#bc something else… too heartbreaking

[thefleshyougoveggie]

gaslighting myself into thinking that actually never getting into a relationship with them is the best outcome

[ulteri0rm0tives]

It's every iteration.

It's every iteration of V that will always find Johnny. Every iteration of V that Johnny grows to care about. It's every iteration of each other, in every universe, that will always find each other. They'll always become inseparable, tied together in unfathomable ways. Ways they could never truly unravel from each other in the end, no matter the end.

They'll always be destined for one another. No matter what face is worn. No matter what universe. No matter what, they're always meant to be. No matter what, the stars will always align for them, just to come crashing down from the sky.

[limerlove]

FIND YOUR WINGS, VALENTINE

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. roommate!vi x femcoded!reader x exsituationship!caitlyn

caitlyn kiramman, a woman who yearned to have her cake and eat it too. violet, a simple girl who has fallen for someone emotionally unavailable and you — trying to disperse between heartbreak and a new love.

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: 17k wc. bartender!reader, melvika cameos, lesbian sex, semi-public sex, mutual finger-off, anal play, shy!vi, caitlyn is a cunt (in this), unfaithful mentality, valentine's day aura?

rayray rambles, chat! we made it. truthfully, this fic got away from in so many ways and i'm proud of myself for reigning it in. this originally was going to be a new years eve fic but it got so impossibly long that i wanted some more time with it. but i hope you enjoy it, this is my latest baby and a lot of love was put into it. happy valentines ♡

— special thank you to my amazing proofreader reader, @meganegatari, plu, i love you dearly.

‪‪and to my love, @sinstear, thank you for always listening to me ramble. happy valentines bubba, ily. even though you've already read 85 percent of this bc i was so excited about it

You could still feel her.

Like it was just last night with her finger buried deep inside, pinning you against your front door with her slender fingers, the soft pad of her fingers stuffed inside your pants, making you see stars. A last ditch effort to keep you around. 

Caitlyn likes to chase but she becomes a bambi in headlights once she’s caught her prey. There was desperation for the last cry, a final effort to keep you around. You’d never seen such a progressive emotion from her. 

Before tonight, every moment; every word said seems transactional. 

The hauntingly blue windows of her soul look anywhere but you. You wonder if it's a tactic. Refusing to make eye contact when she’s most vulnerable. As if one glance at you would cost her the rest of her life, an outcome she can’t afford. 

These days, she’s afraid of her own shadow. Unable to look anyone in the eyes, her spirit crushed like she’s anywhere but here. When you try to pull her back to shore, she recedes even further. 

Nothing is good enough. 

Caitlyn makes it abundantly clear that you aren’t. Insults bite into your skin like a bullet, the blow never to your heart, the place you desperately want it to be. 

But for now, you lick your wounds and you let her have what she wants. Even if she’s fading from your grip, you can still hold her, you can still pretend she loves you the same way, and you can cry after she leaves. You wonder if she sees you for who you really are or if Caitlyn only sees what benefits her. 

It’s a cycle that keeps you here, entangled with a woman who doesn’t have the decency to let you go. If Caitlyn is half the woman you believe her to be, she would have mercifully kicked you out of her apartment. 

Then, there’s Vi.

Nothing with her is serious, not even physical, she just whines and dines you, she holds you like she loves you. Above everything else; Vi makes you forget. Even if it’s with a soft smile, a harmless joke that’s so stupid it makes you giggle — it’s a moment of peace. One you crave more than desolation. 

There’s a softness to her that Caitlyn doesn’t allow. You’re sure that’s why the two didn’t work out. Caitlyn is rough. Kind when she needs something, vengeful when you get in her way but when she seeks retribution for her sins, it’s entirely too late. 

Vi is everything Caitlyn isn’t, what she’s incapable of being — a simmering token of hope you keep close to your chest. 

The more you think about it, the more your stomach twists in knots over your neediness. Entertaining Violet so she can quench your emotional thirst. And keeping Caitlyn around in good faith, a blind faith you place in her, hoping that you’re not wrong. 

You can’t be wrong. 

Somehow she’ll change, right? 

“Why do you have to leave so soon?” Her accent bites into you like an icy river, devoid of emotion as she reveals what she really wants. A silky blue robe untied as her full breasts sit perfectly on her chest. 

Almost as if it’s muscle memory, your thumbs circle over her pink nipples, it buds under your touch and Caitlyn does what she does best. 

She grasps onto the reins of control, refusing to let go. 

With a firm hand, she applies pressure on the back of your neck, beckoning your mouth to find home on her perfect tits and they do. At the moment, you’re her favorite toy and she lets you play.

Plump lips latching on her nipple while your free hand squeezes the other, your tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple as your teeth graze over the sensitive skin, a gasp falling from Caitlyn’s lips. 

“Pretty girl just needs her mouth put to work. Give the other some attention, she’s feeling quite lonely.” 

Doing as you're told, your desperate drool collects on her chest as you bite the swell of her chest, before sucking on her other nipple as if she’s lactating. Then the idea of Caitlyn’s belly swollen makes you whimper, moaning into her skin as she runs a finger up her own slit, your eyes looking up at her as you suck, flick, and bite. 

As if your life depends on it. Maybe it did. 

“Come back to bed, babygirl. I need my perfect little slut. I can fuck you in the shower just the way you like.” 

The ammunition of her poisonous words might as well have penetrate your bloodstream. Displaced trust turns you into another toy for her to use. Trapped perpetually in a cycle you had a hand in enabling. Words full of steam leave a third-degree burn on your skin, not a single drop of blood to be found. 

But even if you want to pull back, you can’t. 

There’s no further arguments as you slip into the lion’s den. With soul-crushing desire, your bare chest presses against the fogged glass, Caitlyn using her favorite dildo as she fucks you into the wall of glass, a dignity you posses withers with each thrust. Perfectly manicured slim fingers pull at your hair as an arch to your back is forced. 

With each thrust she becomes more aggressive, her pace is punishing and it’s meant for you to fall in her hands. But you’re resisting, holding off the orgasm and the high that comes with it. The higher you fall, the harder you crash. You know Kirakiller won’t be there to catch you. 

You’ll burden the fall on your own. 

“Cait, please—” 

The slap of your stretched lips being thoroughly obliterated by her brutal cock can be heard throughout her apartment. She wants to make you come, that’s clear, but she also wants to break you. There’s nothing more a Kiramman loves, hearing you beg for mercy. To have the pathetic and whiny girl who blindly loves her, shattering at her grip. 

“That’s not my name. You fucking know it’s not. Good little sluts say it, don’t they?” 

Before you can even process it, she slaps your ass, three times, sending the orgasm raging through you. All Caitlyn does is fuck your pretty face into the glass as you take every inch of her. Then her pace halts as your heavy breath is heard over the shower. She turns the water off and you’re stuck there, unable to move.

Afraid. 

 Your heart would collapse right with you. 

Caitlyn moves swiftly, like a knight coming in the dead of knight to steal the princess. On all fours, she rummages through the cabinet before locating the precious wand. With a profound smirk, she grips the handle as if it’s an extension of her limb. 

“Looks like you’re getting punished today, babygirl. How do you wanna take it?”  

The lines blur together over the next few hours until you’re stumbling out of the apartment. Caitlyn not directly kicking you out of her home but your stay is only welcome for as long as the fucking window is open. It’s nearly three hours past midnight, tears in your eyes as you tread home with a gaping hole punctured with her sharpest end of her carefully placed blade. 

You wonder if she’s always been like this. Hot and hungry for power, ready to hurt anyone in order to get it. The angry flesh begs to be fed, and she gives in each time. Even when it means she sees the love depleted from your eyes, or when you refuse to make eye contact, or like tonight when she watches you hold in tears to escape out of her apartment. 

Some nights, you did want to be handled with a gentle hand but it’s not something Caitlyn gives. 

Anything more than a generous hand and greedy lips begging to lap at your cunt and Caitlyn comes up short. Living up to her name to the fullest. 

Kirakiller, they called her. 

There’s a dozen reasons for her name. How she slaughters everyone on the pitch,  academically she’ll make you feel inferior to her own privileged, private education prior to university. How she kills your spirit if you aren’t someone she sees as an exceptional academic student for Piltover University. 

All of it seems to be a game for her. With Cassandra Kiramman as the dean, the board members sit heavily in her overflowing pocket, she runs things as she sees fit. Her daughter being taken care of and on top of the world is her number one priority. There’s been a dozen to come after the Kiramman’s and none have been successful. Murmurs of corruption grace the hallowed halls but not a soul dares to challenge the wealth and power of the prestigious bloodline of the Kirammans.  

Caitlyn “Kirakiller” Kiramman associating with someone who was merely on scholarship wasn't in Cassandra’s plans. Even if you didn’t even know it yet, you were too low on the totem pole to be associated with the future of a daunting legacy. An entire life laid out for Cait before she even took her first breath. 

It was dumb to buzz her up to the apartment. Even more idiotic to respond to her texts in the first place but besides all her failed attempts, she still tries to worm her way through your heart to take what she believes is owed. Just like last week, you let her. 

She leaves when you pretend to fall asleep after, the two of you telling yourselves it’ll be the last time, but it won’t be. 

It’s a vicious cycle, one has your insides spinning, your stomach churning and your heart aching. But you’re too weak to end. It’s a tale as old as time. You want something more and Caitlyn can’t be bothered to be committed to the wrong type of girl. 

It’s all about appearances and you’re not good enough. 

Cassandra, the respectable dean and the mother who is the puppeteer of her daughter’s life, behind the scenes pulling the strings in order to maintain image, status. She holds it closer than her own blood; a need for her bloodline to prosper and Dean Kiramman will trample anyone’s heart to complete the task. 

Whether she wants to fight against her mother’s future or not? You didn’t know. 

Truly, you never know what she wants, besides getting herself off or getting you off, Caitlyn was stuck between a world she’s born for and one that’s decided for her. A child acting out but waiting until college to do so. 

Kirakiller. 

That’s what they called her. Ruthless in all of her conquests, never calling back, never fucking the same girl again, it wasn’t something Kirakiller did. She used, abused, and moved onto the next one. 

But for some reason, she’s incredibly stuck on you. 

The new year puts you at a distance when Cait refuses to bring you home for the holidays. Of course, the fight rages as soon as she’s done fucking you. 

“What do you think this is?” 

“You tell me.” 

There’s a look in your eyes, gleaming and sorrowful, the rejection crystal clear. That’s all any of this has been. A severe procrastination tactic to put off what you want, her. 

What makes it worse is Caitlyn knows it but she’s still here, trying, and who the hell knows why. 

Hope. A poor woman’s faith guts you, ripping your insides of love and prosperity. In your line of vision, you just see claws tearing at your skin, all flesh raw and bleeding as she begs for more. 

A wish that you hope for every time you see her. This time she’ll choose differently, she’ll be kind this time. I’ll be enough to love. This will be the moment. 

But when she doesn’t, the accent you love so much burns you at the stake, you’re screaming on deaf ears. Begging for her to hear just one, but she snuffs you out. Like the moonlight you bring, she pretends you don’t call to her like the moon pulls the tide. 

Instead, you’re met with Caitlyn’s greed. 

“Why do I think this is? I expect some basic level of human compassion but you’ve forgotten that too. I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt. Even when everyone tells me you’re fucking other girls besides me, even when I see with my own eyes how you act when you think I’m not around. You clearly don’t respect me. Every time I’ve tried to have this conversation, you avoid me. Do you think I deserve that?” 

“There is nothing to even discuss. This is nothing.” Her accent is sharp, cutting right through your heart. A woman you love too deeply reaffirming how little she thinks of you. 

Dismissal. 

Absence. 

You are nothing, might as well have fallen from her lips. 

Her heart is ice cold,  her piercing eyes bite like the bitter wind of winter. A slim view of fire rattling within her dark blue eyes, pupils dilate so much they practically turn black. 

You feel your stomach tense, the pit in your stomach has once returned, denying you of what feels so real to you. 

It’s just a game for her. 

Always a game Caitlyn has to win. 

“Fine. Then leave. But don’t come back next time, don’t text me when you’re lonely or horny, don’t call me when everyone else won’t hear you out. Forgot about me and let’s be done with it, yeah? Go back to those girls you love to fuck so much. The ones that are bright, shiny, untouched by your venomous heart.” 

“I will. They sure will be a hell of a lot better lay than you, maybe they’ll let me fuck their ass.” 

You scoff but your expression is stone cold as you watch her struggle to pull her clothes on. There’s no sudden movements made. Certainly no apologies. 

Once Caitlyn fully dresses, she waits there as if you’ll change your mind. A wish she’s so desperately hanging onto as your eyes remain cold. A shiver is sent up her spine — you’d never been more ruthless — and for the first time her chest feels tight at the loss of you. 

“It’s what you want. A pretty rich thing your mother will accept and the control in the bedroom you need since the real Kiramman controls every aspect of your life, even your love life. Good luck, you’ll need it.” 

“You’ll come begging back, you always do.” 

You want to choke Caitlyn with the smirk she’s currently wearing. 

“We’ll see about that, Kirakiller. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” 

In an instant her face drops, her acute lips turning into a frown, cursing under her breath before she finally slams the door. It’s only then do you allow yourself to scream into your pillow, agony coursing through you, desperation, and most of all — a rage that wouldn’t be quenched. 

—

The fairy lights, softly winking at you each time the sequence goes off. Violet craved to put them up around Christmas but never bothered to take them down. Perfectly, they fit with your shared home. The small apartment stuck between the suburbs and the city, close enough to campus where it was only a short drive, the two of you carpooling or Vi moving her schedule around to drop you off. 

It happened to work out for the two of you. You didn’t think you’d get to be so lucky. Finding a decent roommate is a tall order, but now the two of you are inseparable and you couldn’t imagine your life any different. 

If not for her, you didn’t think you'd survive spending the holidays alone. 

Caitlyn made sure to isolate you but Violet holds you close.  

The memory of new years solidifies the budding infatuation growing within you; as much as it excites you, it sends a freezing shiver down your spine. Like a bitter winter to an evergreen bush, who knows if it’ll last the season without one moment to be basked in the sun. 

— 

New Years Eve, 2024. 

Sevika nursing an old fashioned. Trying to avoid the smell of cheap corona and budweiser intruding her relaxed nostrils as Mel sips on a glass of wine. Her smaller frame leans into Sevika’s arm looped through hers as their hips nearly become conjoined. They watch as Violet watches you. You’re standing there alone, fending off a few women who try to make a move on you. 

Whispers of your former fling, Caitlyn Kiramman make their way across campus, the colossal cunt raging her anger during practice. Just as you’ve been reminded by her teammates who blame you for her toddler tantrum. Violet’s heart sinks to her chest as she watches Caitlyn make a straight shot for you. 

The second she entered the room, Violet could feel the dread filling her body. Half because seeing her reminds her of all the horrors, everything she let Caitlyn do to her. Now, Caitlyn’s moved on to her next victim and she wonders if you’ll ever truly escape from her. 

“Do you think we should–” Vi speaks softly, a murmur she didn’t intend for anyone else to hear. “...interrupt?” 

“Calm down, casanova.” Sev interjects letting the whiskey soothe her throat. 

“Easy for you to say, coupled up love birds.” Vi rolls her eyes as she watches the scene unfold before her. 

The light in her eyes cracks, like a sparkler losing its flame. Each time Caitlyn attempts to worm back in your life, you’ve always let her. Even when she’s the last person who deserves even a moment of your time. It takes anything in her not to wince when you let Caitlyn touch your arm but after a moment you push her off. 

Well, that’s new. 

“You should go over there.” Mel chimes in, “Caitlyn would surely run for the hills then. She’s all bark but no bite.” 

“Go be her knight in shining armor.” Sev says it like it’s a bad thing, her sarcasm biting into the air. 

All Vi continues to scratch away at the label unraveling from the condensation, just as her heart rips each time Caitlyn gets closer to you. It’s a strange feeling. Her ex-girlfriend and the person she loves. Nearly spiteful her heart becomes, almost wanting to fling herself off a bridge. It’s more than Vi wishes to deal with and she tells herself she won’t. 

You’re not worth the trouble, she’s just making her feelings bigger than they actually are, right? 

Whatever Caitlyn says pisses you off enough to throw your drink in her face, coating her from hot to toe in the vodka cranberry Vi had made for you earlier in the night. 

“You’ll eat those actions, babygirl. Next time, it’ll be you who is soaked and we both know it.” 

Caitlyn screams for all to hear as she checks you with her shoulder before heading upstairs. 

It’s five minutes before midnight and Violet watches as you crumble, running outside, needing to catch some air. You need something to make you feel less suffocated. Even with a drink thrown in her face, Caitlyn still finds a way to get an upper hand. 

“Vi, would you be a dear and check on her? Sev and I will be there in a sec.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Violet sees you in the corner of her eye, trying not to break down, but she notices the tears threatening to spill. 

“Don’t look so glum princess or you’re going to make me cry and nobody wants to see that.”  The lightness of her tone makes you chuckle. Vi’s trying to make you laugh and she succeeds. 

Everyone pours outside as the clock strikes closer to midnight, Mel and Sevika come out but they keep their distance. Vi kneels at your feet, gently wiping the tears away you finally let fall. The small hiccups leaving your chest as you feel inadequate, wondering if anyone would miss you if you just melted away — not a single trace of you to be found. 

“She makes me feel so small, even when I leave, she wants more of me. I have nothing left to give.” You sob, hands shaking as you make fists trying to stabilize yourself. “No one understands how…how fucking awful and addicting she is.” 

“I do.” 

“Of course you, Violet. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. She’s just…” 

“Frustrating?” You nod, trying to laugh off the heartbreak but the familiar glee doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“And now I’m alone, on new years.” You say, cursing at the premature fireworks illuminating the sky. “While she goes to shag whoever wants to clean the vodka cranberry with their tongue.” 

I want to taste the cranberry on yours. 

Violet doesn’t speak those words. It’s just a dream — one that only drips in her mind until her thoughts pull at her like a pomegranate as it sheds from the skin. 

“She’s an idiot for letting you go. Anyone here knows that.” 

“Really? Funny ‘cause I’m here single. Caitlyn just wants me to crawl back to her with me on all fours just so she can say, i told you so, in that insufferable English accent. God, I wanna rip it from her throat.” 

“Then don’t give her the satisfaction.” 

“Easier said than done.” You say as everyone counts down from ten, “At least we still have each other.” 

Vi smiles, her powder-blue eyes sweet on you. There’s nothing more she wants than to kiss you. But Vi will screw the both of you if she moves too quickly. 

3…2…1! 

The buzz of the party reaches an all-time high and you’ve never felt so close to hell. Watching as everyone kisses the person they love, the gleeful-holiday making them smile as they wrap in the warmth of their partner. Vi sees how sad you are, how close you are to breaking, so she does something stupid. An action that will only get her heart in all kinds of trouble. 

Nearly almost planting her lips on yours, but saves herself with a peck to the apple of your cheeks. 

She blushes and you smile. 

She considers it to be a win when she gets a positive reaction from you. That’s all she really wants, to hear you laugh and you do. 

Again. 

The both of you speak nothing of it, the heartache too heavy and the love in Violet’s eyes too bright. You rest your head against her shoulder as the both of you watch the fireworks shining the midnight sky — it feels awfully like a fresh start. 

God knows you could use one. 

— 

The last thing you want is to miss her but you do. 

Longing instilled the moment she infected your blood; making each beat of your heart consistently flow for her. You couldn’t admit it, not her or yourself. It’s what she counts on. For you to slip, to venture back into the lion’s just so she can gut you from root to stem. 

With your finger hovering over her number for the past few weeks, each time, nearly a moment from giving back into her needs. Not once had she called, texted, or even looked at your way. Not even when she sat across from you in the library last Monday. Before her tongue found home in the girl who threw herself in Caitlyn’s lap. Promptly deciding that was enough studying for the day. 

The nights are the worst, you stay secluded in your room, tired of thinking about her and everything that’s transpired. How much you miss her, how much you love her — wondering if you ever should have — and how much you clung to this version of her that maybe just never existed. 

It isn’t until Vi tries to get you out of the house that you realize how heartbroken you actually feel. How unbearable it would be to do anything but the bare minimum that’s expected for you to survive. 

“C’mon, it won’t be bad.” Vi throws herself in bed with you, “You’re with me you’ll have a fantastic time.” 

Vi cheekily smiles, “Plus, I can’t go without you. Those are the rules.” 

“Oh really?” She nods, the sincerity reaching her eyes so blindingly, it makes the swell in your chest ache. 

“Basically the law, so if you don’t want me to handcuff you, you’ll listen.” 

Raising an eyebrow at the question, you watch her as your roommate goes into the closet and comes out with three dresses back in hand. 

“You always look, um u-uh, really pretty in these.” 

Violet’s always been like this. Unsure, a little bit flirty, and with a heart so gentle you would be too afraid to hold it in the palm of your hand. All it took was one introduction from Sevika and the two of you instantly clicked. 

You cooked at the housewarming party for Mel and Sevika, in the middle of having a breakdown when you didn’t have crucial ingredients you thought you did have. It’s when Violet came to your rescue. Already in the kitchen watching you nearly have a panic attack over not being better prepared, she instantly grabbed the keys to her truck, off to assist. 

With your former roommate flaking out after the second semester in your apartment off campus, and Violet coming off a messy breakup, the two of you helped each other out. 

“Which one is your favorite?” It’s an innocent question. 

It really is. 

Then you remember the last time you wore it, Violet unable to keep her eyes off you when she thought you weren’t looking or how she would meet your eyes when you caught her staring. Dramatically clearing her throat as she scratches the nape of her neck, bashfully blushing. 

“The black one. You always look beautiful, any of them really. That one is just my favorite.” 

Feeling the fabric of the silk dress, the neckline is plunging and the back is open until it reaches your lower back and you don't dare bend down to pick up anything in this little number. 

“Someone’s being sweet tonight.” You smile softly, kissing her cheek before you disappear into the bathroom. It’s long before you come out, but when you’re ready Vi nearly has to do a double take. 

Visibly, she gulps. 

Fuck, she forgot how amazing you look in that dress. 

“Where’s it at this time?” 

“You remember Natalie?” 

“Oh?” 

“It’s not—” 

“I didn’t say it was.” But you’re smirking and Vi has no other option but to groan into her hands. 

“You were thinking about it.” Harmlessly, you shrug. 

“Regardless, it’s some new girl who’s gonna be on the team this season. It’s kind of a get together before the season starts.” 

“You’re taking me to the kick-off banquet?” Vi winces as your voice shrieks, slightly piercing her eardrum in the process. 

“Uh,” Vi runs a hand through her vibrant, messy head of hair. “Uh, yeah. It’s really not a big deal.” 

“So, why not Natalie?” 

“Does it matter?” Vi counters. She becomes uncomfortable about how she would have to answer the question. There wasn’t a way for her to answer without fully exposing herself so she pulls at her cuticles until she’s slightly bleeding before she stuffs them inside her pockets. 

She doesn't want to have the conversation, and honestly, neither do you. 

“The she-devil won’t be there. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? One night for yourself, there’s a little dancing, we can have a couple of drinks—” 

“Y-You’ll dance with me…in front of everyone?” You sound more unsure of yourself than you ever have. The words are foreign on your tongue as if you’re speaking another language. 

“Is that a statement or a question?” Vi chuckles before she stands up from your bed, “Give me ten minutes and we’ll head out. We can stop and get some burgers. The food they cater is ass anyways. All that money from the snobby rich parents and Piltover University can’t even splurge on anything decent.” 

It doesn’t take long before she’s emerging into the living room, her white button up has the top three buttons undone, the tattoos creeping on the outside of her neck visible as does her name she has on her cheek. The one you chastise her for consistently. 

“You ready?” Violet stuffs her essentials in her deep pockets before taking you in. 

“Yeah, I think so, I was just waiting for you.” 

She seriously has to assume your exes are severely ill for ever letting you out of their sight. Violet despises how rapid the beat of her heart is, how shaky her hands become when she offers a hand to help you off the couch. Only two nights ago, it was the two of you cuddled up, Vi shrieking in fear from your favorite horror film. 

The terror in her powder-blue eyes made you laugh. Violet sees it as a big enough consolation for her downright distress. 

You’re too gorgeous for your own good. 

She may be pushing her luck tonight. Even pulling you out of bed makes her feel slightly accomplished. Between work and class, your mattress has been your chosen place to nurse your heartache. A few of your friends had been in and out, trying to get you to grab a fresh breath of air, or find the bottom of a bottle of tequila but all had failed. 

“You look….” You bite your lip, watching as your eyes drag over her frame, overwhelmed by just how well she cleans up. 

“That bad, huh?” Violet smirks as she makes her way over to you, and with your heels, she can’t help but admire your height. She supposes she does have a type. Who can blame her? 

“Something like that.” Your face is burning, the world doesn’t seem so bleak when she locks the door with one hand, her left warm-calloused hand holding yours in a firm grip. 

“How do I look?” You do a twirl, there’s a smile you try to contain when her eyes drag over you, taking all the time in the world as open the door to her truck, guiding you inside. 

“You look beautiful but that’s no surprise, princess.” 

The drive is quiet. Violet itches to place the palm of her hand on your thigh but she resists. With a quiet mind, she listens as you ramble about a new album you listened to earlier and she hands you her phone so you can play it. Immediately, you’re bewildered at the trust. 

Caitlyn wouldn’t even let you use her phone when yours died. Ordering the uber herself as she left you on the curb as she took her sports car and faded into the intersecting street. 

It’s only a twenty minute drive to the diner and the red neon sign greets you, the outside wall painted in a pastel-yellow, it’s gaudy and nearly unpleasant to the eye but there’s the charm about it. Zaun outlasted the gentrification of the corporate pollution, still one of the only places to remain standing and family owned. 

You’re led to a booth where you both take a seat, glancing over the menu as you decide what you want, trying to make a decision in your mind is something that drowns you like a misty fog at the crack of dawn. 

Finally you settle on a burger and so Violet. The conversation is easy with her. Everything seems to flow with a simpleness you find yourself reaching for. Like the last copy of your favorite book at the library, you crave to wrap your fingers around the crispy edges, sinking your smell into the spine of a new novel. Where the beginning feels like a first kiss — blissful notions of someone new — when the thought of love doesn’t seem so jarring. 

Before you’re terrified of getting your heart shattered into a million pieces. Before love morphs into something violent, you turn to Violet and you wonder if she’s ever been scared to love. Does it come easy for her? Would she let herself go for the right person? You feel too broken to ever let yourself fall that freely again. 

But she has blue eyes, a scar on her upper lip making her more charming, and tattoos adorning her back that only attribute to the surface level of her allure.  

Shortly after you sink into your thoughts, ones you don’t believe you should even have, you're ravaging your burger when Violet notices the attention you're getting. It’s obvious. To everyone. But you just talk to her about anything but the elephant in the room, you’re so chatty tonight she might even think you’re nervous. 

But it’s Vi. There’s nothing to ever be nervous about. 

Nothing at all. 

“God, this was such a good call. Who knew I needed to bury my sorrows in a pound of grease.” 

“Carbs. They are a beautiful thing.” Vi winks, you chunk a fry at her but she catches it in her mouth. 

You finish your food in silence, Vi smiling as she takes another sip from the cane-sugar coca cola. The sweetness of the syrup  coats the back of her throat as she watches you watch her. She wants to say something but the timing is wrong. She wonders if you see a future or a rebound, maybe even just a friend, only time can tell and Vi fears she would wait a lifetime waiting for you to figure it out. 

It’s how she loves. Free, without restrictions, even if she still mourns the love she once had burned to flames — you make her forget it all. Renewed in holy water, she basks in a touch that hasn’t scorned her, freely washing her of past sins.  

“What happened to Natalie? I thought things were good.” 

“For a time, yeah.” Violet says something without saying much. 

“Vi, are you being coy?” 

The blush coats her cheeks as she tries to shy away from the conversation. She feels the heat from your attention, the way her heart beats a million times per second as you have her cornered. Different in a way she would typically imagine when you came to mind. Even if she does try to stop herself, Vi can’t help but wonder about you and if you would feel the same way she does. 

If you do and just aren’t allowing yourself to let go of the wall you have up in the horrendous shape of Caitlyn Kiramman.  

The way you pry, your bold eyes slightly squinting at her as if you’re already figuring out the self-righteousness of the sinner. Secrets she hides under lock and key but even on a good day, the confession bubbles on her tongue as she catches herself choking on her own spit. You’re always so careful of the questions you leave hanging in the air. 

In a moment of frustration, Violet thinks of how Caitlyn’s manipulative patterns may have sinked into your brain. She knows that much — the blue-haired witch has done the same to her. Making you question everyone’s motives, wondering if anyone could ever be truthful. 

But others can. 

Caitlyn can’t. 

Vi distracts herself, avoids the question even if it is just a second to recollect her thoughts, a minute to buy time and divert from this conversation. It’s a truth she doesn't want unraveled. 

“What’s the saying? Don’t kiss and tell.” She grumbles as she stuffs her face with another bite of the beefy patty. “But we just didn’t work out s’all. Plus, I’m not looking for anything serious I guess. She was.” 

Another lie but Vi keeps her lips tight. She doesn’t need you to know why her latest attempt at a relationship blew up in her face, catastrophically. 

“Maybe you and Kirakiller should date again.” You tease. 

“Take that back. She’s the devil’s spawn and I’m still sorry you learned the difficult way. Just like me.” 

“Well, she definitely lives up to the name.” 

“I wish she would have changed her ways. You didn’t deserve to get hurt at all and especially by her.” Violet reaches across the table, soothing the back of your hand, rubbing circles into your skin. The action is sweet, lighting your skin ablaze with goosebumps as you watch her show affection, especially where other people can see. 

At the moment, you want to be claimed by her. Marked as Violet’s girl and you would be proud to be. You close the thought from your mind as soon as it opens. This isn’t a date. Just because Violet flirts doesn’t mean she’s interested. The two of you are roommates. 

Pull yourself together. 

Jesus Christ. 

She knows how much everyone can’t stop looking at you. The diner, outside the gas station even when Vi told you to stay in the car, and then the banquet. But you latched onto her, practically glued to her side as new sponsors came to speak with the new head captain. Vi’s nursing a beer when the music hits and she grins. 

“Are you ready for this?” 

What is she talking about? 

Vi latches her hand with yours as she pulls you to the open floor, only a few couples begin to lightly sway to the classical being played. It’s different from what she was used to but she was nothing if not resourceful. 

“I don’t bluff, princess, and I certainly don’t lie.” Vi tugs you close as you make no arguments, she leads as you find shining faith in her eyes. 

It’s a new feeling, unfamiliar as it courses through your body. Vi isn't ashamed of you, as a friend, as a roommate; she’s full of warmth when she glances at you. Sending a sense of belonging through your skin, a home you want to throw yourself in before the foundation has even been laid. 

Violet’s too good at this. You secretly love it but you pretend like you hate it. As if getting attention from someone as kind and hot as her is a bad thing. It’s nearly too much, almost making you sick with how much you’re enjoying being held by someone who actually wants to hold you. 

She’s not playing chess and using you as a pawn. 

It’s a recurring thought you have to remind yourself of, she’s not Caitlyn. 

Violet doesn’t make promises she doesn’t keep, she doesn’t say careless compliments to only have sex with you. With a firm palm on your back, calluses kissing your spine, she’s looking at you — so much so it feels as if she’s looking right through you. 

 “You don’t have to—” She twirls you around before you can protest, guiding you back into her gentle care. 

Vi shrugs, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me princess but I’d never go back on my word.” 

The other couples start to move on the dance floor as each song blends into the next. 

“That’s refreshing.” 

Violet hand placed on your exposed back feels so warm it nearly burns her skin. Leaning in, leaning her head against yours. You smell of vanilla and something else entirely too sweet, maybe jasmine or fresh lilies. The delicate breath kissing your neck feels tempting. You would never consider yourself to be a siren, but with each promise laced up in your tongue, you wish to serenade her into a future with you. 

“So are you, sweetheart.” Violet pulls away just enough to look at you, her temple presses against yours. 

You can hear the shake in her breath, her grip around her back tightening like she’s trying to restrain herself. But she doesn’t restrain, she leans in, the tip of her pierced nose kissing yours. If either of you moved an inch forward, your lips could taste hers. 

Is her chapstick cherry, strawberry, or maybe even blueberry? They look irresistible as the glisten, you need to crave the ache deriving from your bones. Violet has itched herself into every part of your life and she’s the only one to make you feel a sliver of joy again. 

“We should…” The dazed woman doesn’t even know what she’s pleading for. This is all she’s been wanting but somehow her heart is pulling away, terrified to be crushed under the unforgiving weight of rejection. 

“Yeah.” You say. Somehow understanding what she wishes for, silently you’re able to see her exposed skin, raw to the notion of a love dying to bloom in the beginning of spring. 

Violet kisses your cheek again and somehow you feel the warmth of the fresh season. In the February rain, there is still sunshine spilling over the clouds — washing you in hope again. 

— 

The rest of your life fell back in place as if she never existed, except the ache in your heart that wouldn’t stop. You did your best to ignore it. Word got around Caitlyn went back to fiercely fucking. Apparently instead of sleeping just once a week while she was with you, she went back to her ever-growing appetite, nearly every night. It isn’t too difficult for her; not when there’s a line of women waiting to be at her beck and call. 

You threw yourself into your studies, picking more shifts at the bar and hoping she doesn’t pull any of her usual stunts, showing up drunk and begging to fuck. 

One more time, baby. This could be good for the both of us. 

Caitlyn uprooted the past semester of uni and she didn’t even have the decency to apologize. All your friends with a knowing look of — I told you so — without actually dispersing the words from their tongue. It feels too much like a blurry dream but Sevika is good at making you smile. Even if you wanna throw yourself against a wall until the memory of Kirakiller fades for good. 

The night had been busier than expected but nothing you and Sevika couldn’t handle. Even if there’s an ache in your knees, the muscles in your shoulders strained, it feels nice to just work. Everything flees your mind, all the insecurities bubbling inside you escaping to get out. The emotions you’re attempting to keep at bay and failing. 

“You good, kid?” 

“Yeah, life’s just a shit fire. Nothing new.” 

Continuing to wipe the bar down for new customers, you clean off some glasses in front of you, as you dry your hands on a clean towel before tending to the other side of the bar. 

The rest of the night comes to you in a blur. You’re flirty enough with the men to ensure a nice tip but when one tries to get too handsy, you tell them to fuck off or Sevika will throw them out. They eye up her frame as she makes her way over, height hitting at over six feet, her muscles visible through the fitted black tank she chose tonight. If you didn’t know any better, she would terrify you. 

“Got a problem here?” 

“I’m not sure, what about you boys? Do you think there’s an issue?” 

With a quick shake to their heads, they take a nervous sip of their beer and the rest of the night goes along swimmingly. It’s last call when you spot the familiar pink-haired roommate, nursing her second bottle of beer it seems. 

“How long has she been here?” 

“Came during the rush for you, but didn’t wanna bother you. She’s been waiting for a few hours.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your tone goes high and squirrelly, murderous eyes finding her glimmering, silver eyes. 

“Well, it's only Vi, right?” Sevika smirks. 

That itself was a loaded question. If you’d been asked six months ago, it would have been a flat friend but now Vi had somehow turned into a friend. The almost-kiss you’ve been having dreams about. How she would kiss you — would it be tender — or would she be depraved about it in a way that would have you bruising your knees at the speed of lighting. 

“Stop that. Vi is as harmless as a puppy.” 

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Wasn’t Kirakiller here last month waiting for you and you didn’t bat an eye? Plus, the only thing she seems to be jealous of is Vi. The diva had a meltdown when she saw Vi picking you up after the end of your shift last week, or that’s just what I heard.” 

“Mel needs to stop telling you so much.” 

“Pillow talk. It’s a beautiful thing. Isn’t it?” 

Rolling your eyes, you throw your apron at her, collecting your tips for the night. Vi still looks innocent as ever, Gert making friendly conversation with her as you just watch her. Her thick, wool beanie matches her hair and you can’t help but think of how cute she looks. Her fingerless gloves you always chastise her about, doing very little to keep her warm. 

You knew she had a date tonight. Hell, it makes you nervous why she’s even here. Racking your brain with some excuse to get you out of this. What’s so important she couldn’t wait until you got home? She waits up for you every night. Doesn’t let herself fall asleep until she hears the familiar jingle of your keys outside the door. Pretending to read the book in her hands like she’s casually perched on the couch at three in the morning for any other reason. 

“Well, she’s one of the good ones and I’m not.” 

You’re frustrated as you split the tips, handing Sevika her half. Things with Vi had been more than complicated. You weren’t sure if you were over Caitlyn but you also knew things with Vi were getting closer to an edge you couldn’t come back from.

The flashbacks of the banquet you attended as her plus one just a few weeks ago haunt you. Her lips so close to yours, the hitch in her breath and whimper you let out that stopped it all. 

You would be an idiot to ruin the best friend you’ve ever had. A deep secret buried in your mind tells you how much of a bigger idiot you would be if you let her slip right through your fingers. 

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not. She sees something in you. Count yourself lucky. Oh, and before you head off Mel wants to invite you over for Valentine’s. Some big party she’s throwing. You know how she is. Be there or she’ll come and find you if you resist.” 

The wink Sevika sends you is insufferable. Similar to her attitude this entire night. 

“Yeah yeah, tell Mel I’ll be there.” 

“Now that’s the loving spirit, lovergirl.” 

You make your way over and Gert’s hand is touching Vi’s forearm, a look in your eyes that sends an annoying pit to your stomach. Gert’s eyes flutter and her smirk is evident but Vi only gulps when you make your way over. 

Gert may just take your attitude for tiredness but Vi knows better. Your two seconds from blowing up the way your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding as you fight to act like a complete and utter cunt. Vi’s a very pretty girl. Women flirt with her all the time. It’s not anything you didn’t know but to see it up and close was new for you. 

As was the jealousy practically sprouting out of you. 

“Well call me, yeah?” Gert’s eyes sparkle, dodging you entirely as she walks away and into the back. 

Violet gulps as it’s just the two of you. 

“Why are you here?” You snip, arms crossed over your chest, unknowingly making your cleavage even more apparent. “Sev says you’ve been here for hours.” 

“I came to see you but you looked busy.” 

“Mhm, yeah. Busy. You look awfully busy.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

But you ignore her. 

You rolled your eyes, the irritation raging within you. Fucking Gert. You drunkenly told her about your confusing feelings for Vi and she took that as Vi's single. It’s slim pickings out there but fuck, did Vi have to entertain it right in front you? 

But you didn’t like to think about how she did. You weren’t dating, you weren’t fucking, you essentially were just roommates who cuddled sometimes, or went on these almost dates with and almost kissed. 

Vi hasn't been dating since Natalie but she’s free to do as she pleases. It’s a colossal hit to your pride but you can’t be mad. You are, but you can’t be. 

You really cannot be doing this. 

Vi is just a friend. Only a friend. That’s it.  

“I’m going but Gert will be off soon. Goodnight, Vi.” 

It’s short and not so sweet. Swiftly turning around as you are practically running out the door. The chill of February hits you first and then you hear Vi and her voice calling after you but you just keep walking. Hoping she’ll give up and go back. You’re a lost cause, anyone with eyes can see it. 

“Would you stop running away?” You turn around and Vi is so close that she runs into you, her arms wrapping around your waist to stop you from falling. “Jesus, are you insane? It’s fucking freezing out here. I don’t care if you’re mad right now, I’m driving us home.” 

“Violet, let me—” 

“No. You’re not getting sick. It’s past midnight. It’s not safe. We are not arguing about this.” You pout as she holds your hand and practically drags you back to her black truck. Opening the door for you as you get in, shutting the door once you’re situated before she gets in on the other side. 

Igniting the engine, it revs on and while the car warms up Vi sighs, rather loudly. She’s always good about waiting until she calms down to speak. Letting the anger roll off her, the frustration you’re sure was caused by you. She slides the beanie off her head as the car reaches a normal temperature and runs her fingers through beautiful pink strands being kissed by the light of the moon. 

The natural fluff to the strands is restored, no longer inflated by the beanie you had embroidered her full name on. You can’t keep your eyes off of her. She must feel it because Vi catches your gaze and instantly her eyes go soft. It’s too much so you turn your eyes away; focusing on the snow falling on the windshield. 

“What’s going on? I’ve been patient for weeks but something changed and you’re not telling me.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” 

“The truth would be a good place to start.” 

Vi sighs, again, when you’re silent. No smartass rebuttal, no snide remark, not even an exasperated curse underneath your breath. Complete and utter silence.

But you feel trapped.

You’re terrified. Vi is too warm, loving, and painfully-pure. She might not know it, but she’s the girl you come back for. The one who you bring home to meet the family, the one who will bring you breakfast in bed when you feel under the weather and the one who will make sure you feel loved every single day. 

When other people figure that out, if Gert does, it’s over for you. Because maybe it was foolish, pathetic, and possibly tragic but you were just trying to sort yourself out long enough to see if you want those things with her. Now, it’s only a matter of time before she dotes on someone else who can give her everything she deserves. 

You should let her have this, it’s far better than her pleading eyes begging for something you’re not sure you can give. Caitlyn broke pieces you're not sure are repairable, parts of yourself that can’t be put back together. You didn’t even realize you had been crying until Vi’s wiping away your tears. 

The pad of her thumb is careful as she wipes all the tears away. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, princess. It’s just you and me.” 

“I-I can’t. It’s too…I just can’t.” You confess, sniffling as you try and calm yourself down. 

Vi guides you into the crook of neck as she does her best to hold you over the middle console of her truck. “It’s okay, princess. Shh, I’m right here.” It’s then that your sobs wrack your body and Vi decides she needs you as close as possible. Using her strength, she brings you into her lap, wrapping her tight arms around you as you sob into her neck. Salty tears stain Vi’s neck but she really doesn’t care. 

All she cares about is you. 

“It’s about Kiramman, isn't it?” 

Vi can’t hide her disdain for the woman. That much is clear as day. Whatever happened with the two of them burned deep. 

“Maybe murder isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Vi.” You chuckle half heartedly. 

“There’s that smile..” You lift your head from the safety of her warmth, pressing your forehead against hers. Your breath is heavy on her lips, staring at the beautiful scar, the plumpness to her lips practically staring right at you. Close enough to see the constellations of freckles littered across her full cheeks. 

Your timing is awful but your heart gives into Violet’s gaze, lips falling closer together to hers. 

“Don’t make it like this.” Vi whispers, her powder-blue eyes gleaming at you. 

“What?” 

“Don’t kiss me for the first time because you’re sad about her. I can’t be her runner up. I’ve been playing that for too long.” 

“I won’t kiss you, not if you don’t want me to.” 

The tears are still fresh, but this need churning within you isn’t. Since the moment you met Vi, you’ve been fighting it. Fighting this. 

“Fuck, I do but,” Vi stalls when you unzip her leather jacket, revealing her wrapped chest, abs on display. “Shit, princess.” 

Fingers playing with the button of her trousers, waiting for her to push you away but she doesn’t. She does nothing of the sort. Vi’s breath is heavier than you’ve ever heard it. Looking down at your hands, waiting for you to pull the trigger on all of this. It’s then you realize Vi is letting you have all the control. If this is going to happen, she wants you to take it. It’s different from what you’re used to. 

A choice. 

It’s more than you could have expected. Vi isn’t pushing you away, isn’t telling you to stop. Not when you unbutton her pants and not when you suck on your fingers before slipping them beneath her boxers, feeling the soft curls and wondering if they match the drapes, before your fingers get perfectly acquainted with her. 

“Oh fuck—” Vi curses as she grabs onto your ass, lifting the short skirt you’ve been wearing all night, rucking it up to your hips as she sinks her nails into the skin. 

When you slip inside her, she clenches around your fingers, fucking her hips into your pace and Vi struggles to contain the whimpers. They flow out of her like a tidal wave. She’s been thinking about this moment with you for so long, just you and her — it’s the only thing Vi wants. 

When Vi saw you tonight she thought it was absolutely ridiculous for you to wear this strapless top, only because your nipples poked through the small fabric, but now she’s grateful you did. It’s easy to slip as she sucks a pierced nipple into her mouth. Her tongue plays with the barbell, causing you to groan as she pinches and delicately pulls at the other. As Vi kitten licks your nipple, she finds home on your ass again, before ripping your panties off. 

Her mouth is eager, hot, as she won’t stop giving attention to your chest. You’ve never wanted to kiss her more. 

“Can you take two, princess?” 

Eagerly you nod, a yearning yes falls from your lips. Vi doesn’t waste a beat. 

You try to fuck Vi harder, but she doubles down on her efforts, her fingers so deep and you feel so full. Trying to chase the high, you ride her fingers, almost as if you were riding her, your ass unable to stop humping against her. It’s just the two of you, a silent competition to get the other one off first and you can feel Vi winning. Then she’s extending her thumb, rubbing circles on your clit, and you know you’ve lost. 

“That’s it, just like that princess.” 

“Vi, Vi, baby, oh my godddddd—” 

Vi’s purely evil with every thrust of her fingers but she’s so full of light, an angel sent to you in your darkest hour. Batting her long eyelashes at you while she suckles on your bouncing tits, knuckle deep inside you as she gives you everything to just take. She’s too beautiful to look away from. With her pupils dilated, her blue eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. Letting off your perfect tits with an obnoxious pop, she kisses up your sternum as she marks you with her lips everywhere but the place you actually want. 

But then her words revere in your mind once again. 

Don’t make it like this. 

“Look at me.” 

Eyes drifting back to her as she curls her fingers inside you, your grip on her hair iron tight, unwillingly to let go of you. 

“Such a beautiful girl, so special, so pretty when you form a sentence. The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no need to be jealous, babygirl, don’t need anyone else but you. Mhm, just you, alright? Yeah? Keep looking at me, yeah baby, just like this.” 

You nod, close to the brink, her compliments send a rush through your head and your throbbing clit feels it. 

The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. 

“Baby, I, shitttt Violettttt—” 

The name of her full name, the first time she’s ever heard it fall from your lips since the first time you met. Vi’s too close and hearing you scream her name isn’t helping. 

“C’mon, princess. Show me how pretty you can be.” Vi commands and you come undone around her fingers. 

Arching your back against the steering wheel, and the horn blows. 

You giggle and so does she but the soft moment is short lived as your body twitches, selfishly basking in the way you irrevocably coated her fingers in your cum. 

Bringing Violet with you as you pull at her hair, her face planting on on your chest as your breasts smother her moans as she jumps off the cliff with you. Sucking at the flesh, marking what she craves as you fuck yourself on her fingers, her pace even more brutal as Vi coaxes you through your blindingly, hot orgasm. 

“Just like that princess, pussy just can’t stop drenching for me, yeah? My pretty girl can paint my face next time. Do you want that? My face covered in your cum, dribbling down my chin, on my tits…you’ll clean me up though. A good girl like you will. So fuckin’ pretty.” 

One slap to your ass has you trembling, body shaking and that’s when Vi lays off, her fingers slipping out of you and you feel so empty without her. 

As if you didn’t need any more torture, you watch as she lavishes at her fingers, covered in your cum, her high cheekbones suctioning as she sucks every last drop. Vi smirks as you drool a little bit before you wipe the saliva off. Sweet as always, she doesn’t say a word. Saving you the embarrassment from a crude joke. 

One Caitlyn would definitely make. 

“Um, sorry, I think I got carried away.” 

“We both did, it’s okay, Vi.” 

There’s a soft silence, it would almost become cumbersome if it wasn’t so peaceful. The only thing you can hear is her exhale of breath as Vi tries to regain some composure. All of it feels complicated, the severed tie to Caitlyn doesn’t seem so entirely severed when her ex-girlfriend makes you come in the driver’s seat of her truck. 

If anyone found out about this, about the two of you, it would be the talk of the town. Caitlyn’s exes making a victory lap in Kirakiller’s grave. The victory is so triumphant even the goddess on top of the mountain gets scorched. It’s your worst nightmare. Your wish is to coddle this as long as you can. Savor the feeling, keeping Vi under lock and key. 

You just want to have this one thing for yourself. 

Even if you are far from her reach, she has a way of making sure any good thing gets ripped from you, torn from your hands before you even have a second to enjoy. As much as you enjoyed her company, this complicates. 

But it doesn’t stop your heart from thumping loudly. A shiver runs up your spine as Vi pulls down your skirt. There’s a tenderness to her touch as she fixes your top, covering your chest once again. You nearly lock your lips with hers when she rubs your full cheeks with the pad of her thumb, smoothing along her jaw as she leans in to kiss the tip of your nose.  Unable to snuffle it, you smile. 

It’s genuine when the light reaches your eyes. Vi says nothing, anything would be too heavy, something neither of you are ready for. A silent agreement to enjoy this moment for what it is. 

“Are you doing anything for Valentines? Mel and Sevika are having this party and I thought you might wanna go together.” The panic surges through her powder-blue eyes the moment she asks the question. 

Is that why she came tonight? Did she want to ask you? 

Reminding you of the first night you met, a party and Sevika and Mel’s but you find yourself to be in an entirely different position. The idea of a date without the pressure, you’d be surrounded by your friends. But you tremor with the thought of Violet wanting to spend Valentine’s day with you. 

“But it’s, um, perfectly fine if you already have plans. It's just I don’t want to spend it alone. Powder is off spending it with Ekko this year, Vander is doing god knows what and Silco well, that would just be pathetic if I asked him what his plans are. I really just—” 

“Violet.” 

Violet.

Violet. 

Violet. 

The second it rolls off your tongue, a crimson hue forms on her freckled cheeks, even spreading across the bridge of her nose before it coats the tips of her ears. A soft pink unlike her vibrant locks of messy hair, partially due to your tugging and pulling. 

“Sorry, Vi. It just slipped.” 

“No. I mean not no. I wasn’t trying to be rude. You can call me, Violet, if you want to.” 

I like hearing you say my name, it sounds even more beautiful than when you whispered it falling apart on my fingers. 

But Vi couldn’t say that. 

“Well then, Violet, I would love to go with you. Count me in.” 

She didn’t need to know you already had plans on going. This was much better. 

— 

Mel decides to take you up on the offer of studying at the library tonight. With your future hanging on by the thread that is your scholarship, you have to keep your grades airtight. Not to mention the downfall of your situation with Caitlyn only puts a bullseye on your back. 

The first couple of hours have been silent for the two of you, the accountability keeping you in check to stay focused. Then the third hour approaches and the two of you start to quietly converse in the nearly vacant library. 

“Did Sev tell you who came into Leagues last night?” 

Shutting your book, your eyes squint in confusion. 

“Kiramman.” 

“I thought the ship had sailed away during that fight. God, it nearly made me want to strangle her and we all know violence is more of Sev’s choice of resolution.” 

“It has. She likes checking in on her so-called…wounded. She’s never been one for grace. I wish she would make it less obvious, Leagues isn’t even her scene. Her pompous ass would never be caught dead in there when we were, well, whatever the fuck you would call us. But she’s been quite the regular ever since I cut things off. 

It’s surprising she would come to you, but on the other hand, she didn’t know where you lived. It was the only straw for her to grasp on. It’s probably killing her to know she’s been blocked on everything, no contact, a complete ghost town. Almost as if none of you even existed together, just a memory faded, one you hope to burn into ash. 

“Well, Vi was there hanging out with Gert and—” 

“She was?” 

Mel suddenly felt like she said something she shouldn’t have. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, they did talk for a bit, yes, but how does that have any level of importance?” Mel can’t hide her lips upturning. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hey kid, lighten up. I think you’re two seconds away from snapping that pencil in half.” The rasp of Sevika’s voice pulls you back to earth, but it’s too late for the pencil as the infrastructure snaps. You feel like a child, caught in doing something they shouldn’t do. 

“Oh, so this is a thing? Vi?” Mel almost speaks a little too loudly, her voice reaching endless limits as the object of your affection is named in the very silent library. “I just thought you wanted to make Kirakiller jealous. Not actually…” 

You bury your head in your notebook, wanting to strangle Sevika as you hear her chuckle, taunting you as your traitorous heart fails you in your time of need. Maliciously giving you up as your tragic negligence exposes you truly. 

Even if it’s silly, needy, or a little bit selfish — you wanted this one part of your life to be concealed from beady eyes. 

“Finally coming to your senses.” Sevika taunts. 

“Enough. I’m not…Violet and aren’t…that’s not what this is.” 

Mel gives you a knowing look, arching her perfectly arched eyebrow, hazel eyes with a ring of gold surrounding them piercing so deeply into your soul. It almost has you stuttering out how you let her fuck you in Violet’s truck, driving you back home with her warm, soft hand on your exposed thigh. Absentmindedly drawing circles into your skin. 

“Violet?” Sevika and Mel say in unison. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“Vi doesn’t let anyone call her that. The only one who's ever called her that is well, her family. She yelled at Kirakiller for calling her that whenever they fought. Vi looked like she could rip her tongue out.” 

The information makes your head spin, there is only so much you can take. 

“It’s just a name. Seems like Vi is preoccupied anyways. This is just so…” 

“Hey Vi!” 

You turn around, hearing her greet someone she was friendly with. In her athletic shorts and cleats, it’s clear practice had started again, her gym bag in tote. The sweat and grime layered over her face, the sleeves of her jersey rolled into her shoulders. With each movement, her muscles rippled in the dim lighting of the library. 

The navy blue jersey complimented her vibrant strands of pink, she laughs at whoever she’s talking to and she looks so happy and at peace, it makes your heart soar. Rugby always made her the happiest. Vander and Vi used to play when she was just a girl, even Powder joined as they got older but when Violet got stronger, she restricted for playing seriously with classmates her own size and not old men whose knees could give out in any second. 

She still doesn’t see you and you want to keep it that way so you turn around, minding your own even if your two closest friends in the world just watched you gawk over Violet. 

“It’s just going to get worse. Living together. It’s only a matter of time until one of you…” Sevika gestures to the pencil lying broken on the table. 

“Well, try not to act too disheartened at the party. Vi said she’s bringing someone. I’m sure it won’t work out between them. Ever since she’s gotten here she hasn’t been able to—” 

Sevika places her hand on Mel, to cue her to silence herself as Vi walks up to the table, grabbing the chair closest to you and discreetly pushes it even closer to you when she takes her seat. 

Immediately, you chastise yourself for loving how turned on you are by her sweaty body, her muscles clearly acquiring the pump from her practice, those stupid strong calves brushing against yours. You admire the scar against her top lip. Tattoos on display, making your head feel dizzy, and she leans over and asks if she can have a couple of your orange slices. Before falling right back in conversation with Sevika. 

Violet does anything to be close to you. Mel and you are engrossed in a conversation, when she shows you the video you were discussing, Vi has to lean over to see. Her arm hanging off your shoulder, her neck craning to see but when she sits back, she keeps her arm around the back of your chair. 

“How did practice go today?” You ask. 

“Fine.” But the grass stains on her shirt tell you differently, so does the burn on her exposed shin. 

“Who the fuck did you let kick your ass?” Sevika interjects before you have the chance to. 

“Can’t kick Kirakiller’s ass. Dean Kiramman might throw me out faster than I can blink. I’m already on thin ice and Kirakiller just made it worse. She doesn’t like losing.” 

Violet glances at you, her expression unreadable as she turns her attention back to Sevika. 

“Got outvoted for Team Captain and she can’t fucking stand it. You know the pompous Kirammans don't believe in democracy. One for all and all for none. Some bullshit Kirakiller says while she’s trying to out-bench me in the weight room. Not my fucking problem. Hasn’t been for a while. She went in for some cheap blows during drills. It is what it is.” 

Sevika nods her head, “Seems like you did a real number on her. She shouldn’t have fumbled half of this table.” 

“Sev.” You shoot a glaring warning. 

Violet visibly tenses but she doesn’t remove her arm, Mel elbowing Sev in the gut softly before she coughs up a quiet apology. The tension could be cut with a knife, but Violet just plays with the material of your cotton shirt, soothing herself as she tries to forget. 

“Right, yep.” An awkward silence disperses before Mel and Sevika excuse themselves leaving you and Violet alone. 

“Violet, I can talk to her. She shouldn’t be taking this out on you. This is all my fault.” 

“It’s not you, alright? Not directly. Caitlyn likes to hurt when she’s hurt. I can handle her.” 

Vi chew on her lip, breaking through skin as blood comes to the surface, the iron taste coating her tongue. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question Violet. 

“She knows she can’t lash out at the one thing she wants.” 

The one thing we both want, Vi thinks to herself. 

She takes the brunt of Caitlyn’s anger and she doesn’t even know why. Maybe an understanding but doesn’t know the full picture. You’re too much of a coward to let it slip. If everything goes south, the woman you adored could truly hate you and that’s the last thing you wanted. It’s silly to even hide a secret. Especially when you feel as if she sees right through your heart when her curious blue eyes look at you. 

“Trust me, I’m playing against what I want but she’s not as done as you think she is. She’ll come back for you, princess. You’re someone anyone would come back for. I’m the low totem pole trash found underneath her designer sole, there’s never been a place for me in her life.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“No, it isn’t. You’re more than how she treated you. Don’t talk about yourself like that. It’s the furthest thing from the truth.” 

Vi nods, tries to offer a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“What really happened? You look banged up and it looks more than just a rough practice. You know you can tell me anything. I’m all ears for you.” 

Vi struggles for a moment, and contemplates on telling you the truth. You deserve to know the truth and she knows that but she also can’t stand for Caitlyn to hurt another piece of you. This entire time apart from Caitlyn, you’ve done your best to separate and get over her. She can’t be the person to make you feel any worse about the situation. 

Caitlyn can’t get more in the way, she won’t allow it. 

“Kiramman just being a cunt, okay? It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Okay but I’m cleaning that cut on your arm when we get home.” You nudge your shoulder against hers. Talking solace as she places her head in the crook of your neck. 

“Whatever you want, princess.” 

Then the question nags in the back of your mind, I saw her with Gert. But you’re putting her with Caitlyn. You think she’s cheating on you but there’s isn’t anything to cheat on. You’ve never spoken about that night in her pick-up truck but still dream of it. 

Luscious, greedy cunt taking her fingers in ease as you fucked her to completion. The whines she made, how harmonious they were with your own. The image stays imprinted on your mind, scorching the deepest depths of your mind for all eternity to see. 

But it’s not everyone taking a look. 

It’s just you. Keeping a lid on it has been more than you bargained for. Vi is the person who has been there to help you. When you’ve felt like the cards are stacked against you, it’s her that pulls you out. Every day after the breakup, if you could even call it that, you evidently were just a warm body to fuck for Caitlyn, Violet was there to make sure you were okay. 

The daily check-ins, making sure you were staying hydrated through all the tears, cooking dinner for the both of you when she knows you skipped lunch. It’s the little things you’re beating yourself up over and it makes you wonder what was really going on. 

If Caitlyn had taught you anything, it was people did fuck you because that’s the only thing they want. But you wanted Violet to be different. More than you ever had than Caitlyn, you need her to be more than what you’ve always been. 

“Are you alright, princess? Lost you there for a second.” 

You hope she never does. And you never want to lose her. You swallow your jealousy, you decide to trust, despite your best efforts; your heart remains unprotected. You chose blind trust, even if you know better, you lean into the faith. 

“Yeah, I’m here with you. Promise.” 

—

There’s red, pink, and white — everywhere. Mel is passionate about Valentine's day. In weeks of build up, this party is all she spoke of. Dragging you along to shop when buying decorations, but you didn’t mind. Sevika covering you at the bar means one less shift this week. After last night’s events, you could use the breather. 

If Sev wasn’t there, putting the men in place, the status of your safety would severely be in question. Vi came after you called, just complaining about it on your break, and thirty minutes later she sat on your section of the bar with one of her favorite books in hand. 

“You didn’t have to come. See? Still in one piece.” 

“Mhm and that’s how I want you to stay. Sorry princess, I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s not like you needed any more reason to enjoy her company. You have too many. And they come to your mind as needy as a bee to honey. It’s why you bail on coming as a pair, you had a valid excuse, but you also knew if Mel knew why you were helping decorate their home she would literally kick you back to be with Violet. 

Hanging the banner in the entry was the last of your duties and before you knew it everyone was shuffling in one by one. The party is in full swing by the time Violet walks in the front door and you nearly collapse from just how damn good she looks. A bouquet of flowers, an assortment of pink and yellow roses with a few lilies meticulously placed in the arrangement. 

“I hope it’s not too much but I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

“They are beautiful, Violet. You really didn’t have to.” 

She smiles as she leans in to kiss your temple, “Of course I did.” 

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch, the games Mel has planned are fun. Everyone engages with each other and it is surprisingly pleasant. The only unsettling feeling stirring in the pit of your stomach is the ginger in the corner who has been eyeing you all night but the shirley temples you’ve been drinking all night has you dazed, sitting on Violet’s lap with her arms wrapped around your waist. 

Vi’s a bit inebriated as she plays with the hem of your dress, whispering how beautiful you look in your ear. You fidget in her hold, grinding against her even when you’re really not even meaning to. 

Astoundingly, the door slams, her arrival being announced. 

Uninvited and as prompt as ever. 

“Oh, so this—“ Caitlyn gestures to Vi as if she’s the sticky gum on the bottom of her overpriced sneaker, “my leftovers is why you chose to end things?” 

She’s charging as the ginger gets up from her seat, trying to hold Caitlyn back but she fails but in an instant, Vi stands up. Every protective bone in her body goes hyperactive, proving herself as a blockade between you and the devil herself. The smirk Vi wears makes Caitlyn violently scowl. She may be taller, but she’s smaller, thinner, not packing nearly as much muscle in her punch. 

There was nothing she would love more than to punch that stupid, coy fucking smile off her face. 

“What are you gonna do, cupcake?” She says the once endearing nickname, crathing to slither underneath her skin, she wants to piss her off to no end. Make Caitlyn regret ever fucking with either of you. It’s all this ever was, a game. Kiramman’s are always desperate to win, to annihilate your opponent. Any future moves made would be contingent in how she made you feel. 

“Get out of my way, Violet.” 

“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out. And what are you going to do about it? Everyone may be afraid of you outside of the field, but in case you have forgotten, this isn't on campus where things are done the Kiramman way. If you wanna take a cheap shot at me, better make it count.” 

With a careful gaze, Caitlyn’s eyes beam down to the hand clinging to Vi’s bicep, how you’re looking at Vi and touching her skin and how dreadful you look to her. 

She directs her voice to you, “What? You’re gonna pick her over me? Like we mean nothing?” 

Bitterly, you laugh, but it isn’t funny. Not one bit. 

“It’s painful, isn’t it? Being on the other side of it.” Taking a step forward, leaning against Violet’s shoulder, intertwining your fingers together. “Those were your words exactly, Kiramman. This is nothing.” 

“I–” For the first time, right before your eyes, she’s stunned. For the first time since she’s met you, she’s speechless. 

“Caitlyn, we should just–” 

“Maddie, enough.” 

The both of you have done more than just rattle her, you’ve surprised her and Violet would be smiling so damn wide if Caitlyn still wasn’t in front of her. 

“Baby, can we talk about this? Just a minute of your time and we can sort this out.” Violet won’t stand for the desperate pleas for a moment longer. She takes a step forward, getting in Kiramman’s face, “I think you and your little orange muppet should get the fuck out before I throw you out myself.” 

“This isn’t any of your business, Vi.” 

“When you’re talking to my girl like that, it really fucking is.” 

My girl. 

Violet seems to be two seconds away from physically throwing her out when Mel finally interjects. “Caitlyn, you are unwelcome, uninvited, and you’re trespassing. I ask that you please leave before other extreme measures need to be taken.” 

A venomous scoff leaves her lips as Maddie drags her away, slamming the door on her way out. 

You're rattled, but not from Caitlyn, but from the assertiveness you didn’t know Vi possessed. The implications of this would serve consequences to not just Vi but to you but you couldn’t focus on that right now. She had called you her girl. 

Vi’s girl. 

“Well now that’s out of the way…” Mel jokes, lightening the mood as the party jumps back in full swing. But all you hear is Vi’s voice calling you hers and it’s like she knows what you’re thinking of when she spares a glance. 

“I’m sorry it just slipped but I couldn’t stand her looking at you like that. Like you were some piece of meat she can have whenever she wants.” Violet apologizes. Rubbing the back of your hand with your thumb, tracing her name into your skin. 

“It’s okay, um, it was actually really hot…” Immediately, she takes a step forward in an effort to be closer to you. “I-I’ve never really seen you be so uh–” 

“What princess?” Mischievously, she girls her head, biting her lip right before she licks them, her tongue piercing teasing you. 

“I dunno…it was just really hot seeing you like that…calling me that.” 

“My girl?” Vi smiles. It’s so genuine, making you swoon with a sincerity only she can give. 

“Yeah, something like that, maybe.” 

“I can call you a lot more things if you want. Wanna take a bet if they actually locked their bathroom?” 

Neither of you have ever moved so quickly in your life. Clothes get thrown on the tile the minute the two of you are alone, pressing your frame against the door as she decorates your neck in sovereign possession. She never wants anyone to question, you’re her girl. 

“Vi, do you,  fuccckkkk, really think this is a good idea?” She only grunts in reply as you're nearly fully exposed, your weeping cunt grinding against the muscular thigh she offers so graciously. Your friendship with her hangs in the balance, and you don’t want to think about that right now but you can’t help but have your doubts. 

“We can stop if you want to. Whatever you want.” Vi moves to remove her thigh until you whimper, tugging her closer by her pink hair towards you. 

“I didn’t say that. Please, don’t stop.” 

“Mhm, okay princess but only because you asked so nicely.” 

Vi pushes her against your pussy, your hips falling more erratic as Violet gets lost in your neck. Lips marking whatever inch of skin they can find as your folds get the needed friction from her trousers. Blindly sucking on the sweet spot behind your ear, making you putty in her hands. 

With a tight grip, you pull at her vibrant hair, her roots grounding you as the build in the pit of your stomach increases. But she pulls away just when you’re getting close. If your hands didn’t have the edge of the sink to hold onto, you’re not sure your legs would have supported you. 

“Did you want to stop?” 

“No.” Vi smirks. 

“Then why the hell did you?” 

She says nothing, infuriating you further. It almost pisses you off to the point where it’s painful. Vi keeps smirking at god knows what. Maybe she finds you just as pathetic as Caitlyn does. It may have been a distant future, when Caitlyn had actually been decent in her freshman year, her and Vi were the talk of the town until it all abruptly ended and no one knew why. You’ve never asked. 

Vi’s friendly with you but not to the point where she’s an open book. She’s hardly an open book with anyone, she’s careful when she hooks up with others. Especially with the who, she doesn’t want someone who's going to go off and tell the rest of campus how many fingers she used while she makes them come. 

But now, you like her. Really fucking badly. 

The way she snapped on her, protecting you, nearly connecting her fist with Caitlyn’s sharp jawline. It’s one of the reasons you’re in here with her. But still, not knowing the reason makes you feel slightly unsettled. 

There's been different rumors over the past few years surrounding Vi the sweetest girl around and Kirakiller. All of them painting Caitlyn in a god awful light. 

Kirakiller cheated on Vi. 

Vi left because Kirakiller didn’t want to make things official. 

Kirakiller‘s tenacious appetite for the bedroom couldn’t be satisfied by Vi. 

Kirakiller said Vi couldn’t make her come. 

The list goes on and on, and on. Neither of them were seen to be around each other again, not until Caitlyn seemed to catch you in her web. It was the sin of the century. Vi’s roommate seeing her ex-girlfriend. It was messy to say the least. A few long weeks and you cooking Vi her favorite meal, buying her favorite sour candy in bulk, along with some new gadget for her computer she’d been wanting. 

It’s all it took to forgive you. Her only request was to keep Caitlyn out of the apartment while she was here. She never spoke about her again and you never pressed the wound. If Vi didn’t ever want to talk about it but why they broke up gnawed at you. 

But Violet doesn’t seem to give a shit about that right now. 

“Get on your knees, princess.” 

You obliged as Vi took off the sweater, revealing a grey fitted tank-top, showing off just how fit she stayed in the crisp of winter. 

“Good girl. Now, take off my belt, yeah?” 

You released the belt from the latch, pulling it through the loop and handing it to Vi. Her firm grip grabs the belt, as she kneels behind you, bounding your wrists together by the smooth, cold leather. It’s black with a silver clasp, it feels nice against your wrists as she tightens it. As far as you can tell, it’s new and it makes you wonder if she bought it for just an occasion like this. 

Wrists bound behind your back, Vi slaps the fat of your ass before soothing over with delicate fingers, the calloused pads of her fingers playing with your puckered hole as she thumbs it gently. 

Pulling it back for a moment, collecting saliva in her warm mouth before drooling over your ass. Smothering her own spit, a place you’d never let anyone touch. You've convinced yourself all this time it’s because of your boundaries but when Vi did it, you didn’t have a problem with it. Then you realize you have trust with Vi, one you hadn’t had with anyone else. 

It was just a spur of the moment, two horny girls lonely and single, needing someone else but you also know Vi wasn’t one to sleep with half the campus. She’s a one-woman kind of girl. Maybe you need that trust. 

You’re hesitant, still but you can’t bring yourself to say no. She’s attentive, making sure you’re alright with each moment. Not wanting to push you past a limit both of you can’t come back from. 

“Is this alright?” Vi whispers into your ear as if she can read your mind. 

“Yeah, it’s good.” You take a beat before moaning as you lean into her chest, “A little too good.” 

Vi chuckles into your ear, the vibrations tingle throughout your body. Suddenly your mind is wondering how a simple giggle can make you feel so soaked. With a gentle hand, her thumb keeps on playing with your ass as she maneuvers you into her lap and that’s when you feel it. 

A faux cock. 

“Is that a—” You want to ask but for the first time in your life, you feel shy. 

“A cock?” 

“Someone’s cocky.” 

You both giggle at your innuendo. 

Lightly, with soaked fingers she pulls out of your lips, she rims your puckered hole, a coveted limit in your body but with her, you so freely wish to give it. 

The eye contact feels awfully intimate but you can’t bring yourself to tear yourself away. It’s entirely new to you. Caitlyn never liked to look you in the eyes when she fucked you. Always something to hide, how she truly feels about you is privy to anyone else but her. 

You didn’t have the right to know. 

With Vi, everything becomes so clear. 

It’s crystal clear when she asks if she can slide a finger inside your ass, it’s overly intimate when you tell her yes as your eyes never leave hers. Her eyes are as hooded as you’ve ever seen them but she won’t break eye contact. Not for a second. You’re questioning if she’s even blinking. 

With each passing second, her pink hair surrounds you as her forehead pressed against yours, blue eyes open as she asks again if you’re okay with it. You give her another yes before her middle finger slides in your mouth, your tongue circling the digit before sucking on it dramatically. Letting off with a pop, Vi teases your forbidden hole one more time before she gently coaxes you open for her. 

“Shit, Shit, that’s—” You squint your eyes shut. The new sensation is a little too much for your brain to process much less the fluttering pressure in the pit of your stomach. 

“Look at me, princess. Keep your eyes on me, alright?” Vi lightly commands, her tone as sweet as you’ve ever heard it. 

With the sweet words thrown your way, your eyes flutter open, long eyelashes kissing your brow bone. Vi smiles softly, her top lip lifting as she sees the way you’re looking at her. 

Kirakiller is so fucking stupid, Vi thinks to herself be she keeps the words to herself. 

Vi stretches you more as her entire finger sits within you, waiting for you to be ready for more and when you are, she nearly comes herself. You’re louder than anyone she’s ever been with. She’s thankful for the loud music Mel insisted on, some shitty pop tune drowning out the two of you. Violet’s never been so thankful. 

Those shitty pop tunes are drowning the especially deafening screams of Vi’s name until your vocal chords are shot. With a strong wrist and the flick of her wrist, she can tell you’re already close. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.” Shining eyes are glossy as ever as you struggle to keep them open and focused on her. “Never felt this, shiiiittttt, Vi, please. I’m so close.” 

“What do you mean? Has no one ever fucked your ass? You’ve been sleeping with Kiramman. How have you not—” 

“Never let her.” That sends Vi’s clit throbbing viciously. 

“Kirakiller’s an ass lover, everyone knows that.” 

“Are we gonna sit her talking about her the entire time or are you gonna make me come?” Agitating you roll your eyes but Vi licks her lips slowly as a distraction, pulling your attention to her pierced tongue and then you feel another finger stretch at your ass. 

“What did you say, princess? Something about coming?” Vi uses another finger, her long digits spreading the slit in your lower lips, making a mess as she spreads the pre-cum spilling out of you. “Be a good girl won’t you?” Vi pinches your clit and just like that your eyes shut again, a completely shattering orgasm washed over you. 

Body twitching as Vi keeps you in her hold with a strong grip, your body riding against her fingers but she isn’t too pleased for a moment as she tuts. 

“What did I say princess? Eyes open, now.” You struggle, again, but you’re able to meet her demand. There’s an urge to look away, to hide in Vi’s pink hair, her tattooed neck, but you do none of it. Dangerous eyes look at yours as she fucks you through it. You wanted to tug at her hair, pull her closer to you, but hands are bound so all you can do is take it, with loud moans being released, ones you’re trying to control but utterly fail to do so. 

“So pretty like this, yeah? God, those gorgeous eyes of yours are gonna get me in trouble. Crying for me like that, makes me wanna take you back to our home and fuck you on my bed, baby. You’re such a beautiful girl and deserve to be treated like one, my sweet girl.” 

Vi isn’t sure if you’re crying from the intimacy or from the orgasm, probably both. It’s not a secret since the start of the semester you’d been with Kiramman but Vi knew first hand what that meant. There’s no eye contact, no cuddling, no reassurances, it’s just sex. When Vi was going through it herself, she could see the toll it even took on Caitlyn but she didn't break. Her resolve is rock solid and Vi had learned it the hard way, just as she supposed you did. 

It was an endless cycle and it seems Kiramman continued it again with you. It’s evil the way she pulls you apart, makes each part of you feel special, like you’re her entire world and there’s no one else but there always is someone else. Always. Kiramman will lie through her perfectly aligned teeth but there is always someone she keeps for a backup. 

Vi wipes away your tears as she soothes you with soft whispers and delicate hands running up and down your back. It feels like the easiest thing she’s done, soothing you into serenity. With gentle care, she takes the belt off of your wrists, rubbing soft circles over the sensitive skin as you come back to yourself. The alcohol feels like a memory. Her kindness makes your head spin and your heart flutter. 

Now, you understand why the two of them never worked. 

Vi is everything Caitlyn struggles to be. 

It’s like looking in a mirror of everything you want to be but knowing you’ll never be her. The imperfection of Caitlyn’s kindness and the overabundance of Vi’s is probably too much of a bruise to her ego. One could see how much it would eat her alive. Vi helps you relocate your clothes that are scattered across the bathroom floor. Shamelessly, she watches as you dress yourself again, not one to look away from the woman she had screaming her name not even five minutes prior. 

“You’re so beautiful, can’t keep my eyes off you.” 

“C’mon Violet. We live together, I’m the same ole’ me. Now, you’ve just fucked my ass.” You try to brush off the compliment. You feel more similar to Caitlyn then you’d like to admit. Vi’s wholeheartedness is overwhelming, leaving a sting of longing every time she looks at you with a light in her curious eyes. 

You slip on your dress and Vi is quick to zip you up but not without kissing the nape of your neck. 

Tonight’s actions suddenly feel very sobering. 

Vi isn’t done with you as she lifts you up on the countertop, finding her sweatshirt before she covers her toned figure again. You’re wondering what she’s playing at. What she’s thinking about. Vi finds your heels, the versace platform heels Caitlyn had gifted you for your birthday a week after the fact. A pity gift. Similar to herself, you couldn’t say no, it was just too pretty. 

They’re too expensive to come from a broke college student. Vi knows where they came from but she exercises that tight lip of hers. 

With a gentle tap, she taps your calf lightly a couple times and you offer your leg to her as she slaps the heel back onto your feet, clasping the strap around your ankle before she does the same for the other. The both of you stare at the lingering hands on your thighs, rubbing soft circles into the skin, the bluntness of her fingernail causes goosebumps to spread across the skin. 

Caitlyn is terrified of this, something so soft and fragile, her grip would be too tight; she’d break you in the process. She’s a chapter you want to close. All you want now is the woman in front of you. 

Vi has only ever been just a friend and she treats you like this. An imaginative mind, one of your own making, starts to wonder…if Vi was in love with Caitlyn, was she even sweeter to her? If her golden heart wasn’t enough for Caitlyn, whose would it be? 

The question makes you lost on the idea. Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity of being fucked like you just were, but you see Vi an entirely new light. One that feels as blinding as the sun but she’s smothering you with a perfect amount of warmth. 

“So…that happened.” Lightly, Vi laughs trying to brush off the seriousness of the moment. 

“Yeah and it seems you came packing.” 

Mel has been talking her up all week, telling her she wasn’t just seeing things, all she had to do was give you space and you would come to her slowly. It seems like Mel hadn’t been totally wrong. You are clearly attracted to her but the more protective side of her mind wonders if this is all that it extends to — sex. 

The flashback of Caitlyn and all her little twisted games comes to mind while your curious eyes inspect her intensely. 

“It’s just a stroke of optimism.” Vi tries to control her breathing when you close your legs around her waist, crossing your legs over the other as you lock her into a secure position. 

The tight dress you’re wearing bunches up again, almost resting on your hips. 

“I think you were wanting to stroke something else.” 

“Uh. No. I was, definitely…okay…maybe I was. A little bit.” Vi admits as you continue to play with her hair, your heel lightly grazing her bum as you tease her for just a little bit longer. 

“It’s cute. I like it when you’re confident. You packed a cock in your pants because you wanted to fucked me tonight. Be proud about it. Yeah, maybe you didn’t get to use it but you sure did fuck me.” 

“How do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“You’re so brave. Nothing stands in your way, when you want something you go after it. I could never do that.” 

“Well, you kinda did. Unless, um—” But the words die in your throat. Suddenly they seem too real and if you tell her, this whole charade will be over, reality will set in and this magical night will only be reduced to primal, drunken needs. 

For all you know, Vi didn’t mean any of this. Maybe you just wanted to get your pussy wet, wanted to fuck a pretty girl, needed to see some tits to get her through this lonely holiday. The one that patronizes the single. 

Maybe that’s all this is. You’re just a nice piece of ass to fuck. It makes you feel dirty, the air feels thinner, and before you know it Vi’s whispering in your ear to take deep breaths. 

“Princess, I’m right here, alright. Just breathe and tell me. It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I-I just thought because you know, well, after the last month I thought I was more than just…” 

“A girl I wanna fuck?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, you are. Would that be such a bad thing? I know with Caitlyn you had something casual, and maybe you liked things that way, but I want something more serious. I don't want to play with your feelings and I don’t want you to play mine. If this is what you want then I think it’d be worth a shot but if not, we can just be friends, alright? There’s no pressure.” 

“But Natalie…you said she wanted something serious and you didn’t.” 

“I lied to you and I’m sorry for that. But I wanted something serious, just not with her.” 

“You know what you want.” You stated it more like a question, puzzled and perplexed about a woman, for the first time, saying exactly what she’s looking for. 

“Well…yeah? I respect you enough not to waste your time.” Her eyes gleam, expectant and waiting for you to answer. 

“I’ve never had someone so honest with me. I kinda don’t know what to do with it.” 

The most sincere eyes look into yours, as she leans into your fingers that play with her vibrant, violet hair. It’s all so fast but Vi nurtures everything once broken within you until you’re healthy once again, restoring the strength you once felt before your heart stopped listening to your head. 

It’s a warm, comforting feeling you want to sink into. She’s the closest you’ve had to a semblance of hope. You wondered how anyone could ever let go of her. It wasn’t that she had just given you the best orgasm of your life, it was more than that. Vi made you feel more in thirty minutes than Caitlyn had in your entire time together. 

There wasn’t a worry in the back of your mind if this mattered, if you mattered. Her eyes were so open, letting you into the love dripped like honey, full of sweetness, every empty jar of yours waiting to be filled. 

“Don’t do anything right now then. For now,” Vi leaned forward, her lips ghosting yours. Close enough where her breath could be felt on yours. “I don’t know where you’re at but I’ve never felt like this, about anyone, and if you wanna start slow we can. Although, we have twice now so I don’t know how slow we can actually go, or we could even go on real date and then you can decide but—”

“Violet?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You talk too much.” 

You lean in and Vi doesn’t waste the opportunity, capturing your top lip between hers, wanting nothing more than to get lost in every inch of you. Holding you like a delicate flower she’s afraid to crumple in her hands, Vi lets herself get lost in this. 

For once she doesn’t think of the consequences, if this is moving too fast, wondering what Caitlyn would do if she knew and who she would actually be jealous of. It’s a slippery slope, you messing with her, Vi messing with you. 

But she desperately wants it to be more than your roommate, more than a friend — more than secret meeting where Vi fucks you senseless. She can’t get into this and for it to mean nothing and she’s terrified Caitlyn already has her claws dung in deep to you. Then there’s a moan of Vi’s name being said, and her greedy tongue slips in your mouth as she aches for more of you. 

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling your frame impossibly close to her, commanding your mouth with her pierced tongue as if she was born for it, the coolness of the stainless steel ball tangled with your tongue is a high you want to chase. With every touch, a shiver runs up her spine, like there’s a live wire exposed within you and only her touch can spark it alive. 

Vi knows where you want to be touched before you say a word, like she has a connection to your mechanisms, every craving designed for her to carry out as if she’s the one who put them there in the first place. Violet’s pelvis presses against yours, as she gives you the kiss of your life, it leaves you breathless as you chase her lips, your grip pulling at her roots as if it’s your sole purpose in life. 

The rest of the world melts away and it’s just the two of you. The lingering shadow of your ex fades into the background and all you see is Violet. Right under your nose this entire time and only now do you realize just how wonderfully perfect she is. 

Violet ravishes in how good it feels to be chosen and it’s by you. 

The angel who can fly all on her own now; wings no longer clipped by the devil herself. 

Fin. 

[screampied]

do you have any gojo fic recs? sfw and nsfw but nothing else really specific, just in general <3

sure 🎀. i’ll mention some of my fav gojo works i’ve read so farr

laundry day by @satoruhour one of the first gojo fics i’ve read here when i joined tumblr and selineeeee never disappoints. her roommate! gojo is so SCRUMPTIOUS i highly recommend. miss u girlie !!!

older bf gojo! series by @sttoru READ THIS SERIES NOOWWWW. it has both sfw & nsfw n the dynamic always has me swooning. i’d also rec karina’s angst satoru fics if you like angst bc her angst is immaculate and heart wrenching. perfect combo mmh 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

brigerton! gojo series by @fushitoru VERY VERY GOOD this entire series feels like the actual show but better n its so descriptive with lots of yummy angst, plot twists n more. aashi has lots of delicious yummy works, i’d also rec her clan head! gojo and spiderman! gojo bc it’s actual literature >>>

unmistakably yours by @tonycries thisf and i think her fic called ‘initiation!’ were the first tony fics i’ve ever read last year ANDWEEEROO. just ssssoo good, love a good best friends to lovers trope. the part with his powers was so cool n actually changed something in me. GOOD FUCKING SHIT. ur panties will disintegrate

streamer gojo! series by @osaemu this entire series is so cute n streamer gojo’s so 💗💖💞. first fic i’ve read was ‘yes i have a girlfriend, yes she’s real!’ AND ITS SO CUTE. this series has both sfw & nsfw including angst YUM. plus sab’s graphics like always are a total 10. the chats always kill me, especially the toji slander 😭😭.

digimon—but making u cum is my real hobby by @blkkizzat LMAOOOO THIS FIC IS EVERYTHING TO ME. otaku gojo is such a loser and the way kali wrote him, i need him BAD. i’ve never laughed and throbbed so much at the same time in a fic. kali nails gojo’s personality perfectly !!! there’s also a mlist too i believe. i come back to this fic like every month just YUM

wolf in sheep’s clothing by @starmapz this has it all !!!! fluff, angst, smut and it’s just WOW. satoru’s so lovable, and it genuinely felt like i was watching a movie. i’ve read this in one sitting and UUUUGH everything about this fic >>>>

dying for your love by @staryukis I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED ZOMBIE! AU GOJO IN MY LIFE. this fic literally shattered me, the dynamic is just so heartbreaking. it’s set in an apocalypse au! with lots of gut-wrenching angst so beware. soso good, i remember stumbling upon the masterlist and knewww it was gonna be a good read. also, logan’s follow up fic ‘die with a smile’ broke me into two I LOVE IT

[cheriedivine]

Deeply still in love

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ summary: Ellie Williams doesn’t do feelings. She buries them under alcohol, weed and strangers lips, but the moment she hears your voice again, everything she’s shoved down, claws its way back up.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: References to substance abuse (weed, alcohol), Mild suggestive themes, Unrequited love, Swearing, emotional themes. (Lmk if i missed anything!)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: Angst/heartbreak, Ellies is a fuck boy, just pain tbh

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: ok so this is my first time ever writing something for Ellie and it’s heavily based on Role Model’s song Deeply still in love bc i fucking love that song and I thought it would be a good angsty emotional one shot so yeah… hope u guys enjoy it and english is not my first language so excuse any grammar mistakes oki luv yall bye.

♡‧₊˚₊✧ WC: 3.6K

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

“I think i still love you, deep down i know i never stopped loving you-“ Ellie scratched it out, watching the ink dry down on the page in her journal, the words of what she just wrote frozen on her mind, her breath was shallow, like she was afraid the air would judge her for it. She crossed the sentence out, one, two, three times until the paper on her journal ripped.

“Jesus Ellie, you might wanna breathe before your face starts turning purple- what’s up with that?”

Jesse interrupted her thoughts as he looked down at Ellie’s previously destroyed journal page, placing the two cups of coffee down at the table, the coffee shop they were at was cozy but drowned in people, making Ellie’s thoughts quieted down a bit as she closed the journal on her lap and took the hot cup of coffee “it’s nothing just… thoughts” she said while taking a sip of her coffee, the bitter taste burning her tongue

“Yeah well it looked like you were about to collapse or die” He flopped into the chair across from hers with a furrowed expression, “Anyway, maybe you should take your thinking somewhere else tonight and come with me and Dina to this party tonight” The black haired boy suggested, but Ellie wasn’t paying him much attention until she heard him clicking his fingers in front of her face “Hello earth to Ellie? Did you hear anything I said?” Ellie rolled her eyes, but if she was being honest her mind was wandering somewhere else, or on someone else “Sorry man im just not here today, what’s going on?” Jesse huffed getting annoyed by the girl’s lack of attention “You. Me. Dina. Party. Tonight?” He took the cup of coffee up to his mouth awaiting his friend’s response.

Ellie didn’t answer right away, tracing her finger on the rim of her cup, eyes fixed on the steam coming out of it like smoke signals no one else could read.

“Is ‘you know who’ going to be there?” the auburn haired girl finally responded, afraid but curious of what his response might be, her stomach twirled at the thought of you being there.

“Dude its been more than six months,” Jesse said with a tired tone. “You’ve hooked up with like three different girls since then, I thought you were over it”.

Ellie let out a short breath, bitter, like the coffee on her hands.

Over it.

Yeah sure. It’s been 8 months exactly since you broke up with Ellie, you didn’t exactly end up on bad terms, but it was like something was ripped off from her, a part of her was still waiting for you to come back, but how could she blame you for not to?. It was always like this, Ellie shut down when things got too real, she bottled up all these emotions and when the weight of it caught up to her it became too heavy to carry. You kept reaching for anything, like screaming to a wall, while she just kept pulling away, slowly and painfully. It wasn’t because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. And that scared the shit out of her.

She hated talking about her feelings, she hated the vulnerability of it, the rawness, she hated being seen too clearly. But you- you saw her like no one else ever had, you saw her through like a window on a road trip, never scared of the road, never afraid of where it might take you, but she shut you down over and over, until you got tired of knocking on a door that would never fully open.

Ellie never blamed you for leaving, the look on your eye when the words slipped of your lips when you called it off still haunted her on her dreams till this day “I love you Ellie, but i can’t be the only one bleeding for us”

She just stood there, breathing through her nose, her heart pounding like a drum, she felt like it might rip out of her chest, and maybe it did because her words got caught up in her throat and tears started brewing in her emerald eyes when you left without slamming the door, that’s how she knew she really fucked up, that this was real, and you and her were done.

So yeah 8 painfully slow months have passed since that, and even though Ellie kissed strangers in bars, she closed her eyes with your name stuck behind teeth, going through bodies like maybe she could fit into a different pair of arms that could be warm enough to forget your face, your lips or the way your eyes would light up when you kissed her, but no stranger could ever replace that, replace you. It always came back to you. It didn’t matter how many mouths she kissed or how many bodies she explored, coming back to a cold bed made the emptiness crawl back like an old friend, and only made your absence more painful. But still she kept doing it, as if it were a miracle move-on-drug.

Ellie blinked out of the memory, the cup in her hands cold and long forgotten, she placed it back on the table before answering to her friend.

“Whatever man just text me the address and I might consider it” She thought the party wasn’t such a bad idea, she could have a couple drinks and hook up with some stranger she just met like she has been doing for the past months.

Jesse raised a brow, not buying into her sudden shift of tone. “That didn’t sound like a ‘fuck yeah I’m down for a party’. It sounded more like you’re planning to drink cheap booze until you forget your name and make out with someone you won’t remember the next day.”

The girl shrugged, “So what, none of your goddamn business”

Jesse stared at her for a second, like he wanted to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them right up and sighed leaning back in his chair. “you do you, Ellie. Just… stop pretending it's helping.”

That definitely hit a nerve, but Ellie didn't flinch, nor said anything. He continued, a little softer this time, like a secret apology. “I'll text you the address. You don't have to come, but maybe you should. Think about it.”

With that the boy stood up grabbing his empty cup and left the coffee shop. An awkward silence filled the room, Ellie’s jaw tightened, at the end he was right, having sex with strangers wasnt exactly therapy but it got her through… in some fucked up way. Was it wrong? Maybe, Ellie never texted back any girl ever and just ghosted when she got what she needed. Toss and turn.

Later that day Ellie texted Jesse, briefly apologizing for being a dick to which he responded “When aren't you?.” Asshole. He sent her the address and by 9:30 Ellie was getting ready to leave. She stood in front of the mirror, jaw working as she tugged the black tank top over her head, the hem settling just above the waistband of her old patched up jeans, nothing very special- she didn't do special- hesitating on putting on a jacket or no, Jackson weather you never know. Her eyes lingered on her reflection for a little too long. The tank clung to her body in a familiar way. Safe. The jeans were her most reliable ones, just like her old converse she’d laced up so many times they were practically molded to her.

“Not a big deal, just another stupid party.” She ran her hands through her shaggy hair and decided she won’t put that much effort into it, bars are often dark so who cares- certainly not her. She took one last glance at the mirror before putting on Joel's old jacket and walking through the door of her apartment. The familiar weight of the jacket calmed her nerves a bit but not as much as the blunt in her fingers, she had stocked a few days ago, and a little pre game never fails to calm her down so she lit it up while waiting for Jesse and Dina to pull up the driveway. Jesse had offered to drive her to the party alongside Dina, even though Ellie had her own truck (an old ford truck inherited from Joel) he said it would be better if he was the assigned driver if they got a little too tipsy.

She often wondered how those too could stand each other for so long, when Ellie met Jesse at College he was already dating Dina and it’s been 4 years since then. They weren’t the perfect couple but surely knew how to get on each other's nerves, still always figured it out at the end. Ellie admired them for that and wished she was a little more like them.

Soon her thoughts dissolved into the crisp air of the night when Jesse pulled up on the driveway, he honked the horn as if the blinding lights didn't catch Ellie’s attention enough, “You are such an attention whore.” Ellie said, flicking the blunt away and stuffing her hands deep into the jacket pockets before entering the car.

The drive to the party was loud- music blasting, windows cracked, a new blunt being passed around like part of the ritual (courtesy of Ellie of course). It was their usual pregame, the kind that made her forget, even if just for a moment. With her friends, it was easy to laugh, to lean into the chaos and pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t still there. These were the moments that reminded Ellie not everything was awful. But the rush- the high, always felt like the drop of a roller coaster. And when Jesse finally parked the car, reality hit. Another night of pretending. Pretending nothing mattered, pretending the burn inside her wasn’t still there, quietly eating her alive.

“Don’t forget to rate me 5 stars and leave a tip” Jesse said jokingly, distracting Ellie from her self destructive thoughts”

Dina was the first one to enter the bar, the music almost deafening, the track was some popular song Ellie heard at the radio before, she didn't like it, but also didn’t exactly hate it. The place was packed as it usually is every Friday night, overflowing with bodies, laughter layering the loud music, and some good ol’ bar fight probably. Ellie trailed behind Jesse and Dina, already feeling the buzz fade into something heavier. She slipped her hands back into Joel’s jacket, like it would shield her from everything the weed could not.

They found a booth near the back, where the speakers didn’t rattle your bones quite as much. Dina, being the social butterfly she is, immediately recognized someone across the room, an old college classmate, but for Ellie it was one of those people who always remembers your face but not your name. Seconds later Jesse slid into the booth, scanning the bar like a minefield.

“Shot first, existential crisis later?” he offered, holding up two fingers to the bartender across the room.

Ellie nodded, managing a half-smile. “Make it three.”

As the night went on (and so did the shots) Ellie was sitting alone in the booth, Dina and Jesse long gone, probably dancing or making out somewhere in the dark, Ellie decided it was probably time for a smoke, to calm the headache she was starting to feel. She grabbed her jacket from her seat and made a beeline to the exit, the chill breeze of Jackson hitting her face like a slap she probably deserved.

Leaning against the crumbling brick wall outside the bar, the noise from inside was muffled out there. She pulled the blunt from her pocket, already half-rolled from earlier, and lit it with a practiced flick of her lighter, the smoke greeted her lungs like an old friend, welcoming the burn in her throat, grounding her a little as she exhaled through her nose. She took a second hit leaning her head against the wall, watching the people coming in and out of the bar, people watching was Ellie’s favorite activity while smoking, also because she could use it as an opportunity to check girls out, but that's when she saw you.

At least—she thought she did.

You were slipping through the bar’s entrance, swallowed up by a crowd of loud, laughing strangers. Just a flash of your face, the way your hair moved, throwing your head back laughing like someone who wasn’t her told the funniest joke of the world. Ellie blinked. Hard.

“No fucking way.” She cursed under her breath, squinting her eyes trying to steady herself. Was it the mix of weed and cheap alcohol in her system playing fucked up mind tricks on her? Either way, it didn't matter because she was already walking towards the crowd of people, like some magnetic force was pulling her in.

She pushed past two guys arguing about the cover charge. Her heart was thudding now—not like excitement. More like panic.

Inside, the lights hit her all wrong, too sharp, too bright. The music pulsed against her ribs. She scanned the crowd, pushing through, zeroing in on the back of that girl’s head.

Same jacket. Same posture. Same everything.

“Hey—” she started, grabbing the mysterious woman by the arm but when the girl turned around, it wasn’t you.

Of course it wasn’t you.

Her grip softened and she let go, the girl glared at her confused, and now Ellie could see, could really see that her eyes weren’t the same color as yours, her smile wasn’t as bright and welcoming as yours. And the worst part it’s not that she made a fool of herself, but that the girl was looking at her like she was a complete stranger. Which she was but to Ellie’s brain it just felt like she got hit by a thousand trains.

The brunette stepped back, the weight in her chest doubling. Her hands were shaking a little now, or maybe they always had been. She didn’t say anything. Just turned and pushed her way back outside.Too embarrassed to even apologize.

She felt like throwing up.

She found an empty corner right next to the bar, hunched over with her hands on her knees, breath coming sharp and uneven, gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. Her heart slammed heavily on her chest.

The cold didn’t even bother her this time. Her shaky hands reaching for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, Her mind was fogged over, drifting somewhere else entirely. It was like she was watching herself from outside her own body.she didn’t know what she was doing just moving, automatic, like muscle memory took over, her fingers were clicking and swiping and then suddenly—

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was soft, confused.

Her head snapped up. She blinked at the screen in her hand.

Call in progress — You.

A beat of silence passed before she even realized what she’d done. Her breath hitched.

“…Shit.”

Your voice. Caught between sleepy and annoyed.

“Who’s this? Do you have any idea how late it is?”

Ellie’s breath hitched. For a second, she considered hanging up. Throwing the phone into the street. Pretending this never happened. But she wasn’t running this time.

“…It’s me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Ellie.”

Silence. The kind that says everything and nothing at once.

“Ellie?”

Your voice softened. Then came the question she knew was coming—

“What– Why are you calling?”

She looked down at her converse, swallowing hard.

“I– I don't know I wasn't planning to, I'm just–” She tried to laugh it off. She couldn't believe this was happening.

“Are you drunk?” Your tone firm and dry

“I’m sorry i shouldn't have called , i dont know what the fuck im doing ok? I literally just called someone else your name. Just now.”

A shaky breath.

“Stupid, right?”

You didn't say anything, Ellies fingers tightened around the phone and your silence was enough to keep her bleeding. She was surprised that you hadn't hung up on her yet.

So Ellie kept talking.

“And I… I thought maybe if I just shoved it deep enough, it’d go away. Y’know? This—this fucking feeling. This ache that’s been stuck in me since you left. And I keep trying to bury it, like if I fake it hard enough, maybe it’ll stop hurting but it doesn’t. None of it works. Everything feels so…pointless. Like it doesn’t mean anything because… because there’s no you anymore.”

She breathes in sharp—like it physically hurts to say the next part.

“And burying it doesn’t fix shit. ‘Cause I still—”

A pause, her voice breaking on the edge. She didn't even realize tears had fallen down her freckled face. Savouring the salty drops as she opened her mouth.

“I still love you.”

There it was. She said it and she couldn't take it back anymore. It was real, and you were silent. Just like she had been when you were begging her to say something back then. Funny how life goes huh?

Silence. Again. you were completely frozen like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But your thoughts vanished when a female voice called you up.

“Who is it babe?”

Babe.

Ellie froze. Her stomach twisted, breath catching like it forgot how to move.

Babe.

You didn’t answer the girl right away. But you didn’t deny it, either.

Ellie bit her cheek until she tasted blood. The universe was getting a big fucking laugh out from her. There was a long pause. Too long.

You didn’t mean to let it stretch, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and the words wouldn’t come out right.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Ellie.”

She didn’t say anything. You could hear her breathing—shaky, uneven, like she was crying?

“You can’t say things like that. Not now.”

You sounded softer than you meant to. Not angry. Just… broken.

“It’s not fair.”

Another pause. You swallowed hard.

“I have to go– I'm sorry, you should go home and sober up and just forget about it ok? That this phone call ever happened at all.”

You hesitated, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your throat.

“Please.”

It came out barely audible. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

A silence lingered between you, thick with everything neither of you were saying.

“You don’t get to do this now, Ellie. Not after all the times I waited for you to mean it.”

Your voice cracked.

And before Ellie could speak—before she could take it back, or say she was sorry again—

“Goodbye Ellie”

You hung up. The line went dead.

She backed into the wall behind her sliding down until she was sitting on the cold concrete, knees pulled in tight, Joel’s jacket wrapped around her like it might protect her from this ache.

But it didn’t.

She let her head fall forward, resting it on her arms. The tears came slowly at first, stubborn like her. But once they started, they didn’t stop. Silent, messy, no control. Her shoulders shook, her breath catching in her throat like she couldn’t even cry right.

“Fuck this” She muttered.

You didn’t say you didn’t love her.

You said it was too late.

Somehow, that hurt worse.

The words echoed in her skull. She let out a choked laugh—bitter and hollow. She hated how much it still mattered. Hated that she called you. Hated herself for waiting this long to say it, for saying it now, when it meant nothing anymore.

She sat there until her fingers went numb, until the night felt like it was swallowing her whole.

Her phone kept ringing like crazy, probably a worried Dina or a very upset Jesse at the end of the line. She ignored it, because it wasn't you.

Eventually, she stood—slow, unsteady, like her body was made of glass. Her jacket hung heavy on her shoulders, soaked in the scent of cheap beer, smoke, and everything she didn’t want to feel. She made her way back inside of the bar, reckless and hurt, in search of a body that could keep her warm tonight, someone to blur the edges, to drown out the echo of your voice still ringing in her head.

Maybe, just for a second, it would feel like she wasn’t completely alone.

The music hit her like a wave—loud, chaotic, the kind of beat that made it easy to forget. She didn’t care who was watching, or that her eyes were red and her face puffy. She moved through the crowd like a ghost with a drink in hand, brushing past strangers until she locked eyes with someone—pretty, familiar enough, not you.

Never you.

“Hey,” she said, voice low and rough. “Buy you a drink?”

The girl smiled, said something back—Ellie didn’t really hear it.

Didn’t matter.

She just needed something to ease the pain.

Even if it was empty.

Even if it was fake.

Even if it hurt worse in the morning.

She leaned in, chasing a flame that would burn out, pretending it didn’t sting when it wasn’t your hands she felt.

Pretending she didn’t just shatter a little more when the girl kissed her and all she could think was—

You.

It was still you.

Always you.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧───

hope u guys liked it and lmk whatchu think, i’m open to suggestions and if u have any requests don’t hesitate to hmu <3!!!

[h4m1lt0ns]

HEARTBREAK SYNDROME.

episode fourteen :: HEAR ME OUT.

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴various, lewis hamilton x y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔girl you will not believe who texted y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ face claim ﹔ wonyoung jang (28)

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕ excessive cussing, none.

y/n: i’m sorry who is this?

xxx-xxx: it’s kelly

y/n: ?

y/n: kelly piquet?

xxx-xxx: unfortunately

xxx-xxx: its an emergency.

xxx-xxx: and girl to girl, we NEED to talk.

y/n: OH?

xxx-xxx: i need to see you.

xxx-xxx: will u be at the qatar gp?

y/n: yes!! we can talk there, but is it urgent?

xxx-xxx: i know what you’ve seen from me gives u every reason under the sun to not even want to breath the same air as me but this is for your safety.

y/n: i got you.

y/n: see you tomorrow.

☆ IMESSAGE with ; BOARD OF DIRECTORS.

y/n: if you’re available for gossip irl raise ur hand

angel carmen: no bc what where you doing with that demon i thought you knew better

princess george: explain pls 😐

chal eclair: hurry up and explain bae, alex is spamming me and she’s fuming 😍

y/n: she’s spamming me too 😭

wifey lily: the girls gc is going OFFFFF

girlfriend kika: for good fucking reason

girlfriend kika: fucking explain yourself y/n

PIERRE GASLYYYY: kika’s so mad i think she might explode 😭

alabono: lily too 😭

chili!: well good thing none of them are here bc y/n would gotten assaulted

angel carmen: yeah

babygirl alex: exactly

girlfriend kika: what carlos said

wifey lily: hm.

y/n: 😟

y/n: meeting in george’s drivers room?

my baby lando: on my way !!!!

chal eclair: we all are

︴# ⸝⸝ : ★ real life ¡ ⌕ ⸝⸝ ﹒ ﹕

“everyone here?” y/n asks as everyone tried to cram in between two chairs and a sofa. “yep” carlos squeaks with charles and lando on top of him on a lazy chair, “yeah, mate” george says, him, alex, and pierre on the sofa while daniel and yuki shared the second chair.

“girls?” y/n looks at her laptop. kika, carmen, alexandra and lily were on a zoom call. “all here” kika gave a thumbs up as y/n sat in the middle of the floor. “girl.” y/n says, “oh, this is gonna be good” lando giggles, “so kelly originally texted me the day champagne, sex and anxiety dropped and i didn’t recognise the number” y/n began.

“i thought she was someone else because the number was unknown but then she was like ‘girl to girl we need to talk’, so i was a bit like, oh?, y’know?” y/n says as she passes her phone to the boys so they can read the messages.

“and when we met earlier, she was like-”

“sorry, did i miss anything?” lewis rushed into the room, seemingly a bit out of breath. “no, it was just about to begin” carmen’s slightly distorted voice says. lewis not so subtly checks y/n out, licking his lips, pierre and daniel give each other a knowing look with charles and lando give y/n a little smirk and she mouths ‘shut up’.

“is that a chair?” george chuckles, lewis placed a chair he had brought with him next to the sofa and shrugged, “well, i knew there wouldn’t be space here” lewis said as he set the chair down. he was about to sit when he notice y/n was on the floor, “wait, you come sit on it” lewis tells y/n.

“no, no, it’s okay” y/n smiles, “doll, i don’t want you sitting on the floor, it’s cold” lewis shakes his head. the rest of the drivers all quietly giggle and nudge each other as the girls text each other something about how lewis was calling you ‘doll’ in front of everyone.

“well it’s here if you need it” lewis says as he sits on the chair.

“guys, hold on, so, what did kelly say?” alex asks.

“yeah, she was like ‘i got your number from max’ phone, sorry to contact you on your personal number, blah blah blah, how was your day?’ all that, but that doesn’t matter” y/n continued, “bro, she’s breaking up with max”

charles gasps, “no, she’s not!”

“did he cheat on her too?” george asks

“here we go again” yuki chuckles.

so many questions were being asked all at once, “boys, shut up so we can understand!” kika exclaimed and the boys quickly settled down again. “they’re breaking up because of me” y/n added and the noise began once more.

“she better not be blaming that on you” lando rolled his eyes.

“what do you mean because of you? you didn’t do anything” carlos frowned.

“i just know he cheated on her” yuki laughs.

“oh my god, all of you shut up!” lily exclaims.

“no, no, wait, max has been, allegedly, loosing his mind. kelly said that ever since they announced their relationship, hes been obsessing over me. to an almost dangerous level” y/n begins again. “define obsessing” george says.

“kelly said that when heartbreak syndrome came out, he was hyper fixated on the songs. he would analyse each song, line by line to figure out which line are about him.” y/n explain. yuki’s eyes widened while charles, lewis and lando physically recoiled. “he also tried to send me a cease and desist because some of the songs were ‘too specific’” she added.

“and also-”

“no, hold on, can we talk about this? because my body had a visceral reaction” lando interrupted with a dramatic hand on his chest. “yeah, that’s a bit much” lewis nodded, pierre muttered something into his hands while carlos looked just befuddled.

“wait, y/n, there’s more? you said also?” carmen frowned. “yeah, so, remember when kelly used to copy me on social media, girl, hold on” y/n got up and began pacing around the room, “apparently, max was forcing her to copy me so she looked like the crazy obsessed one” y/n said, “shut up, no he did not!” pierre said, “girl, yes he did! because he was stalking my accounts with her account” she added.

“what the fuck?” carlos asked and daniel had a frightened look on his face. everyone in the room had shocked looks on their face as they stared at each other. all those months of what seemed like kelly copying and shading y/n was all of max’s doing. “she also said that when i signed with mercedes, he like, lost it.”

“lost it? or lost it?” kika asked, “lost it.” y/n answered. “he was up there breaking things, screaming, crying, just loosing his mind” y/n explained. “heh, he just like me for real” lando chuckled, then everyone glared at him. “i’m so funny” he added.

“did she mention the billboards thing?” daniel asked. y/n nodded as she stood next to lewis, placing a hand over his shoulder. lewis, almost subconsciously, wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist. charles and george smirked at y/n and she gave them a look that said ‘I will throw my shoe at you’. “kelly overheard max literally orchestrating the whole thing on a phone call with the red bull employees, and not only were they going to burn billboards, they wanted to burn the merch stands and my signing booth.”

“okay, what the fuck?” carlos asks again as the girls gasp. “oh? oh, he was serious serious” charles says as he half covered his mouth in shock. “what do you mean the signing booth? you could’ve gotten hurt.” lewis tightened his grip on y/n, as he says with a frown making daniel and alex nod in agreement. “yeah! that could’ve gone really fucking bad” yuki crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wanna say something crazy” y/n began.

“yeah, let’s not…” carmen said, “let’s use our critical thinking, maybe, just maybe, we shouldn’t do crazy things!” alexandra sarcastically giggled, “max was doing crazy things and look where that got him” she added. “depends on what the crazy something is” daniel said, “hey! don’t enable her!” kika scolded him making him raise his hands, “i’m just saying that if-”

“I want to talk to max.” y/n said, and everyone went quiet.

“what?” alex, george and carlos asked in unison, looking confused. “really?” charles asked as him, lando and pierre looked grossed out. “woooooow” yuki deadpanned, him and daniel were visibly upset. alexandra and carmen sighed in disappointment and lewis.. looked angry.

“you’re not seeing him” lewis said.

“but–”

“no you-” lewis inhaled deeply before continuing, “doll, he could’ve hurt you. you heard what his girlfriend said.” he said as he stroked her waist. charles and lando smirked at her, “what did I just say?! critical thinking skills!” alexandra frowned.

“y/n, babe, i don’t have the patience.” lily said with a huge fake smile, y/n put her hands up defensively; “but i have a plan, okay, here me out.” she says.

“okay, let her cook-” lando began, only to be swiftly cut off by george, “no! she’s done cooking for today. banned from the kitchen.”

“guys, oh my god, please.” y/n whined, “i just wanna ask him about some things!” she added. yuki sat up, “i’ve been saying, let me speak to him for months but no one is letting me near him.” he crossed his arms over his chest. “you’re gonna stab him, bro, no!” pierre half chuckled, “…fair.” yuki grumbled.

“there is nothing, nothing, that you and that sloth can talk about.” carlos began, “not a single thing.” he added. “but!” lando clapped, “okay.. devil’s advocate-”

“shut the fuck up.” the girls cut him off, and he placed the dramatic hand back on his chest.

“y/n” lewis said with a soft smile as he pulled her on his lap. george and alex elbowed each other while charles, lando and carlos tried their best (worst) to keep their giggles down, and yuki and pierre took photos to send to kika later.

y/n’s heart beat a bit faster and she founded herself at a loss for words, “you’re not safe around him. if there’s something you want to ask him, ask his girlfriend to communicate it to him. there’s no reason for you to break no contact after all he did. he’s disrespected you and your name in public, has stalked you, damaged private property with your face on it, do i need to keep going?” lewis asked.

y/n shook her head, “n-no, you d-don’t” she quietly answered.

“so what are you gonna do?” lewis asked, “not talk to max… privately.” she answered, he was nodding along, then he stopped. “you… what?”

“y/n, i will leap through this screen and stab you” alexandra threatened. “can we hear her out?” lando asked, “no!” the girls jumped at him again, the dramatic hand returned for a third time, “you’re just gonna let them yell at me like that?” he whined

“maybe you should hear me out!” y/n said, and there was a loud, collective of disappointment and annoyance. “and, yes, they’re your aunts, im your mother.” she answered lando.

“listen, next grand prix, all of you can be there, i just wanna ask him about the bullshit that he’s been doing.” she explained.

everyone looked at each other then at y/n, “really?” charles asked, “please?” y/n begged. “i’m in! sounds messy” lando giggled. kika chuckled, “no wonder you’re a PR nightmare.”

[ryukatters]

9:18 PM — s. geto ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

content: fluff, friends to lovers, sort of self-ship coded, reader dates (shitty) men

pairing: suguru geto x gn! reader

a/n: got suguru on da brain rn. my first work for him! hello geto nation how we doin?? also i had to fight my autocorrect bc it kept changing geto to ghetto 😔

“Surely, you must lack respect for yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me," your best friend scoffs. 

It's not uncommon for you to end up at Suguru's doorstep, teary-eyed and sputtering after another failed attempt at romance. But he's hardly ever this mean. 

"What's so great about these guys? Tell me."

"They're...nice."

He sighs out your name in exasperation. He never uses that tone on you, ever. "You're literally miles out of their league. And they can't even afford to pay for both of your meals. How many times have you had to pick up the check for you and your date?”

You open your mouth to retort but wisely keep it shut. Suguru merely raises an eyebrow. 

"Exactly. How can someone be ugly and broke? Then still have the audacity to reject you? Pick a struggle."

"Well excuse me, mister 'I don't need dating apps because everyone just comes to me.' Not everyone is as fortunate as you are when it comes to romantic prospects." 

You're starting to question why you even came here in the first place. Indignation fills you as you slump down on Geto's couch, utterly defeated. 

He sits down next to you, placing a gentle hand on your knee with an even gentler look in his eyes. Your best friend's always been so kind, so thoughtful. That, paired with the fact that he's pretty easy on the eyes makes it easy to understand why he has suitors flocking from left and right. 

"Hey," he calls out, giving your knee a light squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"'s fine."

"No, it's not. It was insensitive of me.”

You know what else isn't fine? Geto wants to ask. The fact that you don't know what kind of guy you deserve. He wills himself to keep quiet, for both of your sakes. 

"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. That you have some karmic lessons you need to learn and all that. You say that all the time."

"I don't know. Maybe...maybe love just isn't in the cards for me, Suguru. I mean, what else could all of this mean?" 

You sniffle, and Suguru can feel his heart break into a million little pieces. He wants nothing more than to scoop up the shards and present them to you, in hopes that you can somehow press them back together to make it whole again. The same way you always come running back to him, the same way you trust him to mend your own heart time after time with gentle praise and reassurance. 

"Maybe every heartbreak is just bringing you closer to 'the one,’" he offers, the hand that was previously on your knee now rubbing comforting circles on your back.

"Do you honestly believe in that shit, Suguru?" He doesn't blame you for being so cynical. He would be too, he thinks. 

"I do," he professes without missing a single beat. 

"How?" Not why, but how? How could he possibly understand? How would he know if fate's thrown his so-called one and only his way?

"Because I've felt it," he hums. 

“You… have?” You’re not sure why you feel so disappointed all of a sudden. Why should you care if your best friend’s in love with someone?

“Why do you feel the need to look so far for love?” He counters.

“I…”

“Why don’t you try looking at what’s right in front of you for a change?”

That’s about as far as Suguru’s willing to lay it out for you— he hopes you can read in between the lines. Call it insurance— a way for him to spare his own feelings in case you decide he’s unworthy of your affection and toss him to the side of the road.

“Suguru, I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say…”

Yes, you do. Suguru wants to say. Just think a little harder. 

There’s a pregnant pause.

When he realizes that you’re unwilling to take another step forward, he figures he needs to just take the leap. Fuck the insurance. He needs to do as he says and prove to you that the trail of heartbreak behind you is all going to be worth it. Because you have him. Suguru can only hope that his love will be more than enough to heal you from a lifetime's worth of pain. 

“Give me a chance,” he whispers, his hands enveloping yours as he brings them up to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “Please. I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated, how you deserve to be loved.”

You gasp, unsure how to receive such a confession— especially one from Suguru, nonetheless. The two of you stay frozen for what seems like an eternity. You— afraid, inexperienced with being on the receiving end of anything remotely romantic. Suguru— tense, confession lying heavy in the room. It weighs down his soul with each passing moment he’s not yours. 

“Please,” he pleads, feeling the way your hands tremble in his. Or was it the other way around?

Fear begins to gnaw at Suguru’s insides, thoughts of losing you plaguing his mind as he wills himself to stay calm. He wants nothing more than to shrink into himself— until he hears you speak, tone light and teasing.

“Promise you won’t make me pay for our dinner on our first date?”

Suguru allows himself to let out a genuine chuckle, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[devixncy]

Hey! I’ve got a heavy hurt/comfort request here that is pretty angsty, so if it’s too much please just ignore this.

Anyway if you’re comfortable could I request a Thanos x reader (no games AU) where is read of the recruiter finding him in the bridge, the reader does? Maybe they were good friends before his career fell apart.

I just wanted to hug him so bad when he was telling his backstory to Minsu 😭 and I can in fic form

a/n: i wrote this one so fast. ty for this request (hopefully i did it justice)

✧ pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

✧ summary: you come face to face with your best friend on the bridge instead of the recruiter

✧ content: heavy themes (suicidal ideation, thanos at the bridge as mentioned in squid game), angst, no games AU, swearing, some comfort at the end bc that's how i roll

✧ word count: 2.3k

‘Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. The person you’re trying to reach is not available. At the tone, please record your mess-’

Your thumb hit the end call button, letting out a sigh of frustration. You weren’t sure why you kept trying, maybe it was because you always held out hope and your heart didn’t want to give up. At this point, your name had probably flashed across what used to be your best friend's screen hundreds of times–only to never receive a response. 

Su-bong’s radio silence worried you to no end. The two of you had been inseparable once, from pre-teens all the way into early adulthood. He was your best friend, your partner in crime. You helped each other through heartbreak, you consoled him when no one else understood what he was going through at home. You had shared countless late night talks, discussing quite literally anything you could think of because there were no secrets between you. Unfortunately, you hadn’t realized how much of a crush you had developed on him until it was too late.

When he began his rapping career, you were nothing but supportive. He was following his dream, wanting to make a name for himself under the alias ‘Thanos’. You always reposted his music on social media to help promote it, and always went to his shows once he began performing at small venues and clubs. As always, rising to fame didn’t come without consequences. It started with small, miniscule things that you brushed off as nothing at first. He started to take longer to answer your texts; what used to take seconds would now take him almost a full day until he was basically ghosting you. He began to “forget” to tell you when his shows were scheduled, disappointing you to no end because you wanted to be there for him.

Then, there was the night he showed up at your apartment, stumbling and pupils blown so wide you almost couldn’t see the blue of his eyes anymore. He was high out of his mind, coming to your door to beg for money so that he could pay back some of whatever debt he had accumulated. Your heart broke when you had to kick him out without sparing anything, as you had very little money to spare yourself. He was erratic and loud, and you couldn’t have him in your apartment that late in the state he was in. You had cried that night, seeing what was happening to your best friend.

After that night, you hadn’t heard from Su-bong again. Your desperate attempts to contact him were futile, you never received a response. It left you angry and defeated, wondering what you had done wrong. You missed him dearly, and it had been almost a full year since you’d spoken. 

A pebble went scattering across the concrete as you kicked it, lost in thought while you walked. It was getting late, the sun disappearing behind the horizon as the stars began to brighten the dark sky. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a shiver running down your spine as the cold air nipped at you. You wandered aimlessly, having no real destination–yet it was another reminder of Su-bong. Walks to clear your minds was something you both did together often, and now it was just you. He used to boast about how he would protect you and that no one would bother you if you were with him, not that anybody ever did. 

Something wet landing on the tip of your nose broke you out of your thoughts yet again, causing you to tilt your head up and look into the sky. The light patter of rain began to hit your face, starting as a sprinkle and gradually turning into a steady rainfall. Great. You grumbled, knowing you still had a while to walk and no umbrella. Pulling up your hood, your feet carried you in the direction of your apartment. Eventually, you began to approach the bridge that you had crossed not too long ago, signaling you weren’t very far now. A sigh of relief began to escape your lips, no longer wanting to be out in this weather as you were already soaked. However, whatever air you had in your lungs was immediately sucked out, leaving you frozen in shock. A figure was standing eerily still by the rails of the side of the bridge, their grip on the steel bar tight. 

You had no idea what to do in this situation. Your heart sped up, thumping against your rib cage. Your eyes diverted from the figure to the unforgiving river below, the dark water angry as rain beat down against it. Its currents roared, jagged rocks lurking beneath the churning surface. Your stomach twisted, hoping this wasn’t what you thought it was. Taking a deep breath, you began to move slowly and silently. You knew the person couldn’t hear you and you hoped they wouldn’t see you from their peripheral vision even though they had their hood up. Creeping closer, you almost had a heart attack as they suddenly hopped up onto the rail, swinging their legs around so that they were sitting facing the water. Moving quicker now, you were merely feet away.

Deep breaths. You had to act quickly. The glow of the city in the distance seemed dampened by the rain, and time seemingly slowed down. You took another slow step forward, not too fast or eager. The figure’s hands clenched tightly against the railing, knuckles turning white. Their breath came in shuddering bursts, visible in the coldness of the night. 

“You don’t want this.” Your gentle voice carried through the wind. 

They flinched at the sound of your voice, but didn’t turn around. 

“I know it feels like there’s nothing left. I know it feels hopeless, like the weight of the world is crushing you,” you continued. “But I promise this is not the way. Not like this. There is someone out there who cares about you, who would be devastated if you made this choice.”

They shivered. Whether it was from your words or from the chill in the air, you weren’t sure. You took another small step forward.

“Please,” you whispered. “You’re not alone. Please come down and let me help you.” 

For a moment, time paused. The silence was loud, and all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. 

And then–slowly, cautiously–they turned.

And you felt as if somebody had punched you in the gut, all of the air sucked out of your lungs in an instant. The weight of a million tons felt as if it were crushing your body. The world blurred at its edges, sounds turning distant as if everything was underwater.

Su-bong, your Su-bong, was staring back at you. His cheeks were tear-streaked, noticeable even in the pouring rain. His eyes were distant, hollow–though you could clearly see the blue in his irises, meaning he wasn’t high at the moment. He showed no emotion in his face, something you weren’t used to seeing. 

“Su-bong…” You whispered, and it came out strangled, like somebody was squeezing your lungs. You stood there with your arm slightly outstretched, lips parted in shock. He stared back at you, unmoving, no words coming out of his mouth. The tremors began, your fingers shaking uncontrollably as the weight of the truth settled in like ice. Your best friend, the person you loved the most, was about to kill himself. 

“You shouldn’t be here, (Y/N).” His voice was strained, raw, like he had been screaming. It was devoid of emotion, but his eyes told a different story. There was conflict flickering in them, maybe uncertainty, you couldn’t tell. 

Your knees nearly gave out as he turned back around, seemingly having his mind made up whether you were there or not. Panic set in, adrenaline coursing through your veins like fire as you lurched forward, although stopping yourself before you made a dumb decision.

“Su-bong, please! Please don’t do this, don’t you dare,” You cried, your breaths coming in short gasps as desperation clawed at you. Logic went out the window, your mouth was moving faster than your brain. “I love you, please don’t do this. I need you here.” 

He didn’t say anything. But mere seconds later, his shoulders began to shake violently. You began to hear sobs escape from the man in front of you, tearing your heart into a million pieces. And after a long, excruciating moment that seemed to stretch on forever, he slowly turned back around. Your hand, although violently trembling, was outstretched towards him. “Please come down.” You tried once more, barely audible over the unrelenting rain. Your eyes betrayed you, his outline blurring as they were swimming with tears that wouldn’t stop coming. 

But you felt his touch, his hand hesitantly grabbing yours. Slowly, but surely he swung his legs back around until he was facing you instead of the water below. As soon as he was facing you, you yanked him towards you with all of the strength you had left. His body collided with yours, and like something awakened in him, he threw his arms around you. His grip was tight, crushing–but you paid no mind, your arms finding their way around his back and clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie so tight he might fly away if you let go. He sobbed, his head dropping onto your shoulder. His knees buckled and you followed suit, lowering the two of you onto the ground. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N), god I’m so fucking sorry,” He cried. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t find words. Your chest was heaving, emotions all over the place. You just rocked him gently, quiet hiccups coming out of your mouth as you tried to grapple with reality. “I thought your life, and everyone else's, would be better off without me in it. I’m so sorry, I-I wasn’t thinking, I’m just such a fuck up-”

You cut him off, leaning back so that you could grab his face. “Do NOT say that to me, ever! You are one of the most important pieces of my life, you always have been and that has never changed. My life got better the day you came into it. Even if you feel like you have nothing else, you have me. You always have,” You took a deep breath as he rested his forehead against yours, shame written all over his face. “I love you so much, whether you know it or not. But the point is, I will always be here for you. Through the good and the bad.” 

Su-bong closed his eyes, tears still running down his face. The rain chilled the both of you to the bone, soaking through every inch of your clothing. You wiped his tears, holding him close. 

“I want to get out of here. Please, let’s go anywhere but here.” He finally whispered. You nodded, not saying a word as you slowly helped him to his feet. You kept an arm wrapped around his waist, helping him keep upright as you walked as he was unsteady on his feet. He was exhausted–emotionally, physically, and mentally. 

No words were exchanged as you brought him into your apartment. You led him into your small bathroom, sitting him on the edge of your bathtub. Grabbing multiple towels, you stood in front of him between his legs. His trembling hands didn’t go unnoticed by you, your chest aching as you looked at him. He looked distant, but was watching you. You offered him a small smile, one that was filled with warmth and familiarity. With gentle hands, you began to towel dry his soaking wet hair, bringing back some of the vibrant purple as it no longer stuck to his forehead. You had him strip out of his wet clothes, bringing him some spare of his that had been left at your apartment from long ago. Making sure he was dry and comfortable was your number one priority at the moment. 

“You’re still soaking wet.” He murmured as you were hanging the towels up to dry, making you pause. You turned, frowning as that was the first thing he’d said in a while. 

“No, you’re not worrying about me right now.” You said sternly, dropping your hands to your sides. He grabbed one of your hands, pulling you towards him. You stopped in between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. Your hand instinctively came up to his hair, running through it like you had done many times before. After a couple of moments, he lifted his head, chin now resting on your stomach as he looked up at you. 

“Thank you,” He said softly, vulnerability shining in his eyes. “For everything. I owe you my life. I promise that I’m going to get help. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” He whispered as you cupped his cheek. 

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, my love. Anything you need, I’m here. You’ll always have a home here.” You replied sincerely, your heart hurting for the man in front of you. 

“I know. I don’t know why I didn’t come home sooner.” He whispered, and the back of your eyes stung.

You went to bed that night with hope for the future, holding Su-bong close and him holding onto you all night like a lifeline. You didn’t know what exactly he had gone through in the time you were apart, but none of that mattered now. All you wanted was to protect him from his demons, and you so badly hoped that he would let you in. It would take time, but there was nothing more you wanted than to help him heal. 

[a-stars-art-blog]

Shitposts + serious WIP (?) comic

2nd shitpost inspired by @euporie-art ‘s tags on one of my other shitposts lmao

Tangent about the jail scene here ⬇️⬇️⬇️

It’s been rattling in my brain whyyyy Barok faces away from Albert in this scene

It’s an obviously deliberate decision so it got me thinking. Now unless someone already did an amazing analysis about this, please ignore this so I don’t look stupid and send me it instead fjskakak

TL;DR exactly what the comic said

Highly doubt Barok was so upset at Albert as to not face him (at least not too much). He DID go visit him actually, which is something Albert didn’t even predict. (Take that as you will). Barok could still be upset with Albert but I don’t see him as the type to turn his back to him like this.

My initial thought could be that Barok didn’t want Albert to see how grumpy and gloomy he’s become but I figured since he knew they were gonna see each other soon anyways, there’d be no reason to avoid it (unless he wanted to avoid a barrage of questions/concerns from Albert)

It’s like,,,what possible reason could there be that doesn’t make you think “well they were about to see each other in court in, like, less then 24 hours so what was the point?”

That’s when my thought train decided to go away from “Barok personal self-loathing” reason to “Barok personal something else” reason

Why would Barok not want to look at someone he considers a friend, especially one in a tough situation? Maybe, I thought, bc it would be to painful for him

When they were in uni, they probably had high hopes for each other. To expect the other to do great things, be great people, be famous. Imagine 10 years later you find out your buddy is in JAIL??? That’s probably very heartbreaking. I wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to see someone he holds in high regards in a cell. But he’s still gonna be a good friend and visit him anyways <3

Okay another thought that JUST popped into my head!! Barok not wanting Albert’s image of him to change just yet.

Up until just recently, Albert had nothing but positive and nice things to say about Barok. He hadn’t talked to him in YEARS so his image of Barok is still of “the little darling”/varsity days.

Albert was probably the only person closely connected to Barok that still held that image. And Barok probably knew that. I think it’d be incredibly tragic if Barok wanted someone to still believe in him. To have someone who still saw him as nothing but good and hopeful. A bright man with a bright future. Albert seeing his face and seeing that brightness gone away would probably make him understand something’s gone horribly wrong.

Of course, them seeing each other is inevitable but Barok prolonging it is still a painful thought. The fact Barok prolonged their face to face meeting at all is really sad :(((

But bright side is that Albert never commented (initially) on his appearance. Just his mean behavior lol and I actually really really appreciate how their friendship was never really put into question. They never had a conversation where they were like “hey you’re scary now” or “hey I’m scary now” “we should probably stop being friends” they’re both fucked up <3 but it’s still fun to imagine that “what if”

Anyways all this to say that Barok cares so much about Albert that even his actions that look cold and heartless, actually come from a deep place of love and respect holy shit????

That or he’s just a tsundere

[quinzzelx]

Reflections

Azriel x Fem! Reader

Request: hello, i’ve been thinking about slight angst to fluffy filth with azriel x reader, i have this idea where reader gets az off in front of a mirror while he says nice things about himself, bc we all know his self esteem is abominable. [...]

Summary: You notice Azriel isn't feeling well and want to show him just how much he is loved.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Smut, 18! +, Fluffy smut, Soft Azriel, gentle sex, mirror sex.

A/N: This is soooo cute!! I really wanted to make this fluffy. Azriel deserves so much love and I loved writing this. Also, a friend of mine gave me a really mean idea for a very angsty second part, but that would be utter heartbreak omg...

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Azriel moved through the day with a heavier shadow than usual, both literally and figuratively. His usual quiet demeanor had deepened into something more somber, his brooding silence punctuated only by the soft whispers of his shadows that clung close, mirroring his mood. It was one of those days when the weight of his duties hung heavily upon him, laden with guilt, self-doubt, and a gnawing anxiety that he might never truly be enough. His own insecurities clawed at him relentlessly, questioning his worth even as he worked tirelessly behind the scenes, unseen and often unappreciated.

You observed him with a careful eye, noting the subtle shift in his energy, the slight hesitation in his movements. Throughout the centuries of your friendship, which had seen countless shared secrets and moments of vulnerability, you had learned to read him like one of the many books lining the shelves of his dimly-lit office. You both danced around each other in a delicate ballet of unspoken words and intermittent closeness, occasionally succumbing to the gravitational pull of mutual desire that neither of you dared to fully acknowledge or define.

Recently, something had shifted. The air between you was charged, heavy with the things left unsaid, the feelings unexplored. Despite the deep bond you shared, Azriel had begun to pull away, cloaking himself in solitude and silence. His avoidance was a clear sign of his inner turmoil—a battle you knew all too well. He was adept at seeing the good in everyone else, lifting others with his quiet strength and perceptive insights, yet he was blind to the light within himself.

Determined to breach the distance he had imposed, you resolved to confront the barriers he had erected. Catching Azriel was never easy; he was as elusive as the shadows he commanded, adept at hiding his deepest fears and desires. But love, you had decided, was not a thing to be easily relinquished or left unspoken. It was a force as formidable as the magic Azriel wielded, and you were prepared to wield it with all the determination and tenderness it demanded.

You waited for him in his bedroom, adorned in one of your finest and sheerest black lace nightgowns, draped with a silk robe that whispered with every subtle movement. Positioned on the chaise in the corner of his spacious room, you gazed intently into the floor-length mirror adjacent to the door, reflecting not only your own anxious anticipation but also the room’s dark, elegant aesthetic.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the tension and expectancy built within you. The only sound was the quiet rustle of your gown and the distant, muffled noises of the House of Wind settling for the night.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped through. His arrival was signaled not by a flourish, but by a weary sigh, his silhouette framed momentarily in the doorway. His shoulders were slumped, bearing the invisible yet palpable weight of his duties and doubts.

As he entered, his familiar shadows danced around him, a dark entourage that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Interestingly, the shadows flickered towards you briefly, acknowledging your presence as if in greeting. Yet, they maintained their silence, not alerting Azriel to your presence. It was as if they, too, conspired in your plan, understanding perhaps the necessity of this confrontation.

Azriel, oblivious to your presence and caught up in his own thoughts, moved slowly into the room. He loosened the clasps of his cloak and began to shed the layers of his formal attire, each movement heavy with exhaustion. It was only as he turned to hang his cloak in the wardrobe that he caught your reflection in the mirror. His movements halted abruptly; his eyes locked onto yours in the reflected image. A complex mixture of surprise, confusion, and a flicker of something deeper played across his features. For a moment, he simply stared, as if processing the sight and its implications.

“Why are you here?” His voice, though soft, carried the weight of his weary confusion and lingering shadows of his earlier brooding.

The room felt charged, the air thick with the unsaid, as you stood gracefully, letting the silk robe fall slightly to reveal more of the delicate lace clinging to your form. “I’m here for you, Azriel,” you said, your voice a gentle yet firm declaration. “I’ve seen how you’ve been carrying your burdens, and you don’t have to bear them alone. Not anymore.”

Your words hung in the air, a soft yet undeniable challenge to the walls he had built around himself. His initial shock gave way to a resigned vulnerability, the barriers beginning to falter under the weight of your sincerity and the palpable concern in your eyes.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a long, silent moment, the battle within him almost visible. Then, slowly, the shadows around him seemed to retreat slightly, as if giving him the space to breathe, to decide. It was your turn to wait, the outcome of your bold move hanging delicately in the balance.

Your movements were smooth and deliberate, each step carrying the quiet confidence of someone who knows their power. As Azriel's gaze lingered on you in the mirror, the sheer lace of your nightgown played a tantalizing dance over your skin, hinting at the promises concealed beneath. When you let the silk robe slip from your shoulders, pooling silently at your feet, his reaction was instantaneous—a low grunt of undisguised desire and perhaps, a hint of conflict.

"You've been avoiding me," you murmured, your voice as soft and enticing as the silk that had just glided off your body. "I missed you, Azriel." The words were simple, but they carried the weight of your genuine concern and longing.

His jaw tensed, a slight narrowing of his eyes betraying his inner turmoil. Muscles tight, he took in the sight of you—each curve accentuated by the delicate lace, the soft lighting casting shadows that played over your form. Doubt flickered behind his gaze, a constant companion in his thoughts. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice rough with a mix of confusion and rising heat.

Smirking slightly, you stepped closer, each movement calculated to show your appreciation of his formidable presence. His impressive wings, the strong lines of his body—every inch of him spoke of a crafted perfection that took your breath away. But beyond the physical, you saw the soul of the man who had stood by you through centuries, his loyalty unwavering, his strength a beacon. Tonight, you were determined to show Azriel just how much he was loved and adored. He deserved to feel valued, not just by those around him but by himself. If he needed a reminder, you were more than ready to provide it, to break down the barriers he had erected around his heart.

Reaching him, you placed a hand lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "Let me remind you," you said, standing on tiptoes to whisper directly into his ear, your breath a warm caress. "Let me show you how much you mean to me, to all of us. You are not alone, Azriel. You never have been." The intensity of your words seemed to pierce through his defenses. For a moment, he was still, the only movement the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against him, his embrace a silent acceptance of your offer. His forehead rested against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

"Mhm," you hum softly, letting one of your hands wander down his back, feeling the tense muscles beneath his shirt as your fingers explore the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing his tattoos. The warmth of his skin radiated through the fabric, speaking of the battles he fought both outside and within himself. "I want to make you feel good," you whispered, a promise laden with devotion and want.

Azriel's response was almost imperceptible, a slight relaxation under your touch as he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. His eyes remained closed, focusing intently on the sensation of your hand moving over him. The muscle in his jaw worked silently, a visible sign of the tension he carried. As your scent enveloped him—sweet notes of arousal mixed with the calming lavender of your soap—it threatened to undo the control he so rigidly held over himself. He suppressed a groan, the depth of his yearning surfacing despite his best efforts to maintain composure.

Your other hand gently traced the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there and willing it to ease. "Let go with me, Az," you coaxed, your voice low and soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me." Your words, heartfelt and sincere, aimed to penetrate the walls he built around his emotions, to reach the man who so rarely allowed himself the luxury of being cared for.

Slowly, Azriel opened his eyes, the usual guarded hazel depths now shimmering with a mix of emotions—conflict, desire, and a dawning realization that he could perhaps find solace in your arms. His hand reached up to cover yours, pressing it against his cheek, turning his face to plant a soft kiss in the palm of your hand. It was a small gesture, yet laden with significance, an acknowledgment of his trust and his willingness to lean on you, if only for the night.

You pull him into a kiss, one that starts soft and gentle but quickly escalates into something deeper, more meaningful. Your hand, not content with merely cupping his cheek, slides to the hem of his pants, palming his hardening length through the fabric. The moment he groans softly into the kiss, you seize the opportunity to deepen it, slipping your tongue into his mouth, fully asserting your presence.

The kiss turns heated in an instant. Azriel's hands wander to your waist, his touch sending shivers through your body as he feels your heated skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. "Fuck," he grunts as the kiss breaks, his eyes roaming over you with newfound intensity. He takes in the sight of your nipples, visibly strained against the sheer lace. "You look..." he trails off, exhaling sharply, the raw desire evident in his gaze. "Absolutely breathtaking."

Encouraged by his reaction, you begin to undress him slowly, each movement deliberate and filled with intention. As you peel away his clothing, his heart hammers in his chest, the sensation distinctly different, more intimate than any encounter before. This wasn't just about physical need—it was about connection, about exposing not just bodies but also hidden depths of emotion.

His shirt falls away, and you take a moment to trace the lines of his well-defined chest, your fingers exploring each scar and muscle, a silent testament to his battles and burdens. Each touch seems to speak words you both had held back, acknowledging his vulnerabilities and strengths without needing to articulate them verbally.

As you kneel to undo his belt, your proximity to him intensifies the atmosphere. The sound of the buckle clinking softly as you open his pants is almost deafening in the quiet room. You glance up at him, finding his eyes locked on yours, a mixture of apprehension and longing swirling within.

With his pants finally loosened, you help him step out of them, leaving him as exposed as you are, both physically and emotionally. Standing back up, you press your body against his, feeling the heat radiating from him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest synchronizing with yours.

"Let me take care of you tonight," you whisper against his lips, a promise hanging between you, as heavy and tangible as the air itself. "Let me love you, Azriel." You guide Azriel to stand before the large mirror, positioning him so that he can see both himself and your reflection. Standing just behind him, you drape your arms over his broad shoulders, allowing your hands to roam freely across the hard planes of his chest. The room's temperature seems to climb with each deliberate caress, the air charged with an electric current of anticipation and desire.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you let a slow, confident smirk play across your lips. "I want you to watch," you murmur, locking eyes with him through the reflection. Your voice is low, a sultry command that sends a thrill through him.

Your hands move with practiced ease, tracing down his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. "Look at how strong you are, my love," you whisper, your voice a mix of admiration and desire.

You hold Azriel's gaze in the mirror, your eyes locking with his as you let your hand slide into the waistband of his underwear, feeling the soft, silky skin of his hard cock beneath your fingertips. Your touch elicits a shiver from him, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into your embrace, his wings twitching with anticipation.

"I want you to repeat what I say," you murmur, your voice a seductive whisper as you continue to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate. You feel the tension in his body, the way he strains against your touch, and you revel in the power you have over him in this moment.

"Say it," you command softly, your tone firm yet loving. "Repeat after me."

His breath comes out in shallow pants as he nods, his eyes still closed, lost in the sensations you're evoking in him. "I-I'll repeat," he manages to whisper, his voice husky.

You smile, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you guide him through the words, each one a testament to his worth and your desire for him. "I am worthy," you say, your voice steady and sure. "I am strong. I am loved."

Azriel's voice trembles slightly as he echoes your words, his own affirmation mingling with yours in the air between you. "I am worthy," he repeats, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. "I am strong. I am loved."

You feel a swell of pride and affection for him as he speaks, his words a declaration of self-worth and acceptance. But you're not done yet—you want him to know just how much he means to you, how deeply you desire him.

Leaning closer, you press a kiss to the shell of his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you murmur words of adoration and desire. "You're so fucking sexy, Az," you breathe, your voice low and sultry. "Your body, your mind, your heart—I want all of you. I need all of you."

As you continue to stroke Azriel, you feel him twitch with each movement of your hand, a visceral response to your touch that drives you both further into the realm of lust. The air between you charges with electricity, every touch and whisper amplifying the tension that wraps around you like a tangible force.

"You are incredible," you breathe out, each word laden with desire as you maintain the rhythmic motion of your hand. "Feel every stroke, every touch. This is how much you affect me, how much you are wanted."

His back arches slightly as he presses into you, his breathing deepening. The heat from his body radiates, mingling with yours, creating an enveloping warmth that makes the air around you shimmer. "I love how you respond to me," you continue, your voice a seductive whisper that sends shivers down his spine. "Every shudder, every moan. You're so beautifully responsive."

Your words of praise and the relentless motion of your hand draw deep moans from him, each one escaping his lips like a confession. His hands find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours to increase the pressure, guiding you in the silent language of lovers intimately familiar with each other’s desires.

"Look at us," you command gently, nodding towards the mirror. His eyes open slowly, heavy with arousal, and meet yours in the reflection. The sight of yourselves, wrapped in such an intimate tableau, heightens the erotic charge of the moment. "See how perfect you look, giving in to pleasure. This is you—powerful yet so open and vulnerable with me."

You press your body closer against his, your chest flush against his back, letting him feel the full length of your body, the firmness of your breasts against him. "You are so strong, Azriel, but here with me, you don’t have to be. Just feel," you whisper, accentuating your words with a firmer stroke, pushing him closer to the edge.

You continue your tender assault, spreading kisses from his neck down his shoulder, each touch light and reverent. Azriel's breath comes in heavy pants, a sign of the deep pleasure coursing through him as your thumb grazes the throbbing, sensitive head of his cock, slick with arousal. The gentle yet deliberate movements of your hand contrast with the intensity of the moment, creating a stirring blend of tenderness and heat.

"You're doing so well," you murmur, peppering his skin with soft kisses that make him shiver under your touch. "Feel every sensation, let it wash over you. You deserve this pleasure," you continue, your words dripping with affirmation and encouragement.

As he tries to savor the moment, clinging to the waves of pleasure you elicit from him, you notice the overwhelmed look in his eyes—a mix of disbelief and ecstasy at the gentleness of the encounter. His usual demeanor of control and restraint is nowhere to be seen, replaced by raw, unguarded vulnerability in the reflection of the mirror.

"Keep going, Az," you whisper, your voice a sultry command that sends a shiver down his spine. "Tell yourself how good it feels, praise yourself like I praise you."

A flush of embarrassment mixed with arousal colors his cheeks, his gaze darkening further as he meets your eyes in the mirror. The intimacy of the moment, your hands skillfully wrapped around him, heightens the erotic charge between you. His voice, when it finally emerges, is husky and hesitant, but grows in confidence with each word. "It feels... incredible. I am... strong, and I am desired."

Hearing Azriel voice his own pleasure, a rare admission from him, something coils deep within your stomach, a mix of pride and further craving. His words, reflecting both the affirmations you've given and his own acceptance of them, deepen the connection, making this moment about more than physical pleasure—it's about emotional liberation and acceptance. "Look at how powerful you are, how much control you have over your own pleasure," you guide him, your voice both soothing and seductive.

Encouraged by your words, he begins to move his hips subtly, entering into a rhythm guided by the motions of your hand. His own words become more assured, his voice stronger. "I am powerful... I am worthy of this pleasure... I deserve this."

As he articulates his own worth, his climax builds, the tension in his body winding tighter. His breathing grows erratic, and you tighten your grip just slightly, increasing the pace, pushing him closer with a loving yet firm hand.

"Let go, Azriel," you coax as he teeters on the brink, your voice soft yet commanding. Azriel's grunt resonates with a newfound confidence, his instincts beginning to surface as he takes control. His hips snap forward decisively, rutting into your hand with a series of firm, deliberate thrusts. His gaze locks onto yours in the mirror—dark, intense, filled with a fiery desire that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

"What do you want, Azriel?" you ask, your voice a soft challenge, laced with curiosity and an undercurrent of your own need for him. The question seems to unleash something within him, a torrent of pent-up longing.

With a decisive movement, he gently removes your hand from his length, confusion flickering across your face. But before you can question his actions, he swiftly pulls you around to face him. The sudden shift in dynamics catches you off guard, and you find yourself staring up into his heated eyes, your back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror.

Azriel's hands find your waist, his grip firm but not constricting, as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I want you," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "I want to show you just how much I need you, how deep my desire runs."

He pauses, his eyes searching yours for a moment, gauging your reaction, before continuing with a more raw, almost primal tone. "I want to see you unravel beneath me, hear you moan my name as I take you, right here, right now."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling within you. The audacity of his words, the explicitness of his desires—it's intoxicating.

"I want to feel your body tremble as I fill you, to watch your face in the mirror as you come undone from my touch." His fingers trail up your side, light but purposeful, drawing a line of fire along your skin.

Before you can respond, he bends down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that seals his vow, a kiss so deep and consuming that it leaves you breathless. When he pulls back slightly, his gaze is unyielding, locked onto yours with an intensity that holds the world at bay.

"This is what I want," he declares, his voice a blend of raw need and absolute certainty. "Tell me you want it too."

Caught in the whirlwind of his passion, your own desires flare to life, matching his intensity. "Yes," you breathe out, the word a surrender to the storm, an acceptance of his claim over you. "Yes, I want it, Azriel."

Satisfied with your affirmation, he smiles, a predatory, triumphant curve of his lips that promises untold pleasures. The chill causes your nipples to harden immediately, a visible reaction that doesn't escape his intense gaze. His eyes, dark and predatory, drink in every inch of your revealed skin with undisguised hunger. His scarred hand ventures lower, tracing a bold path down your abdomen until it finds the heat between your legs. You gasp, a soft moan escaping your lips, as his fingers explore your wetness, a rough groan vibrating from his throat in response to your arousal.

"Azriel," you whimper, your voice laced with need and a faint protest, "this was supposed to be about you."

He looks up at you, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Believe me," he responds, his voice low and husky, pressing his fingers more insistently against you, "making you feel good is very much in my best interest." His words are punctuated by a deliberate stroke that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, making your knees buckle slightly.

He steadies you with a firm arm around your waist, his touch both possessive and protective. "Seeing you unravel, hearing you moan my name—it’s what I need right now," he continues, his tone both commanding and coaxing. Azriel gently turns you to face the mirror, pulling you back against his chest. The heat of his body envelops you, and you feel the firm pressure of his arousal against your lower back. Instinctively, one of your hands reaches back between your bodies, grasping him firmly, feeling his length and hardness, which elicits a soft groan from both of you.

 His fingers continue their expert ministrations, circling, teasing, pushing you toward the edge with skilled precision.

The room seems to close in around you, the mirror reflecting your intertwined forms, a visual echo of the intense connection that sizzles between you. Every touch, every whisper, intensifies the electric charge in the air, pulling you deeper into the vortex of desire.

As Azriel's hand works its magic, you find yourself leaning back into his chest, seeking support as your body begins to tremble under the onslaught of pleasure. His other hand travels up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple in a rhythm that mirrors the actions of his fingers below.

"This is about us," Azriel murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "About me showing you how much you mean to me, how much I want you." Azriel’s touch becomes even more deliberate as he strokes your clit, his fingers tracing the contours of your slick folds before teasing at your entrance. All the while, he whispers sweet affirmations into your ear.

In the mirror, Azriel watches every reaction that flickers across your face—each flutter of your eyelids, every bite of your lip, the way your brows furrow slightly in concentration and pleasure. This visual feedback drives him, his actions tuned to elicit more of those beautiful responses.

"You always make me feel incredible, Azriel," you breathe out, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "No one else can make me feel like this."

His eyes, dark with his want and need, reflect a mix of pride and deep affection. "You’re mine," he affirms, the possessive words not a demand but a declaration. His fingers resume their motion, now with a renewed vigor, as if spurred on by your admissions.

You watch together in the mirror as his fingers delve deeper, exploring you, his other hand caressing your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between expert fingers. The dual sensations, coupled with the intensely erotic sight of your intertwined bodies reflected back at you, drive your arousal higher. "I want you to see how much you enjoy this, how you respond to

me," Azriel murmurs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I want you to watch yourself come undone because of what I do to you." As the heat of your arousal intensifies, you find yourself overwhelmed by the need for more—for him. Your whispered disclosure sends a visible shudder through Azriel, and you feel his response in the twitch of his length in your grasp. His gaze softens, filled with a tumult of emotions that had shadowed him earlier, now mingling with the undeniable love and warmth radiating from your intertwined bodies.

"Earlier," he drawls, his voice thick with emotion as he thrusts one finger deep inside you, causing a sharp intake of breath. "You said you want all of me..." His words trail off as he watches your reaction, then, deliberately, he slides a second finger alongside the first, stretching and filling you, pausing to let each sensation sink in. "Not just my body, but my heart."

His fingers move rhythmically, pumping into your core as his body presses flush against yours, his breath warm against the skin of your neck. His lips gently flutter over your skin, each touch a whisper of affection and promise. "Tell me," he commands softly, his request hanging in the air, laden with deeper implications.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you breathe out your confession, each word laced with the depth of your feelings. "I love you, Azriel." The words hang between you, powerful and sincere. As his movements inside you pause, you continue, compelled to reassure him of his worth. "You deserve to be loved. I don't know anyone else who deserves it more than you do."

In that moment, something shifts in Azriel’s eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, a glint that might be the beginning of belief, something warm and soft. His fingers resume their motion, but now with a tenderness that mirrors the emotion swelling in the room. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, only to replace them with the head of his cock, positioning himself at your entrance. The anticipation makes your heart beat wildly, every nerve alight with the need for him.

"You deserve to be loved too," Azriel whispers back, his voice husky with emotion. "And I—I love you, more than I ever thought possible." With that confession, he pushes forward, entering you in one smooth, deliberate motion that makes you gasp both from the fullness and the profound significance of his words. As the intensity of your passion deepens, each thrust is imbued with a profound sense of connection, a merging of souls as much as bodies. Azriel's eyes, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration, remain locked on yours in the mirror, capturing every expression of pleasure that dances across your features.

You're bent forward slightly, your back arched, your body yielding to his as he continues to fill you with each delicious thrust. Wet sounds fill the air, mingling with heavy breathing and soft pleas as the rhythm of your lovemaking builds, each movement proof to the depth of your connection.

Unlike your previous encounters, which were fueled by hunger and passion, now it is suffused with something more profound—love. "My legs are about to give out," you whimper, feeling the strain of the pleasure coursing through your body.

Azriel responds by pulling you back against his chest, his hand firm yet gentle around your throat, guiding you to stand straight as he continues to grind his hips against yours. The sensation of his cock nestled deep inside you, combined with the warmth of his body pressed against yours, sends wave after wave of pleasure through you. With a soft smile and a lingering touch, he slowly withdraws from you, the air cool against your heated skin. Turning you to face him, his eyes brim with love—a look so intense, it feels as though it could completely engulf you. He seals his emotions with a kiss, tender and passionate, a perfect echo of the feelings swirling between you.

He guides you gently towards the bed, sinking back first onto the soft sheets. You climb over him, straddling his hips with graceful ease. Lowering yourself back down onto him, a mutual groan fills the space, the sensation overwhelming yet deeply right. The kiss never breaks, each movement of your lips in sync with the rolling motion of your hips.

His hands find your hips, gripping gently, guiding and meeting each movement with his own. Every thrust is a word unsaid, every connection a line in a poem of your intertwining lives. The way his body responds to yours, the way your heartbeats seem to synchronize with each thrust, it all culminates into an exquisite dance of love. As you continue to move rhythmically above him, Azriel's words flow like a soothing stream, each phrase dripping with affection and devotion, encouraging your every motion. "You're everything to me," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrates through your core. His hands are tender yet purposeful, one gliding to stroke your clit in slow, deliberate circles that send waves of pleasure crashing through you.

The intensity of his touch makes you gasp, your head tilting back as stars burst behind your closed eyelids. Feeling the shift, Azriel gently guides you back down, his body rising to meet yours. His lips find the delicate skin of your breasts, and his teeth graze lightly, careful not to hurt but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He marks you lovingly, each kiss and nibble a witness to his deep feelings, branding you as his in the most intimate of ways.

The room is filled with the sound of your combined sighs and the soft rustle of the sheets as you move together. Azriel's other hand anchors you, his fingers digging gently into your hips, guiding your movements to meet his upward thrusts. The dual stimulation of his fingers on your clit and his deep, steady strokes inside you draws you ever closer to the edge.

His eyes never leave your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every shift of emotion as you ride the waves together. He sits up slightly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer, chest to chest, heart to heart. His breath is warm on your neck, his murmurs filled with words of love and future promises.

"Let go with me," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "Let me feel you come undone."

Encouraged by his words and overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure, you surrender fully to the sensations. The world narrows down to the here and now, to the feel of Azriel beneath you, inside you, all around you. As you climax, your body tightens around him, a wave of euphoria washing over you in an intense, all-encompassing rush, crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Azriel follows shortly after, his own release spurred by the tightening grip of your body and the overwhelming sense of love.

In the aftermath, you collapse against him, both of you panting, sweat mingling, hearts beating in a synchronized rhythm of deep contentment. Azriel's arms hold you close, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We are made for each other," he breathes out, a smile in his voice, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. As you lie intertwined with Azriel, the tender strokes of his fingers drawing soft patterns on your back, a sense of tranquility envelops you, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and affection. The air is filled with a serene stillness, broken only by the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

You feel a surge of emotion welling up within you, a profound sense of gratitude for this man who holds you in his arms. With a soft smile playing on your lips, you nestle closer to him, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It's as if the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of love and warmth.

"Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "you deserve the world and more." Your words are imbued with sincerity, each syllable carrying the weight of your affection. "You've always been the one to give so much, to sacrifice without hesitation. And yet, you never ask for anything in return."

Tears well up in your eyes as you continue, overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings. "You're the most beautiful soul I've ever known, inside and out. And I... I love you more than words can express."

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you struggle to articulate the depth of your emotions, the magnitude of your love for him. "Sometimes," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, "it feels like the weight of the world is crushing down on me, suffocating me. But then... then you walk into the room, and suddenly, everything becomes clear. I can breathe again." Your confession hangs in the air, the silence punctuated only by the gentle rise and fall of your breaths.  

As tears well up in Azriel's eyes, his gaze meets yours with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. His brows furrow with the intensity of his feelings, and he pulls you closer to him, wrapping you in a tight embrace. With trembling hands, he gently lifts your chin, capturing your lips in a soul-crushing kiss.

In that moment, he pours every ounce of love and tenderness into the kiss, conveying with each touch the depth of his emotions. As you part, his chest heaves with emotion, and he gazes into your eyes with a vulnerability that renders you speechless.

"My love," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "those words... they mean more to me than you could ever know." He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch feather-light against your skin. "I never thought myself deserving of such affection," he confesses, his voice raw with honesty. "But you..”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from yours. "With you by my side, I can finally sleep peacefully," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "For centuries, I wandered in darkness, haunted by my past. But with you, I've found solace, a sense of peace that I never thought possible."

You reach out, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs gently wiping away the tears that still linger in his honey-colored eyes. "Az," you whisper, your voice filled with tenderness, "you deserve all the love in the world. You are worthy of every ounce of affection I have to give."

With a soft smile, you press a kiss to his lips, a silent promise of your unwavering devotion. "Together," you murmur against his lips, "we'll navigate through the darkness, hand in hand, until we find the light." In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of each other's embrace, you know that you've found your home in each other's arms. And as you hold each other close, you're filled with a sense of peace and contentment that you know will carry you through whatever trials lie ahead.

[jenosbliss]

Hellooo!! Can I request a fic where the mc is being cheated on by another member and when she finds out she turns into a mess (the sad one, not the one that parties and things like that) until she randomly meets jisung (like at the park or the convenience store) and she starts to heal with his help and they end up in a relationship

— he healed something he didn’t break

pairing. fem!reader x jisung (ft. sion) | genre. angst, fluff | wc. 1.3k | warnings. mentions of infidelity and depression

a/n:: hey anon! i loved your request, the way you asked for the reader’s emotional state… i relate to it sm. and i hope sion as your ex is okay? bcs i just can’t imagine any dreamie there :(

It didn’t break you all at once.

When you discovered the truth about Sion—his betrayal, the lies he so effortlessly told—it felt more like a slow unraveling than a sudden crash. At first, there was disbelief. You stared at the picture on your phone, the image of him with someone else, their bodies too close, their smiles too intimate. You’d convinced yourself there had to be an explanation.

But when you confronted him, the betrayal solidified into something colder, sharper. His excuses were pathetic at best: “It’s not like we were serious-serious.” “You’re overreacting.” “Maybe we weren’t working out anyway.”

His words played on repeat in your head, each one a hammer blow to your self-worth.

We weren’t working out anyway? He hadn’t even given you the chance to know there was a problem. You’d been investing your time, your energy, your love—only to find that he’d been giving his to someone else.

In the days that followed, you fell into a dark haze of heartbreak. The lively, hopeful version of you seemed to vanish. You stopped answering calls from friends, retreating into your small apartment, leaving texts unread and the world outside your door ignored.

Self-doubt crept in like an unwanted guest, whispering cruel questions. Was I not enough? Was it something I did? Did I deserve this? Every memory you’d shared with Sion felt tainted, every happy moment now twisted into something painful.

You barely ate. Barely slept. Your reflection in the mirror became unfamiliar—eyes dull, shoulders slumped, the energy you once carried replaced by a weariness you couldn’t shake.

The convenience store was your only escape.

You went there late at night when the world was quiet, hoping to avoid seeing anyone who might recognize you. The bright, sterile lights and rows of snacks were strangely comforting in their mundanity.

It was during one of those visits that you met him.

You were staring blankly at a shelf of instant noodles when someone accidentally bumped into you. The impact knocked a pack from your hand, and you barely had the energy to bend down and pick it up.

“Oh—sorry!”

The voice was warm and apologetic, and when you turned, you were met with a pair of wide, kind eyes. A boyish-looking guy crouched to retrieve the noodles, holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.

“Didn’t see you there,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as you took the packet.

The question caught you off guard, your lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“You just… look like you’re having a rough day,” he said, his voice soft but earnest. “Sorry, that was probably rude.”

You shook your head, hugging your arms around yourself. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, seemingly unsure whether to say more. “Well, uh… I hope it gets better,” he said finally, offering you a small, sincere smile before stepping past you.

You watched as he stepped past you, his presence lingering even after he disappeared down another aisle. For the first time in weeks, something stirred inside you—an unfamiliar warmth cutting through the numbness.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But a few nights later, there he was, standing by the freezer section, holding two tubs of ice cream and looking impossibly indecisive.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed you, his face lighting up. “Noodles, right?”

“What?”

“Last time,” he said, grinning. “You were holding noodles. I’m terrible with names, so I gave you one based on context.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—a small, involuntary sound that felt foreign after weeks of silence. “That’s a terrible nickname.”

“Better than nothing,” he teased, setting one of the ice cream tubs back on the shelf. “I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, the weight in your chest lifting slightly.

“Nice to officially meet you, Y/N,” he said, offering a lopsided smile.

The convenience store became your accidental meeting place.

You’d run into Jisung every few nights, sometimes exchanging quick hellos, other times lingering to chat about nothing in particular. He had a way of making the world feel lighter, like the heaviness that followed you around could be momentarily lifted by his presence.

He never pushed, never asked more than you were willing to share. Instead, he filled the silence with stories—about his quirky neighbors, his obsession with trying every snack in the store, the stray cat that sometimes followed him home.

Slowly, you found yourself opening up.

One night, as the two of you stood by the drinks cooler, you broke the silence with a quiet confession. “I don’t understand why people cheat.”

Jisung turned to you, his expression softening.

“If they fall out of love,” you continued, your voice trembling, “why can’t they just… say it? Why fake it? Why pretend to care?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “But it’s not your fault. Some people don’t know how to value what they have. That doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing a wound you hadn’t realized was still raw.

As weeks turned into months, your conversations with Jisung grew longer. You started texting, too—random memes, late-night snack recommendations, and the occasional check-in when he hadn’t seen you at the store.

With him, you felt safe. He never treated you like you were broken, never made you feel like you had to rush to “move on.” Instead, he showed you that healing wasn’t linear—it was messy and slow, but it didn’t have to be lonely.

He was patient, warm, and consistent in a way that felt like a balm to your battered heart.

One evening, the two of you sat on a bench in the park, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Jisung was telling a story about a stray dog that had followed him home, his hands animated as he described the encounter.

“You’re smiling,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with surprise. “What?”

“You’re smiling,” he repeated, his lips curving into a soft grin. “It’s nice. I’ve missed seeing that.”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked away, but his words stayed with you, a warmth blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t until another late-night walk that everything changed.

The two of you were strolling through your neighborhood, the quiet hum of crickets filling the space between your words. You’d been talking about your plans for the future, your voice lighter than it had been in months.

Jisung stopped suddenly, his gaze turning serious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You turned to face him, your brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve been through so much, but you’re still here. Still strong. Still kind. And…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You make me want to be better, just by being you.”

Your breath caught, your heart racing as his words hung in the air. “Jisung…”

“I know this might be too soon,” he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly. “But if there’s even a chance you might feel the same way—”

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance between you, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I feel the same.”

Relief flooded his expression as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like they’d been meant to hold you all along.

You realized that piece by piece, Jisung had helped you put yourself back together. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[knife-eared-jan]

Except that we are currently able to watch live irl that that's not true and never was. And DATV not getting that is actually getting to the core of what's wrong with it... and, if you wanna be melodramatic, with angloamerican perspectives on morals in general.

It really doesn't need that much for ordinary everyday people who might have been decent under slightly different circumstances to willingly run into the arms of tyranny and not even realise the immorality of it. Unfortunately, tragically, that's something intrinsic to the human experience, no matter how much we don't want to face it.

[When could it have felt more poignant than right at this point in time, to get a video game exploring the literal manifestation of tyranny and how it snares people in, how perfectly ordinary people can be lured by its appeal, can cave under the horrible pressure of it, didn't think it could get that bad, can break against the heartbreaking sheer overwhelming number of willing allies. (No tyrant lasts long once they really have their people against them - that's why they invest so much in censorship and controlling public opinion.)]

I'm not saying it is that critical for the game to specifically explore Elgar'nan's character more or whatever, even though that would have been cool. But everytime this banter comes across my dash I get apoplectic bc this line is so symptomatic of the ridiculous black and white, evil people are just evil because they're evil vs. all good people never do anything wrong and intrinsically know not to be wrong ever that the entire game falls prey to.

Spirits would never support Elgar'nan bc spirits in this game are good innocent victims and Elgar'nan is evil so he would never appeal to anyone who is on the "good side".

Like, I'm sorry I know I carry more religious trauma than average, but does this not reek of the same kind of bullshit we were fed for centuries to anyone else? Have we really gone so full circle? It's actually ironic that the game gets so much shit for being too woke, when this, to me, actually screams the very opposite.

[vaillequevivre]

now I have to options:

1. explode and end a friendship cause why not fuck around when the other was messing around like it was nothing and she could say things about me <3

2. i just say like “oh i see, ok.” because sometimes the best thing you can give to these people is the completely indifference and also?????? i don’t have to explain myself to you bro kkkk like kkkk i really don’t

bro you’re playing with fire (me without my psychiatrist medication)

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : angst (a lot), light fighting, slapping, mentions of pregnancy, weapons.

A/N : tbh filler chapter bcs I’m struggling to write guys 😭 I had a blank plot and I’m not really satisfied with this chapter. But I figured out a plot for the next chapter so it should be easier to write. Enjoy 🫶🏻

• | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪ: ʀᴏᴍᴇ’ꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ |•

Anakin is falling.

The darkness wraps around him like the arms of the underworld, weightless and infinite. He cannot feel his body, cannot tell if he still has one. He does not know if he is breathing.

All he knows is the falling.

The air is thick with whispers. They slip through the void like snakes, curling around him, voices both familiar and foreign. They speak in tongues he does not recognize, in languages that have been buried beneath the dust of centuries. Some are cries, others are murmurs. Some speak his name.

But what is his name?

"Anakin."

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Anakin, wake up."

Yours.

It is faint—just a thread of sound in the vast blackness—but it is real. He reaches for it, desperate, straining, trying to hold on. But his fingers grasp at nothing. You are slipping away.

And then—

The world shifts.

The darkness shatters like glass, and suddenly, he is not falling. He is standing.

No—he is someone else.

Not Anakin. Remus.

The sun is bright, the air thick with the scent of earth and stone. His hands are calloused, dirt under his fingernails, sweat dripping down his back. He turns his head, and beside him stands his brother.

Romulus. Obi-Wan.

They are not wearing armor, nor are they warriors yet. They are young men with fire in their veins, standing before the land they have claimed. Before them, Rome is nothing but an idea—a dream made of stone and sweat and blood.

He knows this. He remembers it.

"We will build something eternal."

Romulus speaks with certainty, eyes alight with purpose.

Remus—Anakin—does not answer. His gaze drifts, searching, drawn toward something else.

Drawn toward you.

You are there, standing among the workers, the sun catching in your hair. His brother’s betrothed. You wear the marks of nobility, of the divine, and yet—you look at him as if he is the one who commands your heart.

The air is heavy between you. He does not know what he feels, not yet. But he knows he is drawn to you, and that it is dangerous.

The memory fractures. Time bends.

The scenes flash too fast—like a storm of moments he cannot control.

He sees you at night, in the gardens, when the moon is the only witness to your crime. Your hands touch his face, his chest, tracing him like he is something holy. He grips your wrists, voice low with warning. "You cannot keep coming to me."

"Then tell me to leave."

He does not.

He never does.

Your lips find his, and the world ceases to exist.

Another flash.

An argument.

"I am tired of hiding!" His voice is raw with frustration. "Why must I be your secret? Do you love him?"

"Do not ask me that."

"Why? Because you are afraid of the answer?"

"Because if I say it out loud, the gods will hear me."

“I don’t care !”

“Don’t tell me to say it out loud when every pulse of my heart scream it to the world, every pumps, every breaths in body screams that I belong to you and only you.”

He remembers the way you touched his face then, as if memorizing it—as if you knew you would not be able to touch it for much longer.

And then—

Romulus.

Watching.

He knew.

The memories slow, sharpen, become something unbearable.

Rome stands, its foundations laid, its people celebrating.

Remus stands before his brother, sword in hand. His heart is pounding, but he does not know if it is from anger or heartbreak.

"Why?" his voice is hoarse, pleading like a little boy. "Why do you seek to cast me aside?"

Romulus is calm. Too calm.

"Only one of us can rule."

"We built this together." He looked at his brother hurt, betrayal seeping through his veins like a venomous snake’s bite. His eyes widens and his heart breaks for his other half, for he has been poisoned at the root of their bond. The strand linking him to his brother breaks. 

"No. You built it on weakness. On your love for an impure."

The air turns cold. Remus grips his sword tighter. He should have seen this coming.

"She is not impure."

"She is not meant for mortals. And neither are you."

He sees it then, in his brother’s eyes—the decision has already been made.

The sword slashes through him.

The pain is instant, a fire in his chest. He gasps, staggers, the ground rushing up to meet him.

He falls into the mud, like a pig, his blood seeping into the soil that will become Rome.

He reaches out.

You are screaming.

He tries to hold on. Tries to touch you one last time.

But it is too late.

The world is gone.

There is only darkness again.

But this time, he does not fall.

He floats—somewhere beyond life, beyond death. He is Remus. He is Anakin. He is both and neither.

And then—

A voice.

Deep. Cold. Ancient.

"You have always been Remus."

The words coil around him, suffocating.

"You have always died, only to rise again."

The voice is not kind. It is not forgiving. It is a sentence, a curse.

"This is your destiny."

"No." He fights—he does not want this, he does not want to be a ghost of the past.

"You cannot escape what you are."

Blood. Betrayal. Death.

“The creator”

His skull split.

"You are Rome’s first king."

"And its first sacrifice."

The darkness pulls him under again.

He drowns.

And then—

Nothing.

The first thing Anakin feels is pain.

It is deep, aching, lodged in his very bones. His body is heavy, sluggish, as though he has been dragging it through centuries of time. His head throbs. His chest feels hollow, emptied of something vital.

And yet, he is awake.

His eyes blink open. The world is dim, flickering with candlelight. The scent of herbs lingers in the air, mixed with the faint trace of something familiar—you.

You are there, sitting beside him, carefully unwrapping the bloodied bandages from his wounds. Your fingers are gentle, precise, but there is something hesitant in your movements. As though you fear waking him.

Too late.

He exhales sharply. The sound makes you freeze.

Slowly, your eyes lift to his.

For a long moment, there is silence.

Then—

"How long ?" His voice is raw, deeper than before, filled with something old.

You blink. "You’ve been unconscious for six days."

"That’s not what I meant."

You look away. He watches your throat bob as you swallow, your fingers tightening around the bandages. You know exactly what he means.

"How long have you known?"

Silence again.

Anakin’s jaw clenches. The memories are there, burning behind his eyes like an open wound. The past. The truth. The betrayal.

"You should not be alive." His voice is low, edged with something dangerous. "I remember everything now."

His past life. His death. You.

You shift uncomfortably, resuming your work, carefully pressing fresh cloth against his wound. "I thought you might."

"You thought?" He laughs, but there is no humor in it. It is hollow. Bitter. "So it was only a matter of time before the great Remus remembered how his brother murdered him?"

Your hands still.

He watches you, gaze sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He sees you. Not just as the woman before him, but as something more. As something ancient.

"What are you?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "You bled ichor. You are not mortal. Were you ever?"

You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you do not look away.

"Yes."

His stomach turns. He should have known. He should have realized it long ago. The way you moved, the way your presence wrapped around him like a force beyond human comprehension. He loved you before he even knew your name.

Just like before.

Just like always.

"So it was all a lie."

"No." Your voice sharpens, firm, but there is something fragile beneath it. "Nothing was a lie, Anakin."

He scoffs. "You let me fall for you. Again."

You flinch. Because it’s true.

His hands curl into fists. "Tell me, did you know from the beginning?"

"Yes."

He exhales sharply, chest rising and falling with the force of it. Anger coils in his veins, but beneath it—something else.

"And you said nothing?"

"Would you have believed me?"

He wants to say yes. But he cannot. Because he knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have.

Because the truth is too cruel.

Because he was never meant to live.

"This is my curse," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "To die and rise again. To be nothing but a shadow of what should have been."

"No." Your hand is on his now, gripping his fingers tightly. "You are more than that."

He stares at your hands, at the way his calloused fingers fit between yours. His breathing is heavy, uneven. His heart pounds—too fast, too alive.

"Then tell me what I am."

The silence stretches between you like an open wound.

Anakin waits, his blue eyes sharp, unrelenting. His breath is uneven, chest rising and falling beneath your touch. He wants an answer—demands one.

You exhale softly, your fingers still gripping his. And then, finally, you tell him the truth.

"You are my love."

His expression shifts—something flickers in his eyes, something raw, something that nearly undoes him. But he does not recoil. He does not scoff, nor sneer, nor push you away.

Instead, he only stares.

"That’s what I am?" he murmurs, voice hoarse.

"Yes."

A shaky breath escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if the weight of your words is something he cannot yet bear.

When he looks at you again, his hands tighten around yours.

"Then tell me how to end it."

You frown. "End what?"

"This." His voice hardens. "This curse. This fate. How do I break free from it?"

You hesitate.

His fingers twitch—he notices your pause, your silence, the way your throat bobs as you struggle for words. He knows. He already knows.

"The only way out," you whisper, "is through the gods themselves."

His grip tightens.

"You’re saying I must confront them."

"Yes."

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "And if I don’t?"

"Then you will die again, and again, and again." Your voice does not waver. "They will never let you rest, Anakin."

His jaw clenches. Anger flashes behind his eyes—not just at the gods, not just at you, but at the entire order of the world. At Rome, at fate, at history itself.

"So that’s it." His voice is low, edged with something dark. "The gods will never let me go unless I take the fight to them."

You nod.

Anakin exhales slowly. When he speaks again, his voice is steel.

"Then let them try to stop me."

Anakin’s breath is shallow, his body still weak, but his mind—his mind burns.

The truth unfurls inside him like a sword being unsheathed, like an altar stained with the blood of a slaughtered lamb. Except he was never the lamb. He was the sacrifice.

He grips the sheets beneath him, fingers curling into the fabric as the revelation strikes him—hard, merciless.

"I’m Rome’s first king," he whispers, half to himself, half to you. His voice is distant, as if speaking it aloud makes it real.

But then his expression darkens, his eyes shadowed by something deeper, something furious.

"But I am also her first offering."

He sees it now. How his blood was the foundation upon which Rome was built. How his name was torn from the mouths of men, how his brother stood over his broken body, sword dripping with the life they once shared.

"Rome was never his." His voice is hoarse, laced with something almost unbearable. "It was mine. It was always mine."

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face, pressing his palm into his temple as if trying to silence the echoes of his past.

"And now I walk her streets like a ghost, wearing another man’s name."

His gaze finds yours. A terrible understanding settles between you.

You reach for him, your fingers gentle as they trace over his arm, over the bandages wrapped around his wounds. "You were never just a man, Anakin. You were a myth before you were even born."

He swallows, his throat working around the weight of his thoughts.

"I don’t want to be a myth," he mutters, voice low, almost resentful. "I just wanted—"

He stops himself.

You wait. But he does not finish.

Because he knows the truth: it does not matter what he wanted. It never did. The gods shaped his path long before he had the chance to carve his own.

But maybe—just maybe—he can carve it now.

The months pass in a blur of steel and whispers, of restless nights and long days spent preparing for a war no mortal army has ever waged.

Anakin trains relentlessly, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. He sharpens his blade, over and over, as if he could carve his own fate into the steel. He learns everything he can—of the old gods, of their weaknesses, of the wars they have waged before. He gathers men, allies, those who have suffered under divine cruelty and wish to see the old order crumble.

And you—

You carry a secret heavier than any sword.

It was the Fates who told you. Three months ago, in the quiet of the night, when the world was caught between dusk and dawn. You had gone to them, seeking guidance, demanding to know if there was another way. A way to break Anakin free from his fate without waging war on the heavens.

They had given you no comfort.

"The threads are woven, child. But another now weaves beside them."

You had not understood—until they had placed a hand over your stomach, their touch like ice, like eternity itself.

"You carry the son of Remus."

The words had struck like lightning, burning through you with the weight of what they meant.

"His destiny is not yet fulfilled. But the one you bear—"

Their pale, lifeless eyes had stared into yours, unblinking.

"He is destined for great things. He will rise where others have fallen. He will reshape the world in ways even the gods cannot predict."

Your hands had trembled over your abdomen. You had not known—not yet. But now you did, and there was no undoing that knowledge.

The Fates had disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone with the truth.

You had told no one. Not yet.

Not even Anakin.

Because how could you? How could you look into his eyes, knowing that he had already been condemned by prophecy, and tell him that another fate had already been written in the blood of his unborn child?

So you said nothing.

Instead, you fought. You planned. You prepared. You stood at Anakin’s side as he gathered his strength, as he gathered his army. You watched him transform into something more than a man, into something both mortal and divine, a warrior who carried the weight of history on his back.

And all the while, life grew inside you. Silent. Waiting.

Anakin watches you more closely than ever.

At first, he doesn’t know what it is. There’s something in the way you move—your steps a little slower, your hand lingering over your stomach when you think no one is looking. He catches the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way you sometimes stare at him as if you want to say something, but never do.

He’s always been good at reading you. Too good.

And now, as the war drums beat in the distance, as the weight of destiny presses down on both of you, he finally speaks.

It happens in the dead of night, in the quiet of his chambers. He stands by the window, sharpening his gladius with slow, methodical strokes, but his gaze keeps flickering to you. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped together, shoulders tense.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

His voice is low, measured. But there is something beneath it—something sharp.

You stiffen but don’t look at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the blade down, turning fully to face you. “You think I haven’t noticed? You’re different. You’re holding something back.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, Anakin. You’re imagining things.”

He scoffs, unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me.”

His words slice through the air, cutting too close. You try to stand, to move away, but he catches your wrist before you can. His grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm—demanding.

“Tell me.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you see it—the storm in his eyes, the desperation hidden beneath the anger. He doesn’t just want to know. He needs to.

You swallow hard.

“It’s not important right now,” you whisper.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching. “Not important? We are preparing for war against the gods, and you’re keeping secrets from me?” He shakes his head. “No. I won’t allow it. I won’t let you carry something alone when it’s our battle to fight.”

Your chest tightens.

This is Anakin—stubborn, relentless, yours. And he will not let this go.

So you take a breath.

And you tell him.

Anakin stares at you, unblinking.

For a moment, the words don’t sink in. They hang in the air between you, heavy, unspoken truths finally given shape.

His son.

His hands tremble. His breath falters. He almost doesn’t dare to believe it.

And then—

“What did you just say?”

His voice is quiet, but it carries a terrible weight.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening in your lap. “I saw the Fates,” you whisper. “They told me—I’m pregnant. With your child.”

Silence.

A moment stretched so thin it feels like it might snap.

But then his expression shifts. His brows furrow, his eyes darkening—not with shock, not with joy, but with rage.

“And his fate?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge creeping into it. “What did they say about his fate?”

Your hands shake. “They said he was destined for something great.”

His laugh is sharp, bitter. “Destined?” He paces away from you, hands in his hair. “Just like I was? Just like you were?” He turns on you, fury radiating from every inch of him. “You mean to tell me that the gods have already claimed him? That before he’s even taken his first breath, they’ve woven chains around his future?”

His fury is wildfire—hot, all-consuming.

“They have no right,” he growls, his fists clenched. “No right to condemn him the way they condemned me.”

You flinch at the storm in his voice, at the way his body trembles with barely restrained wrath.

“Anakin—”

“No.” He cuts you off, his chest heaving. His blue eyes burn with something primal, something feral. “I won’t let them do this. I won’t let them take my son the way they took me.”

You watch him, your own heart pounding.

You understand his fury. Because it is yours, too.

But fate is not so easily broken.

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. "You can’t defeat the gods, Anakin."

His head snaps toward you, eyes blazing, jaw tightening. The room feels too small, the air charged with something volatile.

His voice is sharp as a blade. "I can’t?"

You swallow, standing your ground. "No one can."

His expression twists into something dark, something wounded. "Is that what you think?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "That I’ll fail? That I’ll kneel like every mortal before me and accept the chains they’ve forged?"

"Anakin—"

"No." His voice cracks like thunder, his anger unfurling like a storm. "You don’t believe in me. You never did."

"That’s not—"

"Then say it." He takes a step closer, his fury searing. "Say you believe I can end this. Say you believe I can kill the gods."

You can’t.

Because you know the truth. The gods are not men. They are not beasts of flesh and bone, bound by the same rules. They are eternal. Unyielding.

And yet—so are you.

He sees it in your silence. The flicker of doubt in your eyes. And then—

He laughs. A bitter, humorless thing. "You think I can’t win because you are one of them."

"Anakin—"

"You are a goddess." His voice is hoarse, seething. "And if I can beat you, then I can destroy all of them."

You barely see it coming. The moment his words strike, something inside you snaps.

Your hand flies before you can stop it—

A sharp crack echoes through the chamber as your palm connects with his cheek.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Just stands there, breathing hard, his head slightly turned from the force of the blow.

You stare at him, your own hand trembling.

And then you run.

You don’t wait for him to call you back. You don’t look back. You just run, the lump in your throat unbearable, the world spinning around you.

Because you knew this day would come. The moment he realized plainly what you were.

You just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

Your feet pound against the earth, breath ragged as you push yourself forward. The wind whips through your hair, but you don’t feel it—you feel nothing but the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest. You just run.

You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. You just need to be away. Away from the fury in his voice, the betrayal in his eyes, the terrible, undeniable truth that he will never stop fighting—not even for you.

But you hear him behind you.

"Wait!" Anakin’s voice is raw, desperate. "Damn it, stop!"

You don’t.

You don’t want to hear the remorse in his voice, don’t want to turn around and see him reaching for you like he always does—because you’ll let him. You always let him. And if you let him, you’ll forgive him. You’ll let yourself believe that this love is enough to stop the war that’s coming.

But it isn’t.

"I didn’t mean it!" he shouts, his voice breaking. "Please, just—just stop running!"

He’s gaining on you. Even weak from his wounds, even after all these months of healing, he is still Anakin. A warrior. A force of nature.

You push yourself harder, faster—your heartbeat a drum in your ears.

And then—

A hand grabs your wrist.

He yanks you back, and you collide into him with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

You struggle, twisting in his grip, but he won’t let go. His arms come around you, holding you close, holding you too tightly—like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

"Let me go!" you cry, voice hoarse, but his fingers only dig deeper into you.

"No!" he snaps, voice trembling. "No—I won’t. Not again."

You shove at him, but he won’t move. "Damn you, Anakin—"

"I know." His forehead drops against yours, breath ragged, uneven. "I know, I know, I know. Just—just stop running from me."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "You don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand." His voice is desperate, his hands trembling where they clutch you. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to fight them without losing you in the process."

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing into you.

There is no answer.

And the worst part is—you think he knows that, too.

Anakin’s hands clench into fists at his sides. "You’re younger than me," he says, his voice rough, barely contained. "You don’t understand what you’re up against."

You glare at him, fury boiling under your skin. "Don’t patronize me, Anakin."

"It’s not patronizing—"

"Yes, it is!" You take a step closer, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. "I may look young, but I have lived for decades, for centuries! Do you think I don’t know war? That I don’t know suffering?"

His nostrils flare, his jaw tight as he stares you down. "You’re carrying our child," he grits out. "This fight is no longer just about us."

"And you think that makes me weak?" you snap. "That I should just sit back and watch you throw yourself at the gods alone?"

Anakin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It’s not about weakness. It’s about—"

"You think I can’t fight?" You step forward, shoving against his chest. "That I won’t fight?"

His breath is ragged, his shoulders heaving as he looks at you. "I think you shouldn’t have to."

That stop you.

Anakin grips your shoulders, his eyes wide with desperation. "You can’t fight," he pleads. "Not now. Not like this."

You shake your head, chest heaving, but he tightens his hold, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I won’t risk you. I won’t risk our child."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your child. His child. A life caught between fate and war, a soul not yet born but already marked by the gods.

"Anakin—"

"They’ll come for you," he cuts in, voice thick with fear. "You know they will. If you fight them, they won’t just punish me—they’ll punish both of you. I won’t let that happen."

His hands lower, one sliding to press gently against your stomach. A protective touch, a silent promise. "If I fight, I fight alone."

A chill skates down your spine. "You can’t."

"I have to." His jaw tightens. "I’d burn the whole world down before I let them take you from me."

"And what about you?" Your voice cracks. "You think I can just stand back and watch them destroy you?"

His lips part, but before he can answer—

The world shifts.

A sudden sharpness in the air, as if the sky itself is gasping. The wind dies. The ground beneath you turns wrong, like something hollow and ancient is stirring beneath your feet.

Then—

Blackness.

It erupts around you, thick and endless. Not just darkness—something alive, something hungry. It curls around your legs, your arms, slithering up your body like living shadow.

"No—!" Anakin lunges for you, but the darkness surges between you like a tidal wave, throwing him back.

"Anakin!" You reach for him, but the shadows coil tighter, devouring you, dragging you into the abyss.

His scream is the last thing you hear before everything disappears.

Consciousness returns like a tide, slow and inexorable.

Your body is light, weightless, as if it does not belong to you. The air around you hums, thick with something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension. The scent of aged parchment and burning incense fills your lungs as you slowly open your eyes.

You are no longer in the temple.

Before you, seated at a loom that stretches beyond sight, are the Moirae. The three sisters of fate, weavers of destiny, the arbiters of life and death.

Clotho, the Spinner, her delicate fingers guiding the spindle as she spins the raw essence of existence into form. Lachesis, the Measurer, gliding her hands over golden threads, feeling their weight, calculating their course. And Atropos, the Unavoidable, her shears gleaming in the dim light, poised over the fabric of eternity.

They are waiting for you to speak.

"Where am I?" Your voice is hoarse, as though you have not used it in years.

"Beyond the reach of men," Clotho answers without looking up, her hands never ceasing their delicate work.

"Beyond the reach of gods," Lachesis murmurs, running a finger along a silken thread.

"For now," Atropos finishes, lifting her gaze to meet yours.

You push yourself up, your limbs unsteady. "Why am I here?"

"Because you were dying," Clotho says simply. "And your child cannot be allowed to die with you."

Your breath catches. Instinctively, your hands fly to your stomach. "The child…"

"Lives," Lachesis confirms, her expression unreadable. "For now."

You swallow, trying to steady your pulse. "What happened?"

"The Cult of Romulus," Atropos states, as if the name itself is a blade. "They came for you. For him."

Memories slam into you like a tidal wave—the argument, Anakin’s voice raised in frustration, the blackness that swallowed you whole. But before that…

"Anakin—" You push to your feet, panic rising. "Where is he?"

Clotho’s gaze remains on her spinning. "Still fighting."

Lachesis watches you carefully. "Still breathing."

Atropos tilts her head. "For now."

Your heart pounds. "You saved me but left him there?"

"We did not save you," Clotho corrects. "We saved what grows within you."

Lachesis gestures to the loom, where a new thread glows faintly amidst the others. "A fate has been woven that must not be unraveled."

"Your child is more than a son," Atropos says, eyes gleaming. "He is an axis upon which the future turns."

A chill runs down your spine. "What does that mean?"

Lachesis leans forward. "It means we did not pull you from death out of kindness."

"We did it because your son must live," Atropos finishes. "No matter the cost."

The weight of their words settles on you like iron shackles. The fate of your unborn child is already written in their tapestry, and the gods themselves have taken notice.

But what of Anakin? What of the war that now rages in your absence?

You clench your fists. "Send me back."

The Moirae exchange glances.

Clotho sighs, as if already knowing the outcome.

"So eager to return to ruin," Lachesis muses.

"So desperate to fight what has already been decided," Atropos says.

But you do not care.

Anakin is still fighting. You will not leave him behind.

Whatever the Moirae’s plans are, whatever destiny they have carved into stone, you will not let them dictate your future.

Your child’s future.

"Send me back," you repeat, voice steady. "Now."

Clotho does not stop spinning. Lachesis does not stop measuring. Atropos does not lift her shears.

They do not budge.

"Send me back," you demand again, louder this time, stepping closer to them. "Now."

But the Moirae are as immovable as the fates they weave.

"You ask for what cannot be given," Clotho murmurs, her fingers never faltering as she spins another strand of silk into existence.

"What cannot be changed," Lachesis adds.

"What has already been decided," Atropos finishes.

Frustration claws at your throat. "I do not care what has been decided." You shake your head. "I will not let them take everything from me."

"They have already taken everything from you," Atropos says simply. "And still, you have not learned."

The words are a curse, a prophecy, a cruel truth.

But before you can argue, the loom shifts, the threads part, and suddenly—

You see him.

Anakin.

He stands at the heart of the battle, a storm of steel and fire, cutting through men like a force of nature. Blood splatters across his skin, his golden hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving.

He is wounded, but he does not stop.

You built this together—these three months of secrecy, of careful planning, of whispered oaths in the dark. And now it is all burning before your eyes.

The Cult of Romulus is relentless. They come in waves, clad in crimson and gold, their banners snapping in the wind. They are fighting for a god that was never theirs, for a history built on a lie.

And Anakin is alone against them.

Your hands shake as you reach toward the image, as if you could tear through the veil, as if you could touch him, help him.

But there is nothing.

You are stranded here, in the timeless void of the Moirae’s domain, forced to watch.

"Let me go," you whisper, voice breaking. "Please."

Lachesis watches you with something almost like pity. "You do not understand yet, do you?"

"What am I supposed to understand?" you snap, eyes still locked on the battle, on Anakin as he swings his blade in a deadly arc, his enemies falling at his feet. "That you have already decided how this ends?"

"That there is no victory in war," Clotho murmurs. "Only survival."

"And survival is never without a cost," Atropos finishes, her shears glinting.

You shake your head violently. "No."

Anakin stumbles. His left knee buckles, just for a second. The opening is small—but enough.

A spear is thrust forward.

"No!"

Your scream echoes in the endless chamber.

But the Moirae do not react.

They do not save him.

And neither can you.

For the first time in your long existence, something inside you shatters.

Power surges through your veins, raw and untamed, a force beyond your understanding. The Moirae’s loom trembles, the threads quivering as if they sense the shift in fate. The three sisters look up in unison, their expressions unreadable, but you do not stop to decipher their meaning.

Time slows. No—time stops.

The battlefield freezes before your eyes. Anakin is caught mid-motion, his muscles taut, the spear mere inches from his side. The Cult of Romulus is suspended like statues, their mouths open in silent war cries, blood droplets hanging in the air like shattered rubies. The wind itself has halted, the smoke of burning banners curling in unnatural stillness.

You do not hesitate.

The void collapses around you, and in the next breath, you are there.

The scent of iron and death fills your lungs. The air is thick with the remnants of war, and though the world remains frozen, you can still feel the heat of battle radiating from Anakin’s skin. He is alive—but only because you have bent the rules of existence to make it so.

Your hand clasps his wrist, fingers digging into his pulse point, anchoring him to you.

And then—

Time crashes back into motion.

The spear drives forward, but it finds only empty air. Anakin is no longer there. Neither are you.

In a blink, you are far from the battlefield, the two of you collapsing onto the cold marble of an abandoned temple. Your breath is ragged, your body trembling from the force of what you have done.

Anakin gasps, gripping his chest, his wide eyes darting around in confusion before locking onto you. His gaze is wild, furious, disoriented.

“What—” His voice is hoarse. “What just happened?”

You swallow, still struggling to catch your breath. “I saved you.”

His hands find your shoulders, shaking you, demanding answers. “How?” His eyes search yours, his fury barely contained. “What happened ?”

The power is still humming beneath your skin, a new force you do not fully understand.

But one thing is clear.

The Moirae were wrong. Fate can be changed.

The realization settles over you like a tidal wave, crashing into the very foundation of your existence.

You have always been powerful. You were born of myth, shaped by destiny itself. You are the goddess of legends—your words have breathed life into heroes, your whispers have shaped empires. But for centuries, your power has been shackled, caged by the will of the gods who feared what you could become.

Until now.

Your hands tremble as you press them against your stomach. The power that surged through you, that allowed you to stop time, to tear yourself from the Moirae’s grasp—it is not foreign. It is yours. But for the first time in your long, endless existence, it is unleashed. And it is because of him.

Anakin is watching you, his breathing still uneven from battle. “What is it?” His voice is gruff, but beneath it, there is something softer. Concern.

You look up at him, your lips parting, but the words take a moment to come. “My power,” you murmur. “It’s been locked away for so long. The gods—they sealed it.” You exhale shakily. “But now… I can feel it. Flowing through me. Through him.”

Anakin’s gaze flickers downward, toward your stomach. A shadow passes over his face. “You’re saying—”

“He’s letting me channel it,” you whisper. “I am powerful, but he makes me whole.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with meaning.

Anakin takes a step closer, his eyes dark and stormy. “So this is their plan.” His jaw tightens. “They didn’t just curse me with this fate. They bound you. And now they’re trying to use our son as a vessel for something greater than us both.”

You shake your head. “No, Anakin. This is our power. Not theirs.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, as if restraining himself. “Then why does it feel like a trap?” His voice is low, dangerous. “They let you have your power back, but only because of him. Because they need him.” He swallows hard. “They want our son for something, don’t they?”

You hesitate.

And that hesitation is enough.

Anakin’s face twists in fury, in heartbreak. “They want to make him another sacrifice,” he growls. “Just like me.”

The words cut deep.

Because you know he is right.

The sobs wrack through you violently, your body trembling under the weight of your grief. It spills out in broken, rambling whispers—words of failure, of weakness, of the unbearable truth that no matter how powerful you are, you cannot even protect your own child.

"I'm a useless goddess," you choke out, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "I—I was meant to shape legends, to guide heroes, but I can't even keep my own child safe. What kind of mother am I? What kind of god am I?"

Anakin doesn't say anything at first.

But then, strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground, cradling you as if you weigh nothing at all. His warmth is overwhelming, his hold steady and unyielding. You bury your face against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his tunic, gripping onto him like he is the only thing anchoring you to this world.

"Stop," he murmurs, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Don't say that."

His hands—those hands, rough and scarred from war, yet so heartbreakingly gentle with you—stroke the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising care. He holds you tighter, as if trying to press his strength into you, as if willing his own resolve into your trembling body.

"You’re not useless," he says. His voice is firm, almost stubborn. "You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’ve spent centuries defying the gods. You’ve built something real, something worth fighting for." He pulls back just enough to tip your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And you sure as hell aren’t weak because you’re scared for our son. That makes you his mother."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"I know I’m not good at—at this," he mutters, glancing away as if embarrassed. "Comforting people. Saying the right things. But I know one thing." His fingers tighten on your waist. "I won’t let them take him from us. I won’t let them take you from me."

His words settle deep in your chest, pushing back the crushing weight of helplessness. You sniffle, gripping his tunic tighter, pressing yourself against him.

"You promise?" you whisper, your voice small.

Anakin exhales, pressing his forehead against yours. "I swear it," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

And for the first time since you learned the truth, you believe him.

Vesta appears before you, her presence like the steady warmth of a hearth in the dead of winter. She does not arrive with thunder or blinding light—there is no grand display of power, only the quiet radiance of something eternal, something that has never once flickered out.

You step back instinctively, still raw from your breakdown, from Anakin’s fierce promises and the lingering tremble in your hands. But Vesta merely watches you with knowing eyes, the firelight in them dancing like the embers of an ancient flame.

“I have something for you,” she says, and when she raises her hand, a gladius materializes in her grasp.

It is unlike any weapon you have ever seen. The blade is dark, forged from something older than Olympus itself, the hilt bound in leather that looks worn with age. It hums in her hands, as if alive, as if it recognizes you. As if it wants to be wielded by you.

You stare at it, then at her, suspicion creeping into your voice. “This can wound a god, can’t it?”

Vesta inclines her head. “It can do more than that.”

Your fingers twitch. You want to take it. You need to take it. But something holds you back—logic, or perhaps distrust. She is a goddess. She is one of them.

Your jaw tightens. “Why are you helping me?”

Vesta’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her gaze. “Because I have no place in war,” she says, voice soft but steady. “I am the flame that warms, not the one that destroys. But my siblings—they are cruel, and they will not stop. They do not tolerate defiance.”

Her eyes land on your stomach, where life stirs within you, fate woven into the very fabric of your unborn child’s existence.

“I have seen what is to come,” she continues. “The gods will not allow this child to live. They will see it as a threat. You must be ready.” She extends the gladius toward you. “And you must be willing to strike first.”

You hesitate. “You would betray them?”

“I would see the world change,” Vesta says simply. “I have watched mankind build and burn, rise and fall. I have kept my fires lit through it all. But you—he—” her gaze shifts briefly to Anakin, resting just beyond the threshold, unaware of the conversation unfolding “—are different. He was always meant to shape the world, but the gods never expected you to fight alongside him.”

She steps forward, pressing the gladius into your hands. “So fight.”

The weapon is cold, impossibly so, but as your fingers curl around the hilt, heat surges through your veins. The gladius hums again, this time in recognition, in acceptance. It is yours now.

Vesta watches you carefully. “The gods will not be merciful,” she warns. “Not even to one of their own.”

You lift the blade, feeling its weight, feeling the shift of destiny in your grip.

“Neither will I.”

Vesta watches as you test the weight of the gladius in your hand, but she does not look reassured. If anything, there is something grave in her expression, something unfinished.

"You will need more than a blade," she says at last.

You frown. "What do you mean?"

Her gaze drifts past you, toward where Anakin stands outside, arms crossed, his face hardened by war, by fate. By the inevitable battle that will come.

"He is mortal," Vesta murmurs. "And mortals break."

Your grip tightens around the hilt of the gladius. "I won’t let him die."

"Not by will alone," she counters. "The gods will strike at him first. He is their greatest threat. You may have the blade that can wound them, but he needs something that can withstand them."

She raises her hands, and suddenly the air crackles with something ancient, something powerful. The flames around her shift, dancing wildly, and in the flickering light, a vision forms—a shield, battered but unyielding, its surface marked with symbols older than Rome itself.

Your breath catches. "Where is it?"

Vesta’s eyes burn as she recites:

"Neither sky nor soil cradle its weight, Not in the hands of the just nor the grip of the damned.

Taken by shadows, bound by debt, Where the past weeps in silent lament,

And the future spills in crimson tides. The unbending shall not wield it,

The unworthy shall not find it. Only the forsaken, May call it by name and claim its fate."

The vision fades, the fire settling back into a quiet glow.

You stare at her. 

Vesta only offers a small, knowing smile. "I have given you what I can. The rest is yours to uncover."

You exhale sharply, mind racing. "And this shield—"

"—can withstand even the wrath of Olympus," she finishes. "If you can claim it. The Flectere"

Your heart pounds. A shield bathed in the blood of gods. A relic lost to time, waiting beneath the bones of the first wolf.

Anakin's only chance.

Vesta turns, already fading into the light.

"Find it," she says, her voice echoing in the quiet. "Before the gods find you."

Anakin grips the gladius, testing its weight in his palm. The blade hums with an eerie resonance, as if it knows it was forged for something greater—something beyond mortal hands. He swings it once, a sharp, clean arc through the air, and the edge glows faintly as it slices through the space before him.

You watch him, your arms wrapped around yourself, as if holding yourself together. The past days have been a storm, an unraveling of everything you once knew, yet here he stands—solid, unshaken, the only thing that feels real in this chaos.

He catches you staring and smirks, lowering the blade. "What?" His voice is softer than usual, teasing, but with an edge of something deeper.

You shake your head, stepping closer. "Nothing. Just... you."

His brow furrows, his expression unreadable for a moment before he exhales, setting the gladius down. "Come here," he murmurs, reaching for you.

You don’t hesitate. You step into his arms, pressing yourself against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, cradling the back of your head as if you might slip away from him.

“I hate that they did this to you,” you whisper against his skin, your fingers curling into his tunic. "That they wrote your fate in blood before you even had a chance to live it."

His lips press against your temple, a lingering warmth. "They didn’t," he mutters. "Not really." He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I’m still here. I still choose."

Your throat tightens, a storm of emotions rising in your chest. "And what do you choose?"

A pause. Then, his lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk, something softer. "This," he says simply, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. "You."

You close your eyes, feeling his breath mingle with yours. For a moment, there is no war, no gods, no fate—just the two of you, caught in a fleeting, fragile moment of peace.

You can break a man's body, shatter his bones, steal his future—but the fire in his soul will burn through the darkness.

[captainjackscoat]

okay just went to see Thunderbolts* so, opinions under the cut :)

I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB I WOULD DIE FOR BOB

MY BOYYYYYY I WANT TO HUG HIM AND GIVE HIM AT LEAST ONE OF MY STUFFED TOYS. AND THEN TELL HIM HE IS SO LOVED. MY POOR BOB.

Solid 9/10.

Yelena was beautifully done, Ava was brilliant, Bob was OH MY GOD BEAUTIFULLY DONE, Walker was...

okay I am Walker's no.1 hater (fight me for it) and even I can say Wyatt did a brilliant job of that. Walker was well written and well played and I cannot fault that. However I still hate him. You can't blame me - he just has a punchable face.

EDIT HERE BC A COMMENT HAS INFORMED ME ALEXEI FUCKING SUCKS: My entire knowledge of Alexei before watching Thunderbolts* was that he was Yelena and Natasha's dad. Basically my entire memory of watching Black Widow is my dad identifying Smells Like Teen Spirit at the start. I was not aware Alexei was complicit in child trafficking, I now recognise he fucking sucks, and for moral reasons I hate him more than Walker. I'm still Walker's no.1 hater though like I've maintained this title, given to me by my father, for four years. I'm not dropping it now. So while I now hate Alexei, it's not going to change the fact that I hate Walker. I just hate Alexei more.

Taskmaster... I am a little disappointed about. i was really looking forward to more of her, and her death was just... why? I kept expecting her to show up and she didn't. It felt a bit flat. I didn't exactly miss her, as I have no emotional attachment to her like I do for Yelena, Bucky and Ava, but I felt she was not done justice.

Pausing writing this to inform anyone reading this that I am writing this with Yelena's voice in my head saying it. She's speaking my internal monologue now. It's quite funny.

Anyway.

I went into the film fully aware that the villain was Bob's insecurities, but I was. I was not ready enough. Oh my god. That was absolutely incredible. Bob's plot line on his own was 10/10 omfg. I'm still recovering from really, really shit mental health and it keeps coming back and the way mental health was handled in Thunderbolts* has made me feel seen in a way nothing else has. We watch mental health videos at school and I feel nothing, or I watch films that are entirely about mental health and yeah, okay, they're sad and they're good but I feel nothing. This? Nothing has explained it more than the Void. I have rarely hated any character more than I hated the Void, because in a weird fucking way, I know him. He's fictional, but he's also very, very real.

Florence Pugh's acting was phenomenal. I cannot praise her enough. The line "I have so many" broke something in me, I think. She was simultaneously heartbreaking, healing and hilarious and I fucking adored her. Also, kudos to the makeup department because she looked fucking incredible.

Kudos to the stunt doubles too. I love stunt doubles, y'all are awesome, and you were NOT pulling punches on this one.

Things I wished there was more of:

Bucky screen time. I know he was there a lot, but I felt like there was more Alexei than there was more Bucky, which makes sense but also I'm more of a Bucky fan so I WANT MORE BUCKY :(((((( also we were promised a film about Bucky and he was sidelined. I know this is being said a lot, and it's annoying as fuck, but it is true. He doesn't have any special reason for being a main character, but Sebastian Stan has worked his ASS off as Bucky and he is always the side guy for someone. Steve, Sam (although I do have things to say on him), now Yelena? Bucky needs his own time too.

Alpine. GIVE ME MY GIRL PLEASEEEEEEE MARVEL I BEG YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES GIVE ME MY CAT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLE-

Scenes of the team in their day to day life. We saw a snippet of Bucky, we saw half a glimpse of Alexei, and it wasn't enough. I am more interested in the daily lives of these guys than I am in half the shit with Valen-fucking-tina.

Speaking of Valentina, she continues to piss me off. I can't even like her because she's hot. She's a fucking cunt. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hate her more than I hate Walker. I would like more scenes of her being fucking DECIMATED please.

I was going to say I wanted more scenes of Mel being brave, but actually, we got enough. I really liked her. She wasn't any big hero, but she called the right person for help, and I think sometimes if that's the best you can do, that's being a hero in itself. So I love her, and I think she was incredibly brave for calling Bucky at all.

Right. Some people are gonna be pissed at me for this one, but Sam. I wanted more Sam. I'm going to step away for a second as a Sambucky shipper, and just be a Sam fan. Actually this needs its own section.

SAM. I understand that this is a film about the Thunderbolts*, and about Yelena and this group of people who aren't exactly perfect but they're heroes all the same etc etc. And I know people are angry that they're making the New Avengers without Sam because MARVEL is sidelining him, and I absolutely agree that he has been sidelined too much. He gets the shield, it goes to Walker. He gets it back, now Captain Carter is the famous captain. It's shit, and he's being treated like shit, and I'm so angry about it. But I think, in this instance, as much as it is absolutely shit, it kinda makes sense?. Valentina's character was always going to take credit for it, and so she was always going to try and make the New Avengers. I'm not saying it was inevitable, I'm saying that from a plot point of view, it makes sense. They've got Sam pissed about it, they've been setting up Sam's avengers for a while, and we can all see that. They aren't being subtle about it. I, for some fucking reason, have faith that Sam will get another few moments to shine at the very least, and he will lead his own Avengers. I don't think Bucky and Sam are fighting as much as you guys think they are. I honestly think it will be okay. Maybe not as peachy as we would like, but it will be okayish. Sam will get his team and his recognition, and Bucky will get... his team. Bucky gets a family, anyway.

Considering the main cast consisted of Bucky AND Walker, there should have at least been a reference to Sam. Again, not from a Sambucky POV (kinda from a sambucky pov but hey, I'm just a little pathetic gay. let me be biased). Okay, not ENTIRELY from a Sambucky POV. But anyway. Bucky is now TIED to Captain America. He has been Captain America's close friend (that hurt to type) TWICE. He is INTERTWINED with Captain America. And Walker's fall from grace is BECAUSE of Sam. You know what would have been good? Walker making an offhand comment about it and Bucky making a little comment defending Sam. Nothing big, just a REFERENCE. Sam is huge. He's Captain fucking America. He has been sidelined for far too long. He isn't just the Falcon now. Captain America, whoever holds that shield correctly, is the face of MARVEL. Sam Wilson is the face of MARVEL and if there is a film that has characters who are that close to him? He should be mentioned. Not just because I want him to be, but because he deserves to be.

Anyway my main issues were Taskmaster's death, Bucky not getting enough screen time, Sam not getting so much as a crumb, a lack of Alpine, and not getting enough of the team's daily lives. Valentina getting punched in the face would just be a wonderful bonus.

Overall, a brilliant movie. Highly recommend. I cried, so that tells you it's worth something. Go watch it, if only for Bob and Yelena and Bucky on a motorbike.

(EVERY SCENE BUCKY WAS IN WAS SEXY AS FUCK. THIS IS THE REASON I'M NOT A FULL TIME LESBIAN BECAUSE HOLY SHIIIIIIIT HE WAS HOT.)

(SO WAS FLORENCE PUGH ACTUALLY LIKE GODDAMN GIRL WHAT WERE YOUR PARENTS PACKING????? I'M SO FUCKING GAY OH MY GOD YOU GO QUEEN, SLAYING LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY. FUCK YES.)

Very good movie. Not enough Sam, Bucky or Alpine. Much good other things though. Very good. Very very good. Holy fucking shit. I would die for Bob.

Okay I'm done now bye enjoy your day as much as you can, hydrate, take your meds, get at least six hours sleep, and you're doing great just by being awake, okay love you <3

[charmercharm3r]

Now go to sleep

BC

Masterlist

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, bf!chan, piv, fingering, idk witty banter cus he's such a cute meanie like that, idk he's been so teasing on bubble lately I couldn't help myself so ..here..

☆ﾟ

"I'm tired, I'm not going to argue about this."

"I'm tired too, but I can be tired and still care about our relationship!"

Chan had gotten home a half hour ago and was barely stripping his outside clothes, head caught in his shirt when the words left your mouth. He could be menacing when he wanted to be.

Take now, for example. He'd finally wrangled himself out of the material and hadn't even slipped it off his arms when he turned his body to stop and stare at you like you'd just said you committed armed robbery. Brows slightly furrowed, lips pouting at you, Chan had the "fuck around and find out" look down to a T.

"Don't go there." Tone of voice, too. Menacing.

"Don't make me."

But there was the attitude right back. He deserved it for ignoring you the past week, you'd been so understanding until now. You'd reminded him every week for a month until this past Saturday the day he specifically took off so that you could have one date night. Just one. It was the only thing you've asked for since your birthday. And he still forgot.

Forgot or prioritized something else- probably work related- you didn't know or care.

"You promised," your voice shook slightly.

"So did you. You promised you'd understand."

"I've been understanding. You've been ignoring. Me."

The annoyed brow ruffle softened as did the rest of his face when the tears started to well up in your eyes. You didn't wanna cry in front of him, it was the last thing you wanted to add onto his already heavy weighted shoulders, but you couldn't help it. "It's not just your life.

"We sleep in the same bed. We share the same bathroom. You use my shampoo and I steal your hoodies. Sometimes you take my socks from the drawer and it makes you a minute late 'cus you have to make the trip back to the bedroom. Sometimes I accidentally grab your towel after a shower because it's steamy in the bathroom and I can't see, then you shower after me and get confused and use my towel instead. It's probably my fault, but it's not just your life."

Chan dropped his shirt to the floor, annoyance being replaced with guilt. He had been ignoring you, but not purposefully. He knew about date night and let his boss, his colleagues, everyone get in his head that the only way to prove himself and his capabilities was to work himself to death. Death by heartbreak because the sadness that radiated off of you was so painful he was sure that that was exactly what was happening to him.

He took the few steps to stand in front of you and reach out to cup your cheeks, thumb catching the slowly rolling tear. "Your towel is softer, anyways."

You hated how easily he could make things better, laughing and sniffling as you leaned your head into his palms. "I wash our towels together, that doesn't even make sense."

Kisses were smothering your face in the next moment, warmth making the tears fizzle from behind your waterline to be replaced by the need to grab him, hold onto him and never let go. You melted in his arms so quickly, there was no evidence that you'd been crying in the first place.

And when he kissed your lips, you forgot why you were sad in the first place. For a second, at least. The lingering hurt was still there, not as potent, but definitely still there.

"I like using your towel because it's yours," he murmured into your mouth, hands wandering down to press your body against his shirtless one. "Your shampoo smells better than mine. Still smell it throughout the day and think of you." Guided back onto the bed, he covered you entirely to shield you away.

Kisses on both cheeks. "Your socks are cute." Kisses down your neck. "I know they're yours because of the colorful designs." Kisses to your palms and finger tips. Down your body and stealing your top away to plant more across the expanse of your belly until your body started to overheat. "I take them on purpose."

"Then you grumble at me when you're late on purpose, too?" You were teasing back, if the smile you wore was anything to go by.

"Yeah, to get you to kiss me before I leave. You forget if I don't."

"Why don't you just ask me, then?"

"It tastes a little sweeter when you think you came up with the idea on your own." Chan smirked back up at you before venturing further to rid you of your bottoms so that you were left bare before him.

You would never admit it to him, but you forgave him as soon as his shirt came off. You just like when he works for your forgiveness, it reminds you that he does still truly care.

"You're still wearing pants," you breathed heavily when he spread your legs so he could slot between them, the rough denim brushing your aching core.

"Mhm," he mumbled back.

"Take them off."

Chan stopped his kissing rampage and pulled back with that fucking look that made you want to slap him silly. "Why should I?"

It was your turn to be annoyed. "Because I'm trying to fuck my boyfriend."

"Vulgar," he teased, placing a cheeky peck to the tip of your nose. "How badly do you want it?"

Tender touches roamed your thighs and love handles, getting you into a position on your back you knew rather well with him as your partner in it. "Not want, need."

Chan chuckled against your skin, burning like hot coal in the path he took further south, past your cunt and down your legs to pepper kisses around your calves and ankles as he sat up, taking your limbs with him. He maneuvered you to hang your legs over his shoulders so he looked down at you. "Is that really all it took, baby?"

"You haven't done anything yet. I'm still upset."

He bit his lip and raked his eyes up and down your body. "I see how it is."

Cryptic as always, he never gave away more than necessary.

But his body language is impossible to misread. Through his jeans, you could see the tent in his pants that you knew was probably painfully rubbing against the harsh material. He wanted it as badly as you did, but didn't want to be the first one to cave.

Before he could move again, you locked your ankles around his neck and tugged him down, "you were being so nice to me, what happened?"

"Make a little more noise for me, baby."

His hands had snuck their way to your core, fingers running through your folds before you had processed his words. You were doing exactly as he asked, not by choice. He provoked the noises out of you with precise, practiced moves against your clit, practically stringing them out of you like another one of his musical instruments.

"Please," you whined, threading your fingers in his hair hoping he'd cave.

Chan laughed again, "I don't think so. Not loud enough."

Prodding against your hole made another whimper crack through your restraint. You weighed your options and both would lead to an orgasm, you were sure. But you didn't know which route you wanted take more- letting him talk you down into submission or teasing him back until he fucked you into it.

Then his fingers broke the surface, plunging into you slow but deeply. The stretch was already proving to be more than you could handle, head falling back into the mattress and letting chants of his name fill the room. Chan loved it, drooling over how easily he got you under his reign.

"Baby, please. Wan' it," you grabbed his hand to halt his ministrations. Chan laughed at your sudden flip in attitude.

"Fine," he feigned compliance, knowing he would give you anything you asked for if you kept looking at him like he held your world in his hands.

He did, but he doesn't need to know that just yet.

Chan unzipped his pants and shoved them down his hips along with his boxers, just enough to let his cock spring free. Clearly, he was barely containing himself seeing as leaking precum made his tip glisten.

"Here," he presented himself like a present, not moving. Chan simply waited for you to take what you wanted. When you did, he smiled, proudly this time.

You used the leverage on his shoulders to scoot down the bed and reached between your bodies to let him slip past your entrance. Oh, he fit like a perfectly tailored glove, every time.

He let you use him, only providing some stabilization as you fucked yourself back and forth, up and down, any which way you could to reach the high you so desperately needed from him. Until you couldn't anymore. All you had to do was stop, let out a huff, and look up at him with those fucking eyes, and Chan folded.

Literally folded, hunching over you and cooing, "okay, okay. I'll do all the work. Only because you look so cute when you try to fuck me."

He didn't need to go very fast, just the right angle to press your sweet spot like a button. The wet, pornographic sounds of your bodies pulling apart and colliding, with his name falling from your lips and his noises of pure pleasure, it wasn't very long until the both of you were arching into one another and letting the euphoric waves crash onto shore.

Chan slumped onto you, bodies tired and feeling entirely too cuddly to clean up any more. Doing the bare minimum and kicking off his pants while not even bothering to pull out, he laid his head into the crook of your neck and smothered you entirely.

"Date night. This weekend." You grumbled into his hair, getting comfortable.

"Whatever you want. Now go to sleep," Chan nuzzled his nose into your skin, letting your warmth take over his senses.

Draping your arms over his shoulders and holding him close with a kiss on the top of his head, you mumbled back, "don't tell me what to do."

☆ﾟ

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