unappreciated literary genius who has not even hit your stride before going out of print. Your novels so far have circled around dark Southern characters who do dark Southern things. You’re stalled on the draft of a fourth novel, called Suttree, which features an indeterminately young side character named Harrogate, not yet written as a runaway. You’re sitting by a pool at a cheap motel when a beautiful 16-year-old runaway sidles up to you with a stolen gun in one hand and your debut novel in the other. She reads in her closet to stay out of violence’s earshot. To survive her lonely anguish, the wound she’s been carrying since age 11, this girl has only literature to turn to: Hemingway, Faulkner, you. She flickers with comic innocence yet tragic experience beyond her years and an atavistic insistence on survival on her own terms. She has suffered more childhood violence than you can imagine, and she holds your own prose up to you for autograph, dedication, proof of provenance.

[...] After learning Britt wanted to be a nurse, McCarthy also introduced a character named Wanda to Suttree, an underage love interest Suttree meets in the month of August. Wanda reads stories about nurses and steals away to Suttree’s tent in the small hours of the night. She is also Britt’s debut death, crushed under a rockslide.

[...] Posting an essay on my favorite writer to Substack on April Fool’s Day, receiving a cryptic comment from his secret muse, and now driving with her to see her horses feels more miraculous than fate. And yet there is something so natural about spending time with Britt. There is a shimmer of recognition with her, an intimate equidistance. After all, I’ve been reading about her for half my life. And now here she is, in the flesh.

[...] The first thing you notice about her, leading Scout and Jake up a dormant streambed to their stalls, is how novelistic she is. She is a woman of compelling themes, tragic patterns, hooks, plot, question marks. She says things like “Cormac warned me I couldn’t hide forever” and “That was back when we had one eye out for the law.”

[...] That’s the muse for you, full of equine wisdom, horse sense. And while she certainly has a way with words, words also have a way with her, as McCarthy found out in 1976. As do landscapes.

[...] He was 43, she was 17. The image is startling, possibly illegal. At the very least, it raises questions about inappropriate power dynamics and the specter of premeditated grooming. But not to Britt—who had suffered unspeakable violence at the hands of many men in her young life—then or now.

[...]One measure of fame is how suddenly cognizant one becomes of the looming biographer, archivist, or graduate student peering over posterity’s shoulder at your personal correspondence. But McCarthy began writing his love letters to Britt when he was out of print, and they brim with an unusual voice—that of Cormac McCarthy in true love’s perfect candor. They’re less like sketches for a painting and more like confessionals. They are written by a man infatuate.

For the first few days of my stay in Tucson, the letters sit in the same Converse shoebox they’ve been stored in since the ’70s. I’ve been giving them a wide berth. To a McCarthy fan, they’re like the Holy Grail. It somehow doesn’t feel right reading the blue ink meant for her blue eyes. What will they be like? Joyce’s encrusted epistles to Nora? Nabokov’s letters to Véra? Or more like letters to a Lolita?

[...] We can expect a writer to be different in person than on the page, but Cormac was very different on the page to Augusta. He was clearly in love, clearly “gone on the subject” of her, from the start. He ends each letter with an “I love you” or something synonymous. (He ends the ones after their romance cooled the same way.) But what we appear to have with lines about pressing “my face between your thighs” is a writer with his nose pressed into the pure perfume between the open thighs of a book.

Then, sometime in the ’80s, McCarthy sends her the manuscript for All the Pretty Horses. “The first thing I see, obviously, is the title. And I thought, Oh my gosh. I started reading it, and it’s just so full of me, and yet isn’t me. It was so confusing. Reading about Blevins getting killed was so sad. I cried for days. And I remember thinking to myself that being such a lover of books, I was surprised it didn’t feel romantic to be written about. I felt kind of violated. All these painful experiences regurgitated and rearranged into fiction. I didn’t know how to talk to Cormac about it because Cormac was the most important person in my life. I wondered, Is that all I was to him, a trainwreck to write about?

“I was trying so hard to grow up and to fix what was broken about me. I still thought I could be fixed. And this felt the opposite of fixing me."

[imogenkol]

— WIP WEDNESDAY

I’ve been tagged a lot (thank you to those that have 💕) so I’ll just throw in the general tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @buggknife @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @d-esmond @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @sevikagf @cptcassian @hexmaturgy @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @e-the-village-cryptid @raresvtm

Been playing around with a concept to make Imogen’s life a little more difficult 🥰

The child trembled, his scrawny body curled in on itself to make him appear even smaller. There was no clear indication of how long he had been in the cell, but Imogen recognized the hardened gleam in the boy’s defiant glare. He experienced enough not to trust anyone who could open the locked door.

In those piercing eyes, the former Inquisitor recognized something else. A subtle strain at the edges of his features told Imogen that it took a massive effort to put on such a brave face. 

Imogen saw a faint resemblance of the girl she had struck down all those years ago. That child had been slightly younger than this one, and she had been so very afraid, yet she stepped into the path of Imogen’s blade anyway. As if that would spare her younger brother behind her from an Inquisitor’s wrath. Even children reach for the smallest victories. 

There was no one else this boy could protect besides himself. And even that was moot. The restraints on his wrists made what little he could use to defend himself obsolete. The boy knew it. Imogen knew it. Still, he scowled fiercely as if daring her to do her worst. 

Imogen grinded her teeth and glanced left, then right. The other troopers on the block were dead and the hallway lay barren. She should not bother with any diversions, but she thought that perhaps granting this child a chance — however meager — may begin to balance the scales. 

A chance was far more than she ever got at his age. 

With a twitch of her fingers, Imogen forced her mind into the inner workings of the binders and released them. They clicked open and clattered onto the cold durasteel floor at the young boy’s feet. He glanced down and then blinked back up at Imogen in shock. The unexpected act of kindness only seemed to make the child more suspicious of her, so Imogen took a step back and pointed down the hall. 

“That is the way out,” she said curtly. “I suggest you take your leave quickly.”

Imogen did not spare the child any words of comfort or even another glance before she turned on her heel and marched onward. She got several paces along until the gentle patter of a rushed gait behind her reached her ears, nearly drowned out by her own steady steps. 

As she turned back, she saw the young boy come to an abrupt halt a mere meter away, his eyes wide and suddenly desperate. 

“That way,” Imogen commanded and pointed in the opposite direction with more insistence. 

The boy stood with such an unfazed expression that Imogen wondered if he even understood Basic until he spoke up. “I… I have nowhere to go.” 

“The exit is a good start.” 

“What about after that?” He shuffled on his feet and stared into his now empty cell as if that were the most viable option. “I don’t even know what planet I’m on.” 

“That is not my concern,” she replied coldly. 

Before he could argue further, Imogen turned her back on the boy again and continued on. She did more for him than she should have and would certainly not burden herself further. If he lacked the basic intelligence to escape or even take care of himself then he would not last long in the galaxy anyway. 

“But you’re like me!” 

Those words stopped her short. Imogen hadn’t the faintest idea where this random child had gotten such a notion. Had the boy not wasted so much of her time already, Imogen would have found his claim amusing. 

“Is that so, child?” Imogen asked incredulously as she shot an impatient look over her shoulder once more. 

The boy reached out and suddenly Imogen’s blaster flew out of the holster at her side with surprising velocity. She only had a split second to react and catch it with her own mind before the weapon could land in the palm of a child no older than twelve. The blaster remained suspended in the air between them as Imogen took a moment to weigh the boy’s strength in the Force. His talent was no match for hers, but the pull she felt against her whispered of this boy’s potential. 

Seeing enough, Imogen wrenched the blaster free of the child’s influence and it floated into her gloved hand. She remained quiet as she returned it to its holster and regarded the boy with more interest. He clearly was no simple deviant the troopers had picked up off of the decrepit streets, but this revelation complicated things. Imogen had no desire for complications. 

“I’ve never met anyone like me,” the boy stated in wonder, his bright eyes shimmering like she was a beacon before him. 

Imogen should have known that her sins would be no easy task to atone for. 

She sighed heavily. If nothing else, she could pawn the child off on Cal once she returned to him. The pretentious Jedi could finally have more students. “Stay close. Do not get in my way. Do not speak unless spoken to.” 

The boy perked up and nodded emphatically. He trotted over to her like a pup. “My name is—” 

“I do not care to know it, boy.”

[dayabelle]

Fragments of Us

Pairings: Mha! Shota Aizawa x Fem! Reader

---

It was a late evening, the city lights outside casting long shadows through the small kitchen. Shota sat at the table, head resting on his palm as he watched her bustle around, moving through the small space like she owned it, as if she had always belonged there. Her laugh, light and carefree, echoed as she scolded him for something trivial—he’d knocked over a glass, spilling water everywhere.

"You’re such a mess, Shota!" she said, her voice teasing but warm, bending to pick up the pieces.

He chuckled softly, but as she straightened up, his gaze softened, his heart doing a strange fluttering thing he couldn’t name. The moment held a quiet intimacy—just them, in this shared space, as if everything else in the world faded.

"Hey," he called, his voice suddenly serious.

She paused, looking up with a raised eyebrow, her hair falling messily around her face. "What?"

He hesitated, the words almost foreign to his mouth. "I... I think I might be falling in love with you."

Her eyes widened for a moment, her mouth opening to say something, but instead, she just laughed—a little awkwardly at first, then it broke free into something deeper, more genuine. She crossed the room toward him, leaning against the table, eyes gleaming with that teasing light he had come to adore.

"You think?" she grinned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You don’t sound very sure, Shota."

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sure enough." His voice lowered, almost as if to confess something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I’m... sure enough to want you to be in my life, for a long time. If you'll have me."

For a moment, there was only the sound of her breathing, steady and calm, before she broke the silence, her voice softer than he’d expected.

"I want that too, Shota. I want you too."

It was one of those rare, beautiful moments when time seemed to slow—when the world outside felt insignificant and everything about them felt right. They didn't need to say more; the simple truth was understood.

--

Their fights were always the same. Intense at first, the words sharp and the emotions raw, but they always ended with laughter, the absurdity of it all cutting through the tension.

One evening, they were sitting on the couch, neither of them particularly angry, but their frustrations had built up over the past few days. He was tired, she was on edge, and the little things became monumental.

"I told you," she said, frowning slightly, "I don’t need you to fix everything. Just listen."

Shota clenched his jaw, a bit frustrated. "I am listening. But you’re not even letting me help—"

"I don’t want fixing, Shota," she snapped, a little louder than she intended, standing up and pacing across the living room. "I just want to be—without you trying to solve my problems all the time!"

He stood too, the frustration turning to something that felt a lot like guilt. "I can’t help it. I just—I hate seeing you like this. I just want to make it better."

She turned to him, her eyes flashing. "I am the one who has to live with it, okay? Not you! You can’t always—"

But before she could finish her sentence, her foot caught on the rug, sending her tumbling forward in a graceless stumble. Instinctively, Shota reached out to catch her, but in the process, they both crashed to the floor with a soft thud, tangled in each other’s limbs.

There was a beat of stunned silence, and then—both of them burst into laughter.

She couldn’t stop laughing, her eyes watering as she tried to push him off her, still giggling. Shota, his chest heaving from laughter, finally caught his breath enough to speak.

"Well," he said, his voice ragged from amusement, "I guess you are right. You don’t need me to fix everything."

She shook her head, grinning at him through her laughter. "You do realize you are the one who made everything worse, right?"

He smiled, brushing his hand through his messy hair, giving her that sheepish smile she loved. "Yeah, yeah. But hey, at least we can’t stay mad at each other when you fall on your face."

And just like that, the tension was gone. The argument, no matter how heated, dissolved in the air between them, leaving only warmth. Only laughter.

--

There were nights, rare and quiet, where neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to. Those were the moments that solidified everything between them.

They sat outside on the balcony of their apartment, the world around them quiet and still. The city stretched out beneath them, lights twinkling like distant stars. He leaned against the railing, his arms crossed, while she sat next to him, legs folded beneath her. She didn’t say anything, just breathed, content in the silence.

Shota looked over at her, his gaze soft. She wasn’t looking at him, her attention fixed on the skyline, but he felt that familiar warmth spread through him. There were no grand gestures, no words, but everything about this moment felt perfect.

He reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. She looked at him then, just for a moment, a gentle smile curving her lips.

"I’m glad you’re here," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning.

Her eyes softened, her lips forming a small smile. "Me too."

It wasn’t a declaration of love, not in the traditional sense, but it didn’t need to be. In that moment, in that simple exchange, they both knew. They knew without needing to speak. Everything felt right in the world.

--

A few weeks before the incident that would change everything, they stood outside a building in the dead of night, a soft drizzle of rain falling around them. Shota’s hand was tucked into hers, and she looked up at him with something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

"Shota," she said, her voice serious, almost hesitant. "Promise me... promise me you won’t ever leave me."

The question hit him like a stone, and he paused, glancing at her with a furrowed brow. "What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere."

She looked down at their hands, as if she were trying to convince herself of the same thing. "Just promise me. I don’t think I can handle losing you."

His heart twisted, a strange foreboding sense creeping over him. He wasn’t sure why she’d asked, why she seemed so afraid, but he answered, without hesitation.

"I promise," he said softly, squeezing her hand, his words sure. "I’m not going anywhere."

She smiled, but there was a quiet sadness in her eyes. "I know."

And it was the last promise they’d ever make.

--

The Last Day Before Everything Changed

The day everything changed, before the war and the pain, they had spent together like any other day. It had been a simple morning—laughing over coffee, sharing quiet words that meant the world to them. He kissed her forehead as she got ready to leave for an assignment, whispering something playful about seeing her later.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he had said, as he always did.

And she had smiled that smile he adored, the one that always made his heart race, before walking out of the door.

They never knew it would be the last time they would be like that. The last time they’d hold each other so naturally, so without hesitation.

It was the last time they shared the world the way they always had—together.

---

Aizawa’s pov:

This was the first time I had ever seen this woman. And yet, she seemed so... familiar?

An instant flash—a woman laughing under a yellow streetlight—lit up his mind before vanishing just as quickly. The warmth of her laughter, the way her silhouette danced in the faint glow, tugged at something deep inside him. It wasn’t just déjà vu. It felt... real. As if a fragment of another life had slipped through the cracks of his memory.

But he had never seen her before. He was sure of that. No matter how hard he tried to summon a memory, there was nothing—no prior meeting, no passing glance, not even a faint recollection of her face. And yet, it was as if he knew her intimately, as if some unseen thread connected them, pulling her closer to him in ways he couldn't explain.

She felt familiar, not in the way strangers sometimes do, but in a way that made his chest ache. It was as though she had always been there, woven into the fabric of his life, even though they had just met today.

His heart ached the longer he looked at her, a deep, inexplicable pain that made his chest tighten. It wasn’t the kind of hurt that came from longing or sadness—it was something far more profound, as though he were remembering a loss he couldn’t quite place.

The way she tilted her head, the softness in her eyes, even the curve of her smile—it all felt so hauntingly familiar, yet completely foreign. The harder he tried to make sense of it, the deeper the ache grew, as if his heart recognized something his mind refused to acknowledge.

He stared at her, his gaze unwavering, but his mind was a storm of questions. Why was she affecting him like this? Why did his heart ache just looking at her? He couldn’t find an answer, and the turmoil was too much to bear.

Without a word, he turned and walked away. The bustling noise of the conference room, filled with pro heroes discussing critical matters, faded into the background. The head chief called after him, demanding he stay, but he ignored the protests. He didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t spare anyone a glance—not even her.

As he stepped out of the room, his heart was still pounding, and the ache lingered. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he knew one thing for sure: staying in that room, in her presence, wasn’t something he could handle right now.

He knew her. He had to, right? There was no other way to explain it—the ache in his chest, the weight of her presence, the inexplicable pull toward her. He had never felt this way for anyone, let alone a stranger. But was she really a stranger? His heart screamed otherwise, even as his mind came up blank.

He racked his brain, trying to place her name, her face, or anything about her. Every pro hero in that room was someone he could recognize instantly—he’d spent years memorizing names and reputations. Yet somehow, she was a complete mystery. And what unsettled him even more was that everyone else seemed to know exactly who she was.

How was that possible? How could she feel so familiar to him, so impossibly close, yet remain an enigma? It was like trying to think of a new color—his mind simply couldn’t grasp it, no matter how hard he tried.

He didn’t want to deal with this—not now. His mind was already a mess, and the events of the day had left him drained. Teaching at U.A. had been exhausting enough, and now this inexplicable encounter had thrown him completely off balance. He needed to clear his head, to shake off the unsettling emotions that clung to him like a shadow.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and called up Hitoshi Shinso. The student responded quickly, eager as always for a chance to train. Within minutes, they were in the gym, facing off.

For nearly an hour, they sparred, and he went harder than usual. Every strike, every block, every move was sharper, faster, as if he could fight away the confusion gnawing at his mind. Sweat dripped down his face, his muscles burned, and his lungs heaved for air, but he didn’t let up. Shinso struggled to keep up, but he pushed himself, determined to meet his teacher's intensity.

Still, no matter how hard he fought, the ache in his chest lingered, and the memory of her face wouldn’t leave him.

Hitoshi finally threw his hands up, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow. "That's it. I'm done for the day," he said, his voice laced with exhaustion. He slumped against the wall, glaring lightly at his teacher. "You’re not just training me—you’re working something out, and I’m not your punching bag, Aizawa-sensei."

Shota froze mid-step, his chest still rising and falling heavily from the spar. He opened his mouth to protest, to say it wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t. Hitoshi was right. The intensity, the unrelenting pace—it hadn’t been for the student’s benefit. He’d been venting his frustration, his confusion, his... whatever the hell was going on with him.

Hitoshi grabbed his water bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but maybe talk to someone about it instead of trying to knock me into next week," he said, giving a tired wave as he walked toward the exit.

Shota watched him leave in silence, the words cutting deeper than they should have. Alone now, the gym felt too big, too quiet, and that familiar ache clawed its way back into his chest. No amount of sparring was going to fix whatever this was.

What a nuisance. His schedule was off, his mood was off, and now he felt completely out of place. Normally, he had a knack for pushing aside anything irrational, anything that didn’t fit neatly into his logical view of the world. He could expel distractions as easily as he could expel a failing student. But this—her—it was impossible to ignore.

It frustrated him to no end. He had tried, over and over, to push her out of his mind, to forget the way she made him feel, to dismiss the ache in his chest as nothing more than a fleeting anomaly. But no matter how hard he tried, she remained. Her face, her presence, that inexplicable sense of familiarity—they clung to him, lingering in the back of his mind like an unresolved equation.

The more he fought it, the stronger it seemed to hold. It was infuriating, maddening even, to feel so powerless over something so intangible. Shota Aizawa was a man of discipline, a man of control. And yet, when it came to this woman, he had none.

-

Hizashi and Nemuri's Pov:

The soft murmur of conversation filled the small corner of the cafe where Hizashi Yamada and Nemuri Kayama sat, the warmth of their cups of coffee contrasting the chill that had settled in their hearts. They watched from across the room, the familiar scene unfolding before them like a page from a book they hadn’t read in years. It was strange—how something so simple could feel so surreal.

From their seats, they could see Shota and her walking past each other, as strangers do, each lost in their own world, unaware of the life they once shared.

Hizashi was the first to speak, his voice unusually quiet, the ever-present brightness of his usual demeanor dimming with the weight of the moment. "You ever thought we’d see this day?" He gestured with a flick of his hand toward the two figures walking by. His tone was soft, almost disbelieving.

Nemuri, her gaze focused on the pair, didn’t immediately answer. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, the steam rising between them, as though it could somehow erase the heaviness in the air. "I don’t know what to think anymore." Her voice was distant, a thin layer of frustration laced with sadness. "I mean… look at them. They don’t even see each other."

Hizashi sighed, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "I know," he muttered, eyes following Shota first and then flicking toward the woman who had been so much a part of their lives, so intertwined in the rhythm of everything they did. "It’s just... it's like they’re ghosts. They’ve been erased."

Nemuri’s lips pressed into a tight line. She had always been good at hiding what she felt, but she couldn’t hide the ache in her chest as she watched them walk by, both moving forward in life, but completely unaware of the tie that once bound them so deeply. "We all saw it, didn’t we? That connection they had. Like they were part of the same soul. It was... impossible to miss."

Hizashi chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "Yeah, it was obvious. Even when they fought, it was like they were always gonna come back to each other. You never saw them as individuals. It was always ‘her and Shota,’ ‘them two.’ But now... now it’s like nothing ever happened."

Nemuri’s eyes followed the two of them, watching as they moved through the meeting room, their gazes never locking, their conversations never overlapping. It hurt. "I don’t even think they know what they lost," she murmured, her words quiet but sharp, as though speaking the truth made it more real. "You remember when she’d laugh and his whole face would light up? Or the way he’d lean in when she spoke, like he was hanging onto every word? That was real. You can’t fake that."

Hizashi nodded slowly, his blue eyes flickering with a sadness he rarely showed. "Yeah, I remember. But whatever they had, whatever was between them, it’s gone now. Just gone." He met Nemuri’s gaze, his voice low, tinged with regret. "It’s like they don’t even recognize it anymore, you know? They walk past each other, barely glancing. Like they’re nothing more than strangers."

"Did they even have a choice?" Nemuri asked, her voice a little raw, a little bitter. She knew the answer, but the question was as much for herself as it was for Hizashi. "Could they have really stayed the same after everything that happened? After... everything they had to go through?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Maybe not," Hizashi replied, his voice soft, more somber than usual. "But it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. They were everything to each other. And now? Now they’re just two people in the same room, passing like ships in the night."

They watched for a moment longer, their gazes fixed on the two of them. Shota, so distant, his face unreadable, moving as if there were no history behind those eyes. And her, the woman who had once been a bright spark in their world, now just a quiet figure who blended into the crowd.

Nemuri clenched her fist around her cup, her gaze never wavering. "It’s so hard to accept. Watching them like this... it’s like we’re losing them all over again."

"I know," Hizashi muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we can’t force it. We can’t make them remember." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched Shota and her go their separate ways. "But I’ll tell you one thing, Nemuri. We can’t just forget what they meant to us, either. We can’t let that fade."

Nemuri let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "No. We can’t."

---

The two of them fell silent, sitting side by side as they watched their old friends, now strangers, go about their day. It was as if the world had moved on, leaving behind a pair of souls that no one could quite reach anymore. And in that silence, the grief of the past, the uncertainty of the present, and the sadness for the future settled over them like a weight they couldn’t shake.

Their friends were gone. They were still there, physically, but the people they had once been—those people were gone. And there was no getting them back.

Not anymore.

-

Aizawa's pov

'

The kitchen was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the small window above the sink. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, illuminated by the light as if frozen in time. The tiled floor was a mess, covered in a fine layer of white flour that had spread farther than either of them had expected. The overturned bag lay crumpled to one side, its contents spilled out in an unceremonious heap that had them both on the floor, trying to salvage what they could.

She sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands cupped to scoop the flour back into the bag as best as possible. Her long hair, a cascade of soft waves, was pulled back into a loose ponytail, though a few rebellious strands framed her face. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from laughter or exertion, he couldn't tell, but the faint pink hue made her look even more radiant. A smudge of flour dusted her nose, giving her an almost childlike charm.

Her laughter was infectious, a light, musical sound that filled the small space and made the situation feel more amusing than frustrating. It came straight from her chest, unrestrained and genuine, causing her eyes to crinkle at the corners and glimmer with joy. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her occasional giggles made her efforts slightly clumsy.

He was kneeling beside her, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her, unable to take his eyes away. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—so intent, so unbothered by the mess they’d made. Her fingers worked quickly but softly, scooping up little mounds of flour and pressing them into the bag with care. Her determination was endearing, and he found himself smiling without realizing it.

The sunlight caught the strands of her hair, creating a halo-like effect that made her look ethereal. His heart skipped a beat as he soaked in the moment: her carefree demeanor, her unfiltered joy, and the way her laugh seemed to echo in his mind long after it stopped.

Then she looked up, catching him staring. Her eyes, sparkling with mirth, locked onto his. “Haha, what are you staring at?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her smile wide and teasing. Her tone was playful, but the way she looked at him made his pulse quicken.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, his voice soft but unconvincing. His lips twitched upward in a faint smile, but his gaze lingered on her a moment too long. It wasn’t nothing—not to him.

This moment, with the chaos of spilled flour, her unrestrained laughter, and the golden light casting her in hues of warmth, felt like something straight out of a dream. The sound of her laugh, the way her nose crinkled slightly when she smiled, and the gentle determination in her hands as she tried to fix their mess—it all burned itself into his memory, searing so deeply he knew he could never forget it.

He turned his focus back to the mess on the floor, his hands clumsily scooping up handfuls of flour. His heart was still racing, the image of her radiant smile replaying over and over in his mind. How could he explain that this seemingly trivial, imperfect moment was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced? So he didn’t try. He let her teasing laugh ring in his ears, silently hoping that she couldn’t see the way his cheeks burned or how his heart had all but leapt out of his chest.

Because to him, this wasn’t just a mess on the kitchen floor. It was a memory—one he wanted to hold onto forever.

Caught off guard, he scrambled for an answer, feeling warmth creep up his neck. But all he could think about was how this ordinary, chaotic moment had turned into something extraordinary—something he never wanted to forget.

'

What the hell? He suddenly had a flashback of something he didn't even remember happening. He couldn't remember the face of the woman in the daydream.

The memory lingered like a soft, unshakable echo in his mind. It was the sound of her laughter, clear and melodic, filling his thoughts until it drowned out everything else. It was a sweet sound, mesmerizing in its simplicity, like the kind of laugh that could make the world feel lighter. He couldn’t remember exactly when it happened or why it felt so vivid. All he knew was that it had burned itself into his memory—her laugh, her carefree smile, the way she had looked at him in that moment.

But when he tried to recall her face, it slipped through his fingers like sand. He could see her in the kitchen, kneeling beside him, laughing as the flour spilled everywhere, but her face remained a blur. Her features refused to come into focus, like a puzzle with a piece missing, no matter how hard he tried to piece it all together. The laughter was there, the warmth of the room, the sunlight bathing her in golden hues—but the face, the very thing that should have anchored the memory, remained elusive.

He rubbed his temple, trying to clear the fog, but the harder he focused, the more it felt like he was chasing a ghost. This had to be a memory, right? Something real. But why couldn’t he place her? Why did her name remain a whisper he couldn’t catch?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, the dissonance between the memory of her laughter and the blankness where her face should have been unsettling. Was he losing his mind? Had it all been a dream or some fleeting, half-formed memory that never fully took shape?

His mind swirled with confusion, and an unsettling thought crept in. What if this wasn’t a memory at all? What if he had never even met her?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the dizziness that was growing within him. No, that couldn’t be right. But the more he thought about it, the more doubt seeped in. How could he feel so sure about something that seemed to slip through his grasp, like a dream he couldn’t wake up from?

His heart tightened, and he felt a strange ache in his chest, a longing for something he couldn’t explain. The sound of her laughter kept playing over and over in his mind, and with it, the unsettling sense that he was missing something crucial. Something important.

But what was it?

It was like a sudden rush of clarity, only for it to crumble away just as quickly. The moment he thought he had almost touched the memory—when he tried to picture her, really see her—he felt it. A crack, like the wall of his mind was breaking down, opening something he hadn't realized was locked away. It was as if the very act of remembering her should have felt natural, but instead, it was like trying to rebuild something that had already fallen apart.

Her face remained elusive, just out of reach, and the more he tried to grasp it, the more fragile everything felt. The laughter, once so clear, began to distort, stretching and warping like a fading echo. The sense of her, the warmth she had brought to the room, all of it slipped away with every effort to hold onto it.

He hated it—hated how his mind couldn’t keep up with the flood of emotions that surged within him. There was a pull, a deep, almost aching sense of familiarity that gnawed at his insides. But it was coupled with the frustration of not knowing why. The feeling of knowing her should have been enough to ground him, but instead, it left him spinning. His heart was a wreck, torn between a longing he couldn't place and a fear of losing something that was already slipping through his fingers.

Every time he reached for a memory of her, it felt like trying to fix a broken piece of glass with his bare hands—gathering the shards only to watch them scatter once more. He wanted to scream in frustration, to pound his fists against the wall of his own mind and force the answers to appear. But they didn’t.

The new feelings—the confusion, the ache, the deep, unsettling sense that there was something missing—were unbearable. And the more he tried to remember, the more everything became a blur. The longer he was left in this void, the more it felt like he was losing himself too, piece by piece.

And that laugh, so sweet and hypnotic, echoed in his mind, reminding him of something he was desperate to grasp, yet terrified to fully uncover. Because every time he tried, it felt like the wall around his mind was cracking even further—falling apart, only to rebuild itself before he could fully understand.

He tried to let it go, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. After all, how could something as fleeting as an elusive laugh, a memory he couldn’t even place, really be important? It felt silly to dwell on it. He didn’t know her, and she certainly didn’t know him—not in the way those fragments of his mind made him wish. He dismissed it, burying the feeling deep inside where it couldn’t interfere with his routine.

So, he moved on. He went about his days, immersing himself in his work, his distractions, the mundane rhythms of life that felt so much safer than confronting the unknown. He told himself it was just his mind playing tricks—nothing more, nothing less. The more he told himself that, the easier it became to forget.

But then, the next time he saw her, it all came rushing back.

It was in the middle of a meeting, the room filled with the usual hum of conversation. Papers shuffled, pens clicked, and the air was thick with the weight of deadlines and agendas. He sat there, half-listening, jotting down notes, when he heard her voice. It was like a jolt, a spark that set something inside him alight. The moment she spoke, his mind flashed back to that laugh—the sound of it still so vivid, like it had been imprinted on him forever.

She was standing there, as poised and focused as she always was, her hair neatly pulled back, a hint of a smile on her lips as she contributed to the discussion. But the instant their eyes met, something shifted. The familiar pull, that sense of connection he couldn’t explain, washed over him once more, stronger than before.

He felt his chest tighten, his heart picking up pace, and for a brief moment, it was as if everything around him went quiet. It was the same sensation he had experienced the first time he saw her, that inexplicable recognition. But he quickly shoved it down—brushed it off as nothing. It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. You're just imagining things.

The meeting continued, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, like a knot had been tied in his chest. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He didn’t let his gaze linger on her too long. He focused on the task at hand, forced himself to engage in the conversation, but the connection—however intangible it was—lingered in the back of his mind, quietly gnawing at him.

He went on with his day, just as he had before, but the question was there now, sitting at the edge of his thoughts. The one he’d tried so hard to forget. Why did it feel like he knew her? And more troubling still, why did it feel like she knew him too?

-

Twelve years ago, Shota and her—no one had ever seen one without the other. Their bond was undeniable, a quiet force of nature that made them inseparable. From the moment they met, their friendship was effortless, a connection that seemed to transcend time. They’d been through so much together—life-altering experiences, each moment filled with depth and meaning. At first, they were friends, an odd pair that seemed to click in a way no one understood, not even them. There was something unspoken between them, a sense of mutual understanding that went beyond words.

The first time they fought—really fought—was an oddity. It was about something trivial, as most fights between close friends tend to be. A misunderstanding, a difference in opinion, the kind of thing that could easily have driven them apart. But even then, their bond was strong. In the heat of the argument, emotions ran high, but it never reached the point of real anger. They had always known how to talk through their differences. She would pout, and he’d smile in that stubborn way of his, and before long, one of them would say something so ridiculous that the tension would break. They would laugh, and just like that, the fight would dissolve, leaving only a quiet understanding.

They were there for each other through the darkest times. When Shota lost people he cared about, she was the one who stood by his side, offering a steady hand when the world seemed to be crumbling. When she had her own moments of doubt, when the weight of her responsibilities as a hero felt overwhelming, Shota was her anchor. He knew her better than anyone. Her laugh, her small gestures, the way her eyes softened when she talked about her dreams—it was all so familiar, so deeply ingrained in him. And she, in turn, knew him—the quiet way he carried the weight of the world, the way he hid his emotions, even from himself.

Their love had grown from that friendship. It was slow, like a seed taking root and blossoming when they least expected it. But when it did, it was undeniable. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was real. They understood each other in a way no one else did. Their connection was a constant, and even in the face of the chaos of their lives as heroes, it remained a source of comfort.

Their bond was the kind that made everyone else take notice. It wasn’t just "Shota" or "her," it was always "them two." Wherever one was, the other was sure to follow. They had so many shared memories, countless adventures, moments of quiet joy that felt like they could last forever. Their laughter, their shared glances, their whispered words in the dead of night—these were the things that made them who they were. A couple built on trust, on shared experiences, on a love that felt like it could withstand anything.

---

The war changed everything. The world was thrown into chaos, and they both fought valiantly, side by side, with all the strength they had. It was a brutal battle. Her quirk, a powerful ability that she had honed over the years, backfired during a fight with a villain whose quirk turned things in the opposite direction. It was a freak accident—a perfect storm of chaos—and it shattered the balance of her mind and body.

Her quirk’s backlash altered her chemistry, messing with the way her memories and emotions interacted. It started subtly, at first. Small gaps in her memory, moments where she would forget something that just happened. But it quickly spiraled out of control. The more she remembered him, the more it tore at her, eroding her mind in ways that no one understood. The doctors and quirk scientists were desperate, trying to find a solution, but there was none.

Shota sat in that hospital room, surrounded by cold, sterile faces. The weight of the decision before him pressed down on him, suffocating him with every passing second. Her eyes were closed, her body fragile and broken from the fight, but her mind was the real battlefield now. The doctors had explained it to him in the most clinical of terms. "Her memories of you, Shota, they’re eating away at her. If you stay together, if she remembers you, she will lose herself. Her mind will break down. It’s the only way to save her—to make her forget everything."

The room was a blur of conversation, voices echoing around him as he fought to keep himself together. How could they ask this of him? How could he make this choice?

"I’m sorry," one of the scientists had said, "but it’s the only solution."

The words were like a weight, crushing him. He glanced at her, her face so familiar, yet the pain he saw in her eyes broke him in ways he never thought possible. She would become a stranger to him, and he to her. Their love—everything they had shared—would be erased. The thought of it was unbearable.

But in the end, it wasn’t about him. It was about her.

He looked at her one last time, his hand trembling as he reached out to hold hers. She had to live. She had to survive this, even if it meant forgetting him. He couldn’t bear to watch her become a shell of the woman he had loved for so long. His love for her was greater than his own pain.

With tears in his eyes, he whispered, "I’ll forget too. I can’t… I can’t be the reason you lose yourself."

The doctors began their work, and the last thing Shota remembered was her hand in his, the warmth of her skin a fleeting memory. Then, everything went blank.

---

The procedure was done, and everything was different.

They walked separate paths now. She left, moved far away, to start a new life, a life without him in it. The memories of their time together—his memories—were wiped clean. It was as if they had never existed.

Shota returned to his old routine. He continued as a hero, as a mentor, just as he had before. But it felt wrong. There was something missing, an emptiness in his chest that he couldn’t explain. He went through the motions, interacting with the same people, doing the same work, but there was no joy in it. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost.

And then, one day, she walked into a meeting room, as if from nowhere.

Shota looked up, not expecting to see her there. For a brief moment, his heart skipped a beat. The connection, the strange familiarity, surged through him in a way he couldn’t understand. But she didn’t look at him like she knew him. She was cold, distant, a stranger.

Her name was called, and she responded, her voice flat and professional. She walked to a seat, never once acknowledging him.

Shota watched her, a strange knot forming in his stomach. It was like seeing a ghost, a reflection of a life that no longer existed. The room buzzed with conversation, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the pulse of his heart. There was a connection between them—he could feel it—but it was a flicker in the dark, something just out of reach.

He wanted to approach her, to speak to her, but he knew better. They were strangers now, both of them lost to their own pasts. And so, he sat there, watching as she spoke to others.

He couldn’t remember.

The others spoke to her with a familiarity that seemed so natural, but to Shota, it felt like they were all speaking a language he didn’t understand. They knew her—knew things he didn’t—and yet she remained a ghost in his mind.

Days passed, and Shota found himself continuously haunted by an odd sense of emptiness, an aching void that seemed to be centered around the woman he had seen in the meeting room. He didn’t know why, but he felt unsettled when he saw her—like he should know her, like something about her was his. But that something couldn’t be touched, could never be reached.

The truth was, he had no recollection of the woman—her—at all. He couldn’t recall the warmth of her laugh, the way they had once shared a life. He didn’t remember the fights that never truly lasted, the small touches, the quiet moments they spent together. The world they had built—woven with love, loyalty, and history—was now just a fog in the back of his mind, dissipating with every passing second.

The decision he had made—to forget—was one he couldn’t recall clearly anymore. It had been a blur of doctors, quiet words of explanation, and the weight of something he knew was vital, but he couldn’t grasp.

Even his own pain, the anguish of erasing her from his life, was now a distant memory.

What had I lost?

The question lingered, but there were no answers.

Some piece of himself that had been removed. But he couldn’t name it. The feeling of loss clung to him like a shadow, but it wasn’t a shadow he could identify. He didn’t know what he was mourning. He didn’t remember her.

The others spoke of her often—her, the woman from the meeting room. They spoke as if she were someone important. She was now part of the team, her presence here to stay. They would nod when he asked about her, giving him only vague responses, as if they could sense his confusion, but they didn’t press it. They didn’t know he didn’t remember her.

Shota’s interactions with her were brief and professional. There were no sparks of recognition when they crossed paths, no flicker of old familiarity that once had been so vivid. She was just another colleague, another face in the sea of people he interacted with every day.

-

He made that decision knowing deep down that he could never really get to know her again.

He had chosen to protect her. And in doing so, he had lost her. He hadn't even said goodbye, she didn't even know she would have to have said goodbye.

And it would stay this way forever, that's what he knew needed to be done.

A beautiful relationship formed so deep, drowning in the depth of their connection. Their life together life died that day. Both of them gone just like that, and they were never coming back.