#theme: conversion therapy

[aemiron-main]

normal teen romance. nothing to see here. not like this is one of the mildest parallels to the flayed and/or to nonconsent when it comes to milkvan. mhm. Mike definitely likes girls. Definitely isn’t trying to force himself to like girls. There’s no undertones here that tie into my current analysis. None at all. It’s fine.

[thewingedwolf]

i’m actually so happy i missed that discourse bc i was working so much bc if i had to sit with someone saying “the queen’s thief, a NEWBERRY AWARD WINNING SERIES, shouldn’t be considered kidlit bc it’s got torture in it” at work i think i would have lost my everloving mind actually.

[disneydatass]

Everytime a YouTuber/streamer/someone buys and or plays the hogwarts game they should immediately donate at least a $100 to a trans person

[maybeamiles]

Was playing around with some plot ideas for my OC's before going to bed but ran into some fundamental character clashes that cannot be resolved without fucking over one of my major themes so BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD WE GO.

[bsotted]

"The subtext that undergirds this new anti-racist discourse—that Black-white relationships are inherently fraught and must be navigated with the help of professionals and technical experts—testifies to the impoverishment of our interracial imagination, not to its enrichment. More gravely, anti-color-blind etiquette treats Black Americans as exotic others, permanent strangers whose racial difference is so chasmic that it must be continually managed, whose mode of humanness is so foreign that it requires white people to adopt a special set of manners and 'race conscious' ritualistic practices to even have a simple conversation."*

*(emphasis mine)

By: Tyler Austin Harper

Published: Aug 14, 2023

The hotel was soulless, like all conference hotels. I had arrived a few hours before check-in, hoping to drop off my bags before I met a friend for lunch. The employees were clearly frazzled, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of several hundred impatient academics. When I asked where I could put my luggage, the guy at the front desk simply pointed to a nearby hallway. “Wait over there with her; he’s coming back.”

Who “he” was remained unclear, but I saw the woman he was referring to. She was white and about my age. She had a conference badge and a large suitcase that she was rolling back and forth in obvious exasperation. “Been waiting long?” I asked, taking up a position on the other side of the narrow hallway. “Very,” she replied. For a while, we stood in silence, minding our phones. Eventually, we began chatting.

The conversation was wide-ranging: the papers we were presenting, the bad A/V at the hotel, our favorite things to do in the city. At some point, we began talking about our jobs. She told me that—like so many academics—she was juggling a temporary teaching gig while also looking for a tenure-track position.

“It’s hard,” she said, “too many classes, too many students, too many papers to grade. No time for your own work. Barely any time to apply to real jobs.”

When I nodded sympathetically, she asked about my job and whether it was tenure-track. I admitted, a little sheepishly, that it was.

“I’d love to teach at a small college like that,” she said. “I feel like none of my students wants to learn. It’s exhausting.”

Then, out of nowhere, she said something that caught me completely off guard: “But I shouldn’t be complaining to you about this. I know how hard BIPOC faculty have it. You’re the last person I should be whining to.”

I was taken aback, but I shouldn’t have been. It was the kind of awkward comment I’ve grown used to over the past few years, as “anti-racism” has become the reigning ideology of progressive political culture. Until recently, calling attention to a stranger’s race in such a way would have been considered a social faux pas. That she made the remark without thinking twice—a remark, it should be noted, that assumes being a Black tenure-track professor is worse than being a marginally employed white one—shows how profoundly interracial social etiquette has changed since 2020’s “summer of racial reckoning.” That’s when anti-racism—focused on combating “color-blindness” in both policy and personal conduct—grabbed ahold of the liberal mainstream.

Though this “reckoning” brought increased public attention to the deep embeddedness of racism in supposedly color-blind American institutions, it also made instant celebrities of a number of race experts and “diversity, equity, and inclusion” (DEI) consultants who believe that being anti-racist means undergoing a “journey” of radical personal transformation. In their righteous crusade against the bad color-blindness of policies such as race-neutral college admissions, these contemporary anti-racists have also jettisoned the kind of good color-blindness that holds that we are more than our race, and that we should conduct our social life according to that idealized principle. Rather than balance a critique of color-blind law and policy with a continuing embrace of interpersonal color-blindness as a social etiquette, contemporary anti-racists throw the baby out with the bathwater. In place of the old color-blind ideal, they have foisted upon well-meaning white liberals a successor social etiquette predicated on the necessity of foregrounding racial difference rather than minimizing it.

As a Black guy who grew up in a politically purple area—where being a good person meant adhering to the kind of civil-rights-era color-blindness that is now passé—I find this emergent anti-racist culture jarring. Many of my liberal friends and acquaintances now seem to believe that being a good person means constantly reminding Black people that you are aware of their Blackness. Difference, no longer to be politely ignored, is insisted upon at all times under the guise of acknowledging “positionality.” Though I am rarely made to feel excessively aware of my race when hanging out with more conservative friends or visiting my hometown, in the more liberal social circles in which I typically travel, my race is constantly invoked—“acknowledged” and “centered”—by well-intentioned anti-racist “allies.”

This “acknowledgement” tends to take one of two forms. The first is the song and dance in which white people not-so-subtly let you know that they know that race and racism exist. This includes finding ways to interject discussion of some (bad) news item about race or racism into casual conversation, apologizing for having problems while white (“You’re the last person I should be whining to”), or inversely, offering “support” by attributing any normal human problem you have to racism.

The second way good white liberals often “center” racial difference in everyday interactions with minorities is by trying, always clumsily, to ensure that their “marginalized” friends and familiars are “culturally” comfortable. My favorite personal experiences of this include an acquaintance who invariably steers dinner or lunch meetups to Black-owned restaurants, and the time that a friend of a friend invited me over to go swimming in their pool before apologizing for assuming that I know how to swim (“I know that’s a culturally specific thing”). It is a peculiar quirk of the 2020s’ racial discourse that this kind of “acknowledgement” and “centering” is viewed as progress.

My point is not that conservatives have better racial politics—they do not—but rather that something about current progressive racial discourse has become warped and distorted. The anti-racist culture that is ascendant seems to me to have little to do with combatting structural racism or cultivating better relationships between white and Black Americans. And its rejection of color-blindness as a social ethos is not a new frontier of radical political action.

No, at the core of today’s anti-racism is little more than a vibe shift—a soft matrix of conciliatory gestures and hip phraseology that give adherents the feeling that there has been a cultural change, when in fact we have merely put carpet over the rotting floorboards. Although this push to center rather than sidestep racial difference in our interpersonal relationships comes from a good place, it tends to rest on a troubling, even racist subtext: that white and Black Americans are so radically different that interracial relationships require careful management, constant eggshell-walking, and even expert guidance from professional anti-racists. Rather than producing racial harmony, this new ethos frequently has the opposite effect, making white-Black interactions stressful, unpleasant, or, perhaps most often, simply weird.

Since the murder of George Floyd in May 2020, progressive anti-racism has centered on two concepts that helped Americans make sense of his senseless death: “structural racism” and “implicit bias.” The first of these is a sociopolitical concept that highlights how certain institutions—maternity wards, police barracks, lending companies, housing authorities, etc.—produce and replicate racial inequalities, such as the disproportionate killing of Black men by the cops. The second is a psychologicalconcept that describes the way that all individuals—from bleeding-heart liberals to murderers such as Derek Chauvin—harbor varying degrees of subconscious racial prejudice.

Though “structural racism” and “implicit bias” target different scales of the social order—institutions on the one hand, individuals on the other—underlying both of these ideas is a critique of so-called color-blind ideology, or what the sociologist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva calls “color-blind racism”: the idea that policies, interactions, and rhetoric can be explicitly race-neutral but implicitly racist. As concepts, both “structural racism” and “implicit bias” rest on the presupposition that racism is an enduring feature of institutional and social life, and that so-called race neutrality is a covertly racist myth that perpetuates inequality. Some anti-racist scholars such as Uma Mazyck Jayakumar and Ibram X. Kendi have put this even more bluntly: “‘Race neutral’ is the new “separate but equal.’” Yet, although anti-racist academics and activists are right to argue that race-neutral policies can’t solve racial inequities—that supposedly color-blind laws and policies are often anything but—over the past few years, this line of criticism has also been bizarrely extended to color-blindness as a personal ethos governing behavior at the individual level.

The most famous proponent of dismantling color-blindness in everyday interactions is Robin DiAngelo, who has made an entire (very condescending) career out of asserting that if white people are not uncomfortable, anti-racism is not happening. “White comfort maintains the racial status quo, so discomfort is necessary and important,” the corporate anti-racist guru advises. Over the past three years, this kind of anti-color-blind, pro-discomfort rhetoric has become the norm in anti-racist discourse. On the final day of the 28-day challenge in Layla Saad’s viral Me and White Supremacy, budding anti-racists are tasked with taking “out-of-your-comfort-zone actions,” such as apologizing to people of color in their life and having “uncomfortable conversations.” Frederick Joseph’s best-selling book The Black Friend takes a similar tack. The problem with color-blindness, Joseph counsels, is it allows “white people to continue to be comfortable.” The NFL analyst Emmanuel Acho wrote an entire book, simply called Uncomfortable Conversations With a Black Man, that admonishes readers to “stop celebrating color-blindness.” And, of course, there are endless how-to guides for having these “uncomfortable conversations” with your Black friends.

Once the dominant progressive ideology, professing “I don’t see color” is now viewed as a kind of dog whistle that papers over implicit bias. Instead, current anti-racist wisdom holds that we must acknowledge racial difference in our interactions with others, rather than assume that race needn’t be at the center of every interracial conversation or encounter. Coming to grips with the transition we have undergone over the past decade—color-blind etiquette’s swing from de rigueur to racist—requires a longer view of an American cultural transition. Civil-rights-era color-blindness was replaced with an individualistic, corporatized anti-racism, one focused on the purification of white psyches through racial discomfort, guilt, and “doing the work” as a road to self-improvement.

Writing in 1959, the social critic Philip Rieff argued that postwar America was transforming from a religious and economic culture—one oriented around common institutions such as the church and the market—to a psychological culture, one oriented around the self and its emotional fulfillment. By the 1960s, Rieff had given this shift a name: “the triumph of the therapeutic,” which he defined as an emergent worldview according to which the “self, improved, is the ultimate concern of modern culture.” Yet, even as he diagnosed our culture with self-obsession, Rieff also noticed something peculiar and even paradoxical. Therapeutic culture demanded that we reflect our self-actualization outward. Sharing our innermost selves with the world—good, bad, and ugly—became a new social mandate under the guise that authenticity and open self-expression are necessary for social cohesion.

Recent anti-racist mantras like “White silence is violence” reflect this same sentiment: exhibitionist displays of “racist” guilt are viewed as a necessary precursor to racial healing and community building. In this way, today’s attacks on interpersonal color-blindness—and progressives’ growing fixation on implicit bias, public confession, and race-conscious social etiquette—are only the most recent manifestations of the cultural shift Rieff described. Indeed, the seeds of the current backlash against color-blindness began decades ago, with the application of a New Age, therapeutic outlook to race relations: so-called racial-sensitivity training, the forefather of today’s equally spurious DEI programming.

In her 2001 book, Race Experts, the historian Elisabeth Lasch-Quinn painstakingly details how racial-sensitivity training emerged from the 1960s’ human-potential movement and its infamous “encounter groups.” As she explains, what began as a more or less countercultural phenomenon was later corporatized in the form of the anemic, pointless workshops controversially lampooned on The Office. Not surprisingly, this shift reflected the ebb and flow of corporate interests: Whereas early workplace training emphasized compliance with the newly minted Civil Rights Act of 1964, later incarnations would focus on improving employee relations and, later still, leveraging diversity to secure better business outcomes.

If there is something distinctive about the anti-color-blind racial etiquette that has emerged since George Floyd’s death, it is that these sites of encounter have shifted from official institutional spaces to more intimate ones where white people and minorities interact as friends, neighbors, colleagues, and acquaintances. Racial-awareness raising is a dynamic no longer quarantined to formalized, compulsory settings like the boardroom or freshman orientation. Instead, every interracial interaction is a potential scene of (one-way) racial edification and supplication, encounters in which good white liberals are expected to be transparent about their “positionality,” confront their “whiteness,” and—if the situation calls for it—confess their “implicit bias.”

In a vacuum, many of the prescriptions advocated by the anti-color-blind crowd are reasonable: We should all think more about our privileges and our place in the world. An uncomfortable conversation or an honest look in the mirror can be precursors to personal growth. We all carry around harmful, implicit biases and we do need to examine the subconscious assumptions and prejudices that underlie the actions we take and the things we say. My objection is not to these ideas themselves, which are sensible enough. No, my objection is that anti-racism offers little more than a Marie Kondo–ism for the white soul, promising to declutter racial baggage and clear a way to white fulfillment without doing anything meaningful to combat structural racism. As Lasch-Quinn correctly foresaw, “Casting interracial problems as issues of etiquette [puts] a premium on superficial symbols of good intentions and good motivations as well as on style and appearance rather than on the substance of change.”

Yet the problem with the therapeutics of contemporary anti-racism is not just that they are politically sterile. When anti-color-blindness and its ideology of insistent “race consciousness” are translated into the sphere of private life—to the domain of friendships, block parties, and backyard barbecues—they assault the very idea of a multiracial society, producing new forms of racism in the process. The fact that our media environment is inundated with an endless stream of books, articles, and social-media tutorials that promise to teach white people how to simply interact with the Black people in their life is not a sign of anti-racist progress, but of profound regression.

The subtext that undergirds this new anti-racist discourse—that Black-white relationships are inherently fraught and must be navigated with the help of professionals and technical experts—testifies to the impoverishment of our interracial imagination, not to its enrichment. More gravely, anti-color-blind etiquette treats Black Americans as exotic others, permanent strangers whose racial difference is so chasmic that it must be continually managed, whose mode of humanness is so foreign that it requires white people to adopt a special set of manners and “race conscious” ritualistic practices to even have a simple conversation.

If we are going to find a way out of the racial discord that has defined American life post-Trump and post-Charlottesville and post-Floyd, we have to begin with a more sophisticated understanding of color-blindness, one that rejects the bad color-blindness on offer from the Republican Party and its partisans, as well as the anti-color-blindness of the anti-racist consultants. Instead, we should embrace the good color-blindness of not too long ago. At the heart of that color-blindness was a radical claim, one imperfectly realized but perfect as an ideal: that despite the weight of a racist past that isn’t even past, we can imagine a world, or at least an interaction between two people, where racial difference doesn’t make a difference.

[ Via: https://archive.today/8zfvc ]

[astrow0rldx]

Attraction & Sex in Astrology

7th house ruled by libra, libra ruled by Venus. On the other side of the 1st, of attraction. We really want to look at this part of our chart. While mars is our drive, and sexuality.

7th house - Who your attracted to. Your typical type in people when looking out in the world.

8th house - How you seduce/What you are seduced by

House that venus is in - Where you can find love. What enviroments, and places.

House that mars is in - Where you can find sex. Enviroments and places.

Sign that venus is in - Your Love Language. Behavior you want in a relationship to give or be given.

Sign of mars - Your turn ons, Sexual dynamics. Also the sexual energy you give.

You should have 4 signs your looking at, and 2 houses. Maybe some planets. Knowing the differentiation of each one, and how you can apply it when knowing what the sign or house or planet means.

🎀🧸Me Example: 7th house Capricorn, 8th house Neptune and Aquarius. Virgo Venus, Libra Mars. Venus in 3rd house, Mars in 4th. I'm attracted to/attract mature, older, wealthy, powerful, high-status, authoritative, responsible, father-like people. My love language and behavior I like is being of service, reliable, co-dependent, attention to detail. Practical, real, moral, organized, structured, routine. Where I find love is in my neighborhood, social media, school, writing or study places, workshops or learning environments, casual conversation places, Ubers, planes, transporting, libraries. My sexual energy and I'm turned on by charmers, graceful, flirty people with romantic gestures, physically and aesthetically pleasing, Intelligent, Good listeners, Fair, Cooperative people. That's mutual and partner-ship oriented. Balanced Passion Dynamics. Where I can find sex is in the home, private places, hidden, emotionally vulnerable places, kitchens, holidays, family themed things, therapy, somewhere nostalgic, or has history to it. How I seduce and what seduces me is spirituality, fantasy, enchanting, divine, mysterious. out of body, intoxicating, idealistic, artistic, music. Soul-Connecting/Taking. Illusions. Groups of people, Communities, Friends, Politics, Rebel, Different, Quirky, Weird, Kinky.

Jeffery Dahmer: 7th house Aries, Moon. 8th house Sun Mercury and in Taurus. Taurus Venus, Aries Mars. Venus in the 8th. Mars in the 6th.

Taylor Swift: 7th house Taurus, 8th house Jupiter, Moon and in Gemini. Aquarius Venus, Scorpio, Venus in the 2nd, Mars in the 1st.

[cinnamonest]

Female-Targeted Doujin Masterlist

Thank you anon! Sooooo, I have decided to compile a female-targeted/yumejoshi masterlist, I'll add this post to my main masterlist soon.

These were the one I could think of from memory, I’ll come back to this list and add to it if I get more, I'm sure I missed a few from my bookmarks. Feel free to add to it in the comments, and I'll try to find and update it! Also, several of these were recommended from anons in the past, so thank you all <3

FYI several links lead to nh*ntai dot net, so be aware of that.

Umekoppe

As per the post anon is referencing, Umekoppe is a doujin group that consistently puts out exclusively good content!

“The Yandere Prince Won't Let Me Slip Away”

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: Isekai/pseudo-reincarnation trope, premise basically explained by the title, MC is isekai'd as prince's lost lover.

"The Sacrificial Maiden Corrupted by Coupling With an Oni"

(Link)

Premise: Historical Japan setting, the "MC is an offering sacrifice to the Creature, but the Creature chooses to keep her instead" trope.

"Until the Trashiest Boy Toy Exorcist Ren-kun Crushes Me in His Embrace"

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: MC is a girl that attracts malevolent spirits, exorcist-kun is obligated to help her ward them off (with orgasms, naturally).

"The Spy Who Ravished Me ~Reborn As a Mafia Princess in a Deadly Game~"

(Link)

Premise: Isekai, MC reincarnated into a game where she knows who the guy who is most likely to kill her is, but in her attempt to avoid getting killed by him, ends up taking actions that make him grow into an obsessive love-hate instead. Top tier, this boy is probably the worst (in a good way) of how all the Umekoppe love interests treat the girl.

"Heibon Onna wa Downer Kami-sama ni Izon sarete Modorenai" (this one didn't have a translated title, sorry)

(Link)

Premise: MC discovers her friend is a shrine god and wolf-boy. Wolfboy fun times ensue (and in the end she's apparently unknowingly trapped into being with him forever, so that's nice).

You’re Cutest When You’re Pathetic ~Obsessed Golden Retriever Boy Haru’s Disciplinary Sex~

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: Softboy™ neighbor finds MC's phone with lewd stuff on it, gets her confessions in drunk conversations, turns out to not be so much of a Softboy behind closed doors.

Oniben Katze

Another group that also does a lot of fem-targeted stuff.

Serious Sex with my Brutish Boyfriend

(Link)

Premise: MC's lover gets mad over rumors that she's a slut, decides to get possessive and rough over it.

Dog Eat Dog Era

(Part One)

(Part Two/Extras)

Premise: a personal favorite, an isekai'd witch adopts two dragon boys who grow up to have a strong fixation with her and noncon ensues.

Parasite Garden

Makes notably darker stuff that contains more controversial subject matter/themes, so be warned.

The Corpse of a Goldfish is at the Bottom of the Swamp

(Link)

CW: INCEST

Premise: possessive brother wants to corrupt/mindbreak sister to keep her forever (spoiler: he succeeds)

The Neighbor in Room 203 Disappeared Leaving their Keys Behind

(Link)

Premise: stalker girl meets her match, as it turns out the boy neighbor she's stalking pulls a spiderman pointing meme and has actually been her stalker for even longer and to a much greater, darker, and more more extreme extent, and is intent on not letting her go.

My Sweet Bunny Cage

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: tiny girl is kidnapped by a crazed guy convinced she is the reincarnation of his lost pet rabbit.

Other

(artist listed below titles)

If you wish, hypnosis ~Maki-san's secret love therapy~

(Link)

Artist: Meeo

Premise: pretty straightforward, after she doesn't believe it's real, MC's coworker uses hypnosis on her for Certain Specific Purposes.

Sakaki the Lazybones Shows His Talents at Night

(Link) (Contains all chapters' links on the page, you might have to scroll down on the chapter list to see chapter one on some phones)

Artist: Potsunen Jin

Premise: (Another personal favorite) MC's younger coworker, peak innocent idolizing softboy, is in love with her and takes advantage of a situation while she's drunk after watching porn to "learn what girls like." Clingy, possessive relationship ensues.

Lady K and the Sick Man

(Chapter One) (site's menu is a bit awkward to deal with, but you have to click in the corner to view the menu to go to other chapters).

Artist: Rororogi Mogera

Yet another personal favorite, this one does have slight male gaze to it in that it focuses on the girl quite a bit, but it still focuses on the guy way more than the average doujin. Also the guy is an older bigger guy, if you ever tire of the twink/twunk standard in yumejoshi stuff.

Premise: guy moves into an apartment with a ghost lady and just kinda accepts it because he can't afford to live anywhere else, but quickly decides he’s down bad for ghussy.

I Became the True Love Object of Mr. Segawa, Who Has a Huge Attitude and Body

(Link)

Artist: Haruo Haruyama

Premise: very straightforward office coworkers to lovers, coworker is a big guy who turns out to be kinda sadistic, which is good for the masochistic MC.

The Man Who Saved Me on my Isekai Trip was a Killer

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

Artist: Ahan Horihori

Premise: this one got kind of infamous and shock-valued the mainstream crowd due to an animated advertisement I believe, it's essentially self-explanatory from the title: isekai'd lady gets saved by a guy who turns out to be a violent murderer, dark and sometimes pseudo-incesty plot twists ensue.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Unhinged

Jason Todd x Reader

MDNI wc: 0.7K summary: your roommate finds your messages you send your friend about him. warnings: suggestive themes, no y/n used, actually kind of cringe a/n: my dear friend accidently gave me this idea while spamming me with delicious Red Hood edits (@dollyure), evidence will be shared at the end. enjoy!!

You never thought this could happen. You were so careful to leave your own thoughts to yourself and never let Jason see the things you tell your friend. But of course, nothing really goes your way for some reason.

It took one thing for you to end up in this situation. One thing. And that was leaving your phone unattented on the sofa for a minute. Unlocked.

It was a typical evening as any other, just getting to relax and wind down at the end of the week on your favourite spot at the couch with your roommate. Jason was always pretty quiet but respectful of the shared space, a good friend if you want to wind down together. You rarely get to see him in the evenings but on days like this, when he stays in, it feels like a small reward for you.

Of course he doesn‘t know about any of this. Doesn‘t know anything about what your silly texts between you and your friends. You keep it a secret pretty well, so he won‘t think you are a complete weirdo.

Well, until that evening. Setting your phone quickly aside to get to your boiling tea kettle, you forgot to lock it. Jason sits at the other end of the fluffy couch and watches how you scurry away to get the boiling water to a stop. With an amused grin he gets back to his book but keeps getting distracted by the bright phonescreen just a little away from him. Glancing over, he sees the outlines of text bubbles but he can‘t see what‘s written in there yet.

He isn‘t trying to pry or get into your privacy, but the way the other person spams you non-stop is making him more curious. Whatever this conversation is about, he wants to know if it‘s a conflict or some sort of gossip.

Jason checks if you are still in the kitchen and sees you preparing your tea and some sweets. He technically has enough time to snatch your phone while it‘s still open and gets to have a look over the texts. Who knows, maybe he will find out some interesting things on there. So, with these weak excuses, he grabs your phone and starts reading through them.

UNTIL YOUR TONGUE FADES COLOUR??? I mean every word I say. Wow. Just…

His brows furrow. What does this even mean? Are tongues even capable of fading colour? With a quick glance to the kitchen, he scrolls up, reading through the older messages.

From the couch, to the shower, to the bed, from the wall to the floor from missionary to cowgirl, straddled on top JUST LET ME HITTT

His jaw drops. Jason quickly composes himself and sits up, clearing his throat. He is sure he will need extra therapy after this. Ignoring the unfamiliar, warm feeling in his lower abdomen, he continues to read through them. Unsurprisingly, he finds a picture of himself in the chat. His profile picture, some random pictures he didn‘t even you had in the first place.

Until my throat memorises every vein.

That‘s the last message he sees from you before you appear in his sight again. Tea in hand, some cookies in the other. But most importantly, your flushed cheeks and regretful expression. His hand drops your phone and his cheeks also flush.

You can‘t look into his eyes anymore. This is the next worst thing that‘s ever happened to you so far. There is no way you can talk yourself out of this situation at all. He knows basically everything now. From the fact that you crush on him to the fact that you literally want to devour him whole.

Silently, he sets your phone back to its original spot and gets off the couch to stand up. Again, he clears his throat and speaks up first.

»I‘m gonna pretend I didn‘t see all this...«

And before you could apologise or say something to your defense, he is gone, retreating himself into his own room. Maybe even for the better, you can‘t imagine how awkward it would‘ve been if you were to sit next to him for the next few hours.

here is the so called evidence ( from my friends perspective)

and this was the final message that made me do this:

hope you enjoyed it somehow(★‿★)

←MASTERLIST

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ Break In, Break Up, Break Out

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.9K

☆ ━ warnings: slight mention of conversion therapy, usage of “gayness” in a derogatory way, hella religious guilt

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: nothing, just enjoy!

PAIGE HASN’T seen Dani since what happened in the darkroom, on Friday. She doesn’t blame her, though. Dani’s been through hell—months of suppressing herself, living in fear of being who she is, and all under the roof of the man who had sent her to fucking conversion therapy of all places. Paige has felt the weight of that knowledge settle in her chest like a stone all weekend. But she knows better than to push Dani for anything more, not now. Dani needs space, time to figure out her next steps, and Paige is willing to give her all the time in the world—especially now that she knows why.

Still, it doesn’t stop her from worrying. Every time she thinks about Dani living under the same roof as her dad, the man who tried to change her, a sick feeling twists in her stomach. She hasn’t said anything about it yet, though—she doesn’t know if she plans to. She just doesn’t want to overwhelm Dani, not when they’re barely starting to reconnect.

It’s Monday morning now, and Paige is rushing to AP Lit—her first period that has been the victim of her tardiness recently. She steps into the classroom just as the bell rings, thankful that she’s just on time. Mrs. Donovan is already at the front of the room, writing something on the board about their next project. Paige’s eyes automatically drift to the familiar spot in front of her—Dani’s seat.

And there she is.

Dani sits at her desk, brown hair falling over her shoulders, her fingers drumming lightly on the surface as if she might be lost in thought. When Paige walks past her to take her own seat behind her like always, their eyes meet.

Dani’s lips curve into a small, tentative smile. It’s barely more than a flicker, but to Paige, it feels like a flash of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Her heart leaps in her chest, racing far faster than it should for something so simple, but after weeks—months, really—of being ignored by Dani, even the smallest gesture feels like a lifeline.

Paige smiles back, hoping Dani can feel just how much that small connection means to her.

She sits down, her pulse still thrumming in her ears, trying to focus as Mrs. Donovan begins explaining the project. Paige glances at the back of Dani’s head, her mind reeling, though she quickly snaps her attention to the teacher. They’ve been reading The Great Gatsby for the past few weeks, and now it’s time to wrap up the unit with their final project.

“Alright, class,” Mrs. Donovan begins as she turns to face them, “for this project, I’m going to be assigning you partners. Together, you’ll create a poster analyzing one of the central themes or symbols from Gatsby.”

Paige’s gaze wanders back to Dani’s profile as Mrs. Donovan speaks. Her mind drifts to the book they’ve been studying—for once, she didn’t hate it. She actually read the whole thing instead of reading the chapter summaries on SparkNotes. Maybe it’s because those stupid themes of longing, desire, and unattainable dreams all feels eerily close to home. Maybe not. She swallows, wondering if Dani has ever thought of it that way. She wonders if she sees their relationship—whatever this is now—as an unreachable dream, just like Gatsby’s vision of Daisy.

“As you know,” Mrs. Donovan continues, “The Great Gatsby is filled with themes of illusion and reality, the corruption of the American Dream, and the idea of trying to recapture a lost past. I want you and your partner to explore one of these ideas in depth, using specific scenes from the novel to support your argument. Your poster should clearly show how your chosen theme or symbol is reflected in the text, and, if you want to, you can even make connections to modern-day issues or personal reflections.”

Paige’s heart thuds in her chest. Mrs. Donovan’s words echo in her head—illusion and reality, the corruption of dreams, trying to recapture a lost past. Maybe she’s been thinking too hard—she’s been doing that a lot lately—but the parallels to her situation with Dani are almost painfully obvious. Everything between them feels like chasing something that’s just out of reach, something real but constantly slipping through their fingers.

Mrs. Donovan scans the room, looking down at her list of names. “Okay, partners are as follows… Noa and Lucy… Sam and Katie… Paige and Dani…”

Paige feels her breath catch in her throat. Of course. Of course, she and Dani are partners. It’s not a bad thing—it’s just… a little more nerve-racking than it would have been a few months back. She can feel her pulse quicken again as she glances at Dani, who turns her head just slightly, catching Paige’s eye with a soft gaze. There’s a hint of something unspoken there, a flicker of uncertainty mixed with… something else. Paige can’t quite place it.

“Once you know who your partner is, you can spend the rest of class working on your analysis,” Mrs. Donovan says, gesturing to the students.

Paige gathers her things and shifts to the empty desk next to Dani, her nerves buzzing under her skin. Dani glances at her with that same tentative smile, and Paige swears her cheeks are tinged with the faintest blush.

“So, uh…” Dani starts, her voice quieter than usual. “Which theme do you think we should focus on?”

Paige considers for a moment, her mind running through everything they’ve studied in the book. Lost dreams, unattainable desires, illusions. But there’s one that sticks out more than the rest. “What about… the idea of finding and taking back a lost past? You know, like how Gatsby’s obsessed with recreating what he had with Daisy?”

Dani’s eyes flicker with something—understanding, maybe?—and she nods. “Yeah, that could work. He spends the whole book trying to hold onto something that’s already gone, even though it’s never gonna be the same.”

Paige’s heart twists a little at the truth of those words. Is that that not what she’s been doing with Dani? Hoping to get back what they had before, even though so much has changed?

Dani continues, her voice a little more confident now that they’ve settled on a theme. “We could talk about the green light too, right? How it symbolizes Gatsby’s hope, but also how it’s just this unattainable thing that he’ll never really have. We could connect that with the idea of longing for something that’s already out of reach.”

Paige nods, her throat tightening. “Yeah, that’s good. The green light.” She pauses, her eyes drifting down to the notebook in front of her. “It’s like he’s always reaching for somethin’ that’s just… too far away.”

Their conversation flows more easily after that, though there’s an almost shyness between them that’s never been there before. Both of them are careful, cautious, as if the slightest misstep might break whatever fragile thing has started to grow between them again. But there are moments—brief, fleeting—where Paige feels the old connection, the spark that’s always been there. The accidental brushes of their hands as they pass each other the notebook, the tiny smiles exchanged when they find something they both agree on—it’s enough to make Paige’s heart race in a way that feels all too familiar.

As they work, Paige can’t help but steal glances at Dani, the way her brows furrow when she’s concentrating, the way her lips quirk into a soft smile when they find a particularly insightful analysis. It’s like seeing a version of Dani she hasn’t in so long—open, thoughtful, the girl Paige has always known (and loved).

When the bell rings, the sound startled both of them out of their quiet focus. Paige looks up, blinking in surprise as the reality of the time hits her. “We’re definitely not going to finish this in class,” she says, a little breathless.

Dani laughs softly, and it’s like a balm to Paige’s soul. “Yeah, I didn’t think we would.”

Paige hesitates for a moment, her mind racing with possibilities. She knows Dani’s still working through everything, not wanting to get too close again especially so soon, but maybe this is Paige’s chance to spend time with her again. “Do you want to… maybe come over to my house later? I have practice, but we could work on it after?”

Dani blinks, surprised. Paige watches the hesitation, the uncertainty flick across her face as her mouth opens and closes, searching for an answer. Paige can guess why—Dani’s scared. And Paige is about to think that Dani’s going to refuse, but then the brunette nods slowly, her lips curving into another small smile. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Paige’s heart flutters, and she can’t help the wide grin that spreads across her face. “Great. I’ll text when you come over, okay?”

“Okay,” Dani replies, her voice soft, but there’s something in her eyes—a warmth, a glimmer—that makes Paige feel like things might finally be starting to fall into place again.

DANI’S HEART pounds, her stomach in knots as she paces back and forth in her bedroom. The sun is dipped low, casting the room in the kind of dim light that makes everything feel heavier than it is. Any minute now, Paige will text her to come over so they can finish their Lit project. She tries to tell herself it isn’t a big deal—just schoolwork, nothing more. It certainly isn’t a date. It isn’t even really two friends hanging out. It’s just schoolwork. Strictly to finish their assignment.

So why does she feel like her stomach is in knots? She’s been to Paige’s house a billion times over the years. Just because it’s been a few months doesn’t mean anything’s changed, right?

But it has changed. It’s all changed.

She runs a hand through her hair, her fingers shaking. Maybe she should cancel. Paige won’t hold it against her, right? She can just make up an excuse, say something came up. Lie. She can lie and stay in her room, burying herself in the Bible that sits on her bookshelf, pretending like she isn’t still thinking about Paige all the time, in that way. Pretending that her heart isn’t tearing itself apart.

Dani lets out a shaky breath and stops pacing, her hand drifting up to the cross necklace around her neck. The cool metal feels grounding in a way, like it’s tethering her to something larger than herself. Her father always says that God will give her strength, that if she prays enough, follows the rules, and sticks to the path, things will work out.

But the path feels so blurry now. What does strength even mean when every day feels like a battle inside her own head?

Her eyes drift to the crucifix on her wall, then once more to the Bible resting on the shelf. God doesn’t approve, she thinks, the words like a drumbeat in her mind. It isn’t just God either. She knows how her dad feels. She’s known from the moment he sent her to camp, from the moment he handed her over to people who told her she could be “fixed.”

But how can she be fixed when she isn’t even sure what’s broken?

Paige isn’t the problem. That much Dani knows. Paige has never been the problem, no matter how much the counselors or Dani’s father told her she was. It’s Dani that’s the problem. It’s her mind, her heart, her inability to let go of everything her father has drilled into her for years. She’s tried to be who he wants her to be. She’s tried to be the perfect daughter, the good Catholic girl who follows all the rules.

But nothing feels right anymore. Not when she’s spent an entire five months being torn apart from the inside out. Not when she can’t even look at herself in the mirror without feeling a deep sense of guilt she can’t shake.

She tugs on the cross hanging from her neck, feeling the familiar weight pressing against her chest. This is wrong, she tells herself again, but the words feel empty. It’s the words that feel wrong now, not everything else.

Because if it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right when Paige smiles at her? Why does her heart race whenever Paige looks at her like she’s the only person in the room? And why, despite everything, does she still want to go over there tonight? And maybe every other night?

Dani’s stomach churns as she glances at her phone, wondering if Paige is even going to text her at all. Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe it’s a bad idea to work together at all. They aren’t the same people they used to be, and things aren’t just going to magically fall back into place because of a stupid project.

She wants to cancel, she really does. It’s too confusing, too much to handle. But then what? She’ll sit here in her room, staring at the cross, thinking about Paige and how impossible it is to be near her but even more impossible to be without her. It’s a torturous cycle Dani can’t escape, no matter how much she prays or how hard she tries to push the thoughts away.

God doesn’t approve. The words echo again, louder this time. Dani’s fingers tighten around the necklace, her breath shallow as she stands in the middle of her room, paralyzed by indecision. She knows what her father would say. He would tell her to cancel, to stay away from Paige, to keep herself on the “right path.”

But what if she doesn’t want to stay on that path anymore?

What if she doesn’t even know where it leads?

Before she can spiral any further, a soft thud against her window pulls her from her thoughts. And then another. Dani blinks, startled, her heart jumping in her chest. She frowns, walking over to the window and pulling back the curtain. Her eyes widen in surprise when she looks down to see Paige standing in the yard, tossing tiny pebbles up at her window.

Paige grins up at her, looking a little sheepish but undeniably amused with herself. Her hair is damp and wavy, falling loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a Hopkins basketball long-sleeve with grey sweatpants—clearly fresh from practice and a shower. The sight of her makes Dani’s stomach flip. Dani digs a nail into her palm for the way her brain immediately dings with the thought of how good Paige looks.

“What are you doing?” Dani calls out, incredulous, though she can’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Paige shrugs, her grin widening. “Sorry about the rocks,” she says, a bit bashfully. “But, uh, you still have my number blocked. And my Snap. And my Instagram. And I didn’t want to knock on your door. Figured your dad probably wouldn’t love seeing me on the Ring camera.”

Dani’s stomach flips at the mention of her dad. She feels a wave of guilt, her mind instantly jumping to what he’d say if he knew Paige was outside her window. But at the same time, Paige’s grin is so disarming, so warm, that it makes everything else seem a little less suffocating.

Paige gestures to her house, right, next door, and flashes that same lopsided smile that makes Dani’s chest ache. “You can come over whenever now.”

Dani stands frozen at the window, her thoughts warring with each other, but before she can stop herself, she calls back, “Yeah, okay, I’ll be down in a sec.”

She closes the window, her heart racing as she grabs her things and heads downstairs, her fingers brushing against the cross necklace one last time before she opens the door to meet Paige outside.

They don’t say much as they start walking next door to Paige’s house. It isn’t a long walk—barely thirty seconds, given how their houses stand so close together. Yet, every step feels like it’s taking Dani deeper into a situation she isn’t ready to face.

Paige’s shoulder brushes against hers as they walk, sending a jolt of electricity down Dani’s spine. She stiffens, her heart skipping a beat. For a split second, she wants to lean into Paige’s warmth, to let that connection stay, to give into that sense of closeness she hasn’t let herself feel in months. But just as quickly, the urge to pull away surges inside her. Every alarm in her head screams at her to keep her distance, to remember what’s at stake, to remember how wrong it all is.

But Dani does neither. She doesn’t lean into Paige, nor does she pull away. She just keeps walking, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her as they make their way up the driveway to Paige’s front door.

When they step inside, the warm glow of the house envelopes them, and Dani immediately hears the sounds of a football game coming from the living room. Paige’s dad, Bob, lounges on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. The moment the door closes behind them, though, he turns his head, clearly expecting to see Paige alone.

When his gaze lands on Dani standing beside her, a flicker of surprise crosses his face. Dani’s stomach tightens as she sees the confusion in his eyes, realizing how strange it must be for him to see her here after months of silence. She hasn’t exactly made it easy on Paige, and by extension, on him either. But just as quickly as the confusion appears, it fades into a warm grin.

“Well, look who it is!” Bob exclaims, his voice full of the same kindness that’s always made Dani feel like she belongs here with the Bueckers. “Dani Callan! I thought you forgot where we lived. How you been?” His teasing tone holds no bitterness, only affection, and Dani feels a knot she hadn’t even realized was there loosen in her chest.

“Hi, Bob,” Dani replies, managing a smile. “I’ve been, um… I’ve been good. How’re you?”

“Good, good,” Bob nods, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s been a while, huh? You girls getting some schoolwork done tonight?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a project due soon,” Dani answers, her voice steady, but the warmth in her chest remains. Bob has always been easy to talk to, the kind of dad who seems to genuinely care about what’s going on in his daughter and her friends’ lives. Unlike Dani’s own father, who’s much more reserved and strict, and has no room for anyone who doesn’t fit the mold he wants. For years, Bob has been like a second father to her, always offering an easy smile, a playful joke, and the kind of acceptance she craves so desperately at home.

It feels strange to stand here now, knowing how much she’s pulled away from all of it. But seeing that he doesn’t hate her for it—doesn’t even seem mad—is a small comfort. He’s still the same Bob, welcoming her back like no time has passed at all.

Before she can get too caught up in the moment, she feels a gentle pressure on her back. Paige’s hand is there, pushing her ever so slightly towards the stairs. “Alright, Dad, we gotta lock in,” Paige says, her voice casual, but Dani can feel the spark from Paige’s touch traveling through her body like a current.

Dani’s breath catches for a moment, her senses heightening from the simple contact. The warmth of Paige’s hand lingers long after it’s left her back, and she finds herself biting her lip, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions it stirs up inside her.

As she steps away from the living room, Dani catches Bob sending Paige a curious, almost quizzical look, like he’s trying to piece something together. She isn’t sure what it meant, but Paige’s sharp glare and the quick shake of her head that follows makes it clear that Paige doesn’t want to discuss whatever is running through her dad’s mind.

Dani respectfully pretends not to notice, keeping her gaze straight ahead as they climb the stairs to Paige’s room. She doesn’t ask what the silent exchange was about, doesn’t press for any explanation. Instead, she focuses on the task at hand—the project they’re supposed to be working on.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Dani tries to calm the storm of feelings swirling inside her. It isn’t easy, not when Paige is this close, not when the past few months of distance between them suddenly feels like they’re collapsing in on themselves. But Dani does her best, forcing herself to focus on what is important.

They’re just here to work. Nothing more. Or at least, that’s what she needs to keep telling herself.

When Dani reaches Paige’s room, she hesitates for a second in the doorway before stepping inside. It hasn’t changed much in the months since Dani last saw it. The bed, with its white comforter and a few basketball jerseys thrown haphazardly over the footboard, takes up most of the space. A desk, cluttered with textbooks, a laptop, and some old Gatorade bottles, is tucked in the corner. Posters of basketball players—Maya Moore, Sue Bird, Kobe Bryant—still line the walls, and there’s a worn basketball resting on the windowsill, sunlight catching its faded leather.

Paige drops her backpack near the desk and gestures to the bed. “We can work here. More room to spread everything out,” she says casually, already pulling out the materials for their project. She’s moving around the room with ease, like nothing’s out of the ordinary, like the weight of everything between them isn’t bearing down on them both.

Dani, on the other hand, feels like she’s walking on eggshells. She crosses the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands tightening around the straps of her backpack before she lets it fall to the floor. She watches as Paige plops down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, stretching her long legs out across the mattress.

For a brief moment, Dani can’t help but notice how comfortable Paige looks, her confidence and ease. She’s always had that about her—this effortless way of taking up space, like she belongs everywhere she goes. It’s one of the things Dani’s always admired about her.

“Okay, so I was thinking we could start with this quote,” Paige says, breaking Dani’s thoughts as she leans forward, flipping through The Great Gatsby. “I think it connects to the main theme pretty well, and it’s, like, kinda poetic, right? Teachers eat that shit up.”

Dani chuckles softly, more to ease her own nerves than anything else. “Yeah, they do. But if you’re gonna try to sell this as poetic, I’m the one doing the writing. Your handwriting is tragic, Paige.”

Paige looks up, mock-offended. “Hey! It’s not that bad.”

Dani raises an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. “Drew is seven, and I think his is better than yours.”

Paige’s shakes her head, face breaking into a grin, and she tosses a balled-up sock at Dani. “You’re so mean.”

Dani laughs as she dodges the sock, some of the tension loosening in her chest. The teasing feels like old times—like before everything got so complicated. It’s easy, comfortable, and for a second, Dani lets herself enjoy it.

They settle into the work, spreading the poster board out on the bed between them. Dani takes the Sharpie, naturally assuming the role of the one in charge of writing, while Paige flips through their book, looking for quotes and points to add.

For a while, it feels almost normal. Paige is talking, rambling about how stupid it is Mrs. Donovan is for assigning such a tedious project on top of all their other assignments, and Dani merely listens, her focus split between writing and keeping herself from staring too long at Paige. But as they fall into a rhythm, Dani becomes aware of how close Paige is sitting, their knees brushing occasionally, Paige’s arm resting against hers as she points out things to add to the poster.

And then, Dani feels it—Paige’s breath, warm against the side of her face. She’s leaning in, watching Dani write something down, her face hovering close, too close. Dani’s heart skips a beat, her hand faltering for a split second before she forces herself to keep writing. But it’s hard—so fucking hard—because all she can think about is how close Paige is, how their proximity makes her skin tingle, how she’s suddenly hyper-aware of every movement, every shift in the air between them.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice—at least, not at first. She’s just watching Dani’s hand move across the poster board, her focus seemingly on the project. But then, Dani turns her head just slightly, feeling the heat of Paige’s breath on her cheek, and she makes the mistake of meeting Paige’s eyes.

Everything stops.

For a moment, it feels like time freezes, and all Dani can see is Paige—those bright blue eyes, intense and unwavering, locked onto hers. Dani’s heart races, pounding so hard she’s sure Paige can hear it. And then, Paige’s gaze flickers, dropping down to Dani’s lips, and Dani feels her stomach twist painfully, every nerve in her body screaming at her to just do it. To close the gap, to kiss her, to finally stop pretending.

But she can’t.

She can’t.

Dani’s head is spinning, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. Her body wants to lean in, to give in to the pull between them, but her mind—her mind is a storm of guilt, of shame, of fear.

It’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

So she pulls away, turning her head sharply and forcing her gaze back down to the poster, her hand gripping the Sharpie so tightly it hurts. Her heart is still racing, her body still trembling with the aftermath of what almost happened. But she forces herself to focus, to breathe, to keep going as if nothing had just passed between them.

She hears Paige let out a long, quiet breath beside her, and then, softly, “I’m sorry.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Dani feels them settle deep in her chest, a mix of relief and regret swirling together in a confusing mess of emotions. Paige’s apology is genuine—Dani can hear it in her voice—but it only makes things harder. Because the truth is, Dani isn’t sorry at all.

She’s only sorry that she pulled away.

And that’s the worst part.

Dani doesn’t look up. She doesn’t trust herself to. Instead, she murmurs, “It’s okay,” though she knows it’s not. Nothing about this is okay. But what else can she say?

They fall back into an uneasy silence after that, the weight of what almost happened still thick in the air. Dani focuses on finishing the poster, her hand moving mechanically, trying to pretend like her mind isn’t still reeling. Paige, for her part, stays quiet too, though Dani can feel her shifting beside her, can sense the tension in her body.

Finally, when the poster is nearly complete, Paige clears her throat, breaking the silence. “You, uh… you coming to the game tomorrow?” she asks, her voice casual, like she’s trying to lighten the mood.

Dani blinks, the sudden question catching her off guard. “The game?”

“Yeah. Season opener for both the boys’ and girls’ teams,” Paige says, her tone a little brighter now. “I thought you knew.”

Dani shakes her head, feeling a bit dazed. “No, I didn’t know.”

Paige gasps dramatically, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Dani! How could you not know? This is, like, the most important night of the school year so far!”

Dani can’t help but smile a little, despite herself. “I guess I’ve been… distracted.”

“Well, now you know,” Paige says, grinning at her. “And you have to come. Everyone’s going to be there, and you’ll get to watch me hoop. And, y’know, dominate.”

Dani rolls her eyes, but the playful banter eases some of the tension that’s been hanging between them. “Maybe,” she says, her tone noncommittal, though she’s already thinking about it. About seeing Paige out on the court, in her element, the way she always is.

Paige nudges her with her shoulder, her touch light and playful. “Come on. You know you want to.”

Dani shakes her head, trying not to smile. “We’ll see.”

But even as she says it, she knows she’ll be there. When it comes to Paige, even if she doesn’t want to be, she always is.

DANI’S STARTING to wish she didn’t come. She stands in the student section, squeezed between Beau and his friends, the noise of the gym around them loud and chaotic. The boys’ basketball game is in full swing, and Beau’s friends are hyped up, yelling and laughing. Beau’s arm is loosely draped over her shoulders, but it feels heavy, like a weight she can’t shake off.

She tries to focus on the game—basketball has always been something she’s enjoyed, not just because of Paige, but because she grew up around it. Paige’s passion for the sport had bled into Dani over the years, so watching a game, especially when the stakes are high, has always been something she genuinely likes.

But Beau is being obnoxious. They’ve been bickering the whole night, subtle digs and passive-aggressive comments about stupid things, and Dani’s patience is already running thin. Every time he opens his mouth, she feels herself getting more annoyed, his voice grating on her nerves.

“Why are you even getting mad?” Beau snaps, his tone sharp but low enough that his friends don’t catch it. “It’s not that deep, Dani.”

She grits her teeth, keeping her eyes on the court. “I’m not mad, I’m just—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. It’s not worth it. Not here, not in front of everyone.

The boys’ game is nearing the end, and Hopkins is winning. The student section is electric, buzzing with excitement as the clock winds down. Dani tries to get into it, cheering with the rest of them as the final buzzer sounds and the boys secure their win. Beau and his friends are all high-fiving, acting like they had something to do with it, and Dani plays along, smiling tightly.

But the second the boys’ game is over, Beau grabs her hand. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, already pulling her out of the student section.

Dani blinks, pulling her hand back. “What? The girls’ game hasn’t even started yet.”

Beau frowns, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, and? Girls’ basketball is boring.”

Liam, one of Beau’s friends, overhears and looks at them, eyebrows raised. “Bro, what? No, it’s not. They won states last year.”

Dani crosses her arms, glaring at Beau. “Exactly. Hopkins’ girls’ team is legit, and Paige—”

“Bueckers is a dawg on the court, for real,” Liam adds, cutting in. “I know you don’t fuck with her for whatever reason, but come on, man, we’re supposed to be running the student section. Everyone’s staying for the girls’ game.”

Beau rolls his eyes, clearly irritated. He stares at Liam with his lips pursed for a moment, before his eyes flick down to Dani. They’re asking a silent question.

Dani raises her eyebrows at him, her voice cool. “I’m staying.”

Beau stares at her for a second longer, then sighs loudly, like he’s making some huge sacrifice. “Fine. Whatever.” He flops back down in his seat with an exaggerated groan, and Dani fights the urge to roll her eyes.

The girls’ game is about to start, and Dani can already feel the shift in energy. The stands are still full, and the Hopkins crowd is as loud as ever. When the girls’ team comes out onto the court, led by Paige, the cheers erupt again, the student section losing its mind.

Dani’s eyes immediately find Paige. It’s impossible not to. Paige moves with this effortless confidence, her face all focus and determination as she leads her team through warm-ups. The way she dribbles, the way she commands the court—it’s something Dani’s always admired, even if she’d never admit it out loud. Paige is great—better than great, honestly.

The game starts, and Dani locks in, watching as Paige takes control of Hopkins’ offense, setting the pace and threading passes that seem impossible. The whole team is clicking, and it’s easy to see why they’re such a powerhouse.

It’s not just Paige, Dani tells herself. She’s genuinely interested in the game.

But deep down, she knows that’s a lie.

Her eyes keep finding the blonde—how she cuts to the basket, how she dishes out assists, how every movement is calculated and precise. It’s hard to look away. There’s something magnetic about Paige when she’s playing, like she’s exactly where she belongs.

Just when Dani is fully absorbed in the game, Beau nudges her with his elbow. “You seriously like this?” he mutters under his breath.

Dani’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, I do,” she snaps back, her voice low but sharp. She doesn’t need this right now, not when she’s finally getting into the game.

Beau scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s so slow. No dunks, no excitement. I don’t get it.”

Dani’s patience is wearing thin. “I like it because it’s good basketball, Beau.”

He gives her a look, his lips curving into a smirk that she immediately hates. “Yeah, sure.”

She turns away from him, trying to ignore how irritated she feels, but Beau doesn’t let up. “You know, if you didn’t have a weird thing for Bueckers, maybe you’d see how boring this is.”

Dani’s stomach twists at the mention of Paige, and she sends him a sharp glare. “I don’t have a thing for her,” she mutters, her voice tight, but even she doesn’t believe the words.

Beau just laughs, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s getting under her skin. “Right. You’ve been staring at her this whole game.”

Dani digs a nail into the palm of her hand. “Just drop it, okay?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, eyes returning to the game with such a disinterest that it makes Dani want to slap him.

Dani’s heart is racing now, a mix of anger and anxiety bubbling up in her chest. She’s not defensive—she just… she just likes watching a good game. That’s it. It has nothing to do with Paige. But the more Beau talks, the harder it is to convince herself of that.

Beau leans in closer, his voice lowering. “If you wanna stay for her, fine. But don’t pretend like this isn’t about her.”

Dani turns to him, her eyes narrowing. “You know what? I don’t need this right now.”

Beau’s smirk falters slightly, but he shrugs. “Whatever, Dani. You’re the one getting all worked up.”

Dani exhales slowly, forcing herself to look back at the game, but the moment is ruined. She can’t focus on the court anymore, can’t enjoy the way Paige is commanding the floor. All she can feel is Beau’s eyes on her, the weight of everything he’s implying pressing down on her.

Paige makes a slick pass to one of her teammates, and the crowd roars, but Dani barely registers it. She’s too distracted, too pissed off at Beau, and all she wants to do is yell at him, tell him to shut up, to stop ruining this for her.

Beau starts bouncing on his feet, clearly agitated, needing something to do. He leans over Dani to say to Liam, who sits next to her, “Man, this shit is so fuckin’ boring.”

Liam gives him a look, responding with, “Nah, it’s entertaining as hell. Quit being like that, bro.”

Beau rolls his eyes at his friend’s answer before his gaze returns to his girlfriend, and he mutters, “This game doesn’t even matter.”

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest, her frustration boiling over. “Yes, it does,” she hisses, turning to face him. “Have you not noticed that everyone but you likes watching them play? You’re acting like a misogynistic dick.”

Beau just laughs, shaking his head in what Dani thinks is disbelief. “You know, I really don’t get it, Dani,” he says, tongue poking at his cheek. “You used to be so fun. Now you’re just—”

“Just what?” she snaps, her voice louder than she intended. Several people in the student section glance over at them, but Dani doesn’t care.

“Forget it,” Beau mutters, looking away, but Dani’s had enough.

“No, say it,” she demands, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “What am I, Beau?”

He glares at her, his jaw tightening. “You’re pathetic. That’s what. Sitting here pretending you care about this stupid game just because your little crush is out there running the court.”

Dani’s breath catches in her throat, anger flaring hot and fast. “God, you’re such an asshole.”

Beau snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I’m the asshole? You’ve been acting weird as hell for weeks!”

Before she can even think of a response, he stands up, making a move like he’s going to leave. “I’m done with this shit. Let’s just go.”

Dani’s had enough. Every word that comes out of his mouth feels like a punch to the gut, and the way he’s looking at her right now—like she’s some kind of burden—makes her want to scream. She can feel her pulse in her temples, the frustration clawing at her, and she can’t take it anymore.

“Fine,” she says, her voice clipped as she grabs her jacket off the bleacher. “Let’s go.”

She storms out of the student section, Beau right on her heels, muttering under his breath. The second they’re outside, the cold air hits her like a slap in the face. It’s dark now, the night settling in over the high school, and the quiet around them makes every word that follows feel louder, sharper.

“Jesus, what the hell is your problem?” Beau snaps, his voice echoing as they walk past the athletic entrance.

Dani spins around, her eyes blazing. “My problem? You’ve been a dick all night, Beau. I’m trying to have a good time, and all you do is bitch about everything. Why can’t you just—” She breaks off, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Why can’t you just be normal for one fucking night?”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowed. “Maybe I wouldn’t be pissed off if you weren’t so obvious about how much you still care about her. Y’know, I thought you were done with her. But it seems like her gayness is still rubbing off on you!”

Dani flinches, his words hitting too close to home. “This isn’t about Paige,” she lies, her voice cracking slightly.

Beau scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest. “Bullshit, Dani. It’s always about Paige with you. And it’s always about you with Paige. Do you know how many times she’s talked to me about you like some protective girlfriend? As if you’re dating her instead of me!”

“She and I aren’t fucking dating!” Dani yells, her frustration boiling over. “We hardly even speak any more, Jesus Christ! She’s only so protective because we’ve been best friends since we were kids, and she can probably tell how shit of a boyfriend you are!”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Bull-fucking-shit,” he denies, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re not just friends with her, and we both know it.”

Dani freezes ever so slightly, her heart thudding in her chest. The accusation hangs in the air between them, thick and suffocating. Beau’s staring at her, his eyes hard, waiting for her to deny it, but she can’t. She doesn’t say anything, her mind racing, and in that silence, she knows that he knows.

“See?” Beau says bitterly, throwing his arms out. “You can’t even deny it.”

“I don’t—” Dani starts, but her voice falters. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t even know how to process what’s happening. All she knows is that she’s so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting, tired of this relationship that’s been falling apart ever since it started.

Beau shakes his head, turning away like he’s about to walk off. “I don’t know why I even bother anymore.”

Dani’s chest tightens, and before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “Then don’t.”

Beau stops, his back still to her, and when he turns around, his face is set in a hard, bitter expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dani takes a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Beau. I can’t keep pretending like we’re good, because we’re not.”

His eyes flash with anger, but there’s something else there too—something like hurt. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna throw this all away because of her?”

Dani shakes her head, keeping her gaze firm. “This isn’t for her,” she responds. “This is for me. And I think this might be for you, too. You’re not happy; I’m not happy. We’ve been done for a while, and you know it.”

Beau stares at her for a long moment, and then he laughs—a pungent, humorless sound. “Fine. I don’t give a shit anymore.”

He turns on his heel, walking away, and Dani watches him go, her breath fogging in the cold night air. She should feel something—regret, sadness, anything—but all she feels is relief. A strange, dizzying sense of freedom washes over her as Beau disappears into the dark.

She stands there for a moment, staring at the empty parking lot, her heart still racing. The night is quiet now, the only sound the distant hum of the game still going on inside. And for the first time in a long time, Dani feels like she can finally breathe.

[cutebat]

Go Home with your Friends Route

Warning(s): No yandere themes, past neglect, a lot of swearing, skipping school, attempted smoking, mentions of pills, bribery, threats

(This is where now you can pick your own choices in this series, so this isn't technically a chapter)

~~~~~

You decided to go home cause honestly, fuck school.

~~~~~

You and your friends all went inside the Wayne Manor after that whole conversation.

"You can put your stuff right there."

You tell them as you point at the corner.

As they did that, the three of you went into the living room and sat on the couch.

It was silent for a moment before you spoke up.

"So, do you guys wanna do anything or what?"

You ask that makes the two of them stare at you.

"You're the one who made us skip with you. How the hell should we know? We've never been to your house before."

Sasha responds as she leans back against the couch.

"Did you really decide to go home so you can avoid Damian?"

Noelle asks as she crossed her arms and puts her leg over her other one.

"Not really. He lives here."

You respond in a nonchalant tone.

"What?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"Then, why did you want to go home if you know he lives here?"

"I don't know, I just don't want to be at school right now after everything that happened and he never skips, so we're fine."

It was silent again before Sasha spoke up.

"Can we smoke here?"

She asks as she lightly pushes herself off the couch.

"You can, but I don't know if you should. Bruce banned cigarettes here."

You tell her.

"Okay, well, you hate your dad, your brothers, your sister, and basically anyone who you told us that you hate. So, let us smoke here."

"Holy shit, calm down. Fine, you can. Also, how are you so addicted to this?"

"Blame my mom. I usually steal stuff from her and she has a fuck ton of cigarettes lying around the house. I usually take them when I feel fucked over."

There was a brief silence before you spoke up again.

"... How old are you again?"

"Fifteen?"

"Are you really going to smoke at that age?"

"Bitch, you don't know when you're going to die or not. I don't really care about what my fate is, so why not just use that time to just, you know?"

"I guess that's true."

"Cool. Anyway, Noelle, what kind did you bring today?"

Sasha asks as she turns to her other friend who is just sitting on the couch, not saying a word for the entire time until now.

"I have Marlboro Ultra Lights in my backpack."

She said that made Sasha cringe.

"Seriously? You have the weak ones? What happened to all the good shit you had?"

"My mom started therapy as her New Year resolution ever since she caught my dad having an affair with his intern three years ago. And now, she basically quit smoking and smokes with very weak cigs every two weeks."

Noelle said as she walked over to the corner before returning with her bag.

"So, do you still want to do it, or not?"

Sasha seems to be in thought before she lets out a heavy sigh.

"I don't know... These things don't throw me over that much. I need something that can actually fuck me up."

She said as you spoke up.

"I actually found some pills that my brother's girlfriend had. I think she left them, but they look pretty cool to high over on."

You said as you took out a pill bottle.

"What's that?"

Sasha asks as she stares down at the bottle in your hand.

"I dunno. I just found them on the ground when she left."

You said in response with a shrug.

"Damn... two choices. Smoking or getting high over some pills that we know nothing off."

Noelle mutters out as she stares down at the pills.

~~~~~

Use Bab's pills

Smoke in the house (Coming soon)

•

•

•

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[therainscene]

I've described myself in the past as "overly-queerbaited" as a way of explaining why it took me so long to come around to Byler endgame as a legitimate possibility... but that's kind of a misleading way of putting it.

Truth is, I've always been too much of a cynical fuck to fall for queerbait... or any other story that promises positive queer rep.

[Sherlock couldn't touch me; I saw this cringe homophobia coming from a mile away. Fans mistaking straight anxiety jokes for meaningful gay subtext was clearly doomed to end in mockery. Nobody deserved to be treated like that... but god, it was easy to predict.]

I think it's a symptom of having grown up under Section 28 -- feeling like I'm being unreasonable for wanting to see queerness normalized is such an ingrained habit that even today I instinctively recoil like a vampire touching sunlight whenever an optimistic queer story falls unrequested into my lap.

But I'm hardly alone in feeling this way -- many queer Millennial and Gen-X fans of Stranger Things are against the idea of Byler because it would ruin the catharsis of watching the gay boy growing up in the same era as we did slowly succumb to the same despair that we did.

[For those who haven't played the VR game: Vecna is speaking in this screenshot.]

There's genuine comfort to be found in painful stories -- this type of catharsis is practically the cornerstone of horror as a genre -- so I can't really fault myself or anyone else for wanting it, despite the obnoxious oversaturation of disappointing queer endings in media.

This is the nostalgia show, after all -- and like it or not, for many middle-aged queers in the target audience, nostalgia is shot through with the pain of homophobia and loneliness.

But do you know who else is a hurt queer(-coded) adult who resents happy endings? This cynical fuck:

Henry personifies despair and loneliness and the dark urge to take our pain out on others -- and when Will is in the picture, I would argue that he also represents internalized homophobia.

Will might represent who we were -- but Henry represents who we've let ourselves turn into.

And I don't think many of us want to admit to that, because that would involve questioning why we have so much in common with the literal villain of the show; why we're still so consumed with self-pity after 20+ years that we're obsessing over the fate of some kid.

I'm not suggesting that wanting a less-than-fairytale ending for a fictional gay boy is equivalent to being a child killer lol. It's perfectly valid to want to see your pain acknowledged, and stories which appeal to that desire deserve to exist.

But between Henry's connection to Will and the cycle of abuse themes of the show, it's clear that this particular story simply isn't about wallowing in the bleakness of growing up gay in the 80s, but about self-actualizing in spite of it all.

So I just can't bring myself to want a "relatable" ending for Will.

As much as I struggle to enjoy positive queer rep, I don't want to be so cynical. I'd thrown up so many walls to protect myself as a teenager that I forgot how desperately I wanted to see just one of those painful queer stories end on the same uplifting note that straight stories were always entitled to: with true love overcoming the odds, saving the day, and living happily ever after.

[But I'm A Cheerleader, a surprisingly fun movie about conversion therapy, is proof that stories like this did exist when I was a teen... but finding them in the pre- and early-internet days amidst so much censorship was a tall order.]

What makes Stranger Things different from most queer stories -- and what allowed it to pierce through my defenses and stab me in the gut -- is that it perfectly mimics those bleak, acceptable-to-the-censors stories from my youth -- only this time, the secret uplifting gay plot twist is real.

Not for the sake of shock value or of grabbing some empty woke points at the last second, but because the plan all along was to slap the audience in the face for believing homophobic lies about the existence of queer happiness.

That's some gourmet catharsis, if you ask me.

Just the possibility that my inner child might finally be vindicated has allowed me to truly let myself want the things I want for the first time in 20 years -- and that's the first step towards finally crawling back out into the sunlight.

Happy Pride Month, everyone. 🌈

[yannaryartside]

CARMY NEVER WANTED TO CREATE A MENU WITH SYD.

AND WHY THAT IS THE CORE THEME OF THE SHOW

PART 1: THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIEVES

So, one of the bases of creating an efficient character arc is to give the character something they want, and something they need. In the pursuit of getting what they want, the theme of the show and obstacles will show them what they need. Most of the time, they need healing from an emotional wound that prevents them from growing into the ultimate version of themselves, capable of winning the challenges of the story. I will try to explore Carmy's wound and, more importantly, the lie that created that wound.

In 'The negative trait thesaurus" by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi, it reads:

"Wounds are often kept secret from others because embedded within them is the lie-an untruth that the character believes about himself."

When I started therapy (disclaimer: this is not professional advice; I am just talking from how I interpreted all of this), I was introduced to the concept of "limiting beliefs:" lies we have told ourselves about our own nature or the nature of the world. The most difficult beliefs to leave behind are those established in our early childhoods, and we told ourselves those lies to make sense of the world, to make peace with realities we were not equipped to comprehend yet. 

Some examples of lies people belive:

"I am too stupid to learn anything; my teacher said so" "It was my fault that I was molested." "I am a bad person for wanting a different life."

When people believe these lies, they will act accordingly, maybe attracting situations that hurt them but keeping the lie active in their lives. They may self-sabotage or create bonds with people who also believe the lie, even if it doesn't seem this way. 

In some cases, people may develop complete personalities or behaviors to prove the lie wrong, but deep down, they still believe in the lie. Carmy falls into this last category. This is where we find the most contradictory parts of his personality, how he can act shy and insecure in some instances and appear confident and even aggressive in others. 

Long post underneath.

THE RESENT OF A MOTHER:

We can only assume here because I think Storer is gonna let us know more about this soon, but I think I got an idea of this wound when I saw the only moment Carmy was alone with Donna on "Fishes."

I have a lot of things to say about Donna herself, but let's begin with the obvious: the conversation in this scene had little to do with the dinner itself. This was a woman stating that she felt alone and not valued, probably due to being abandoned by her husband and having to overwork herself at the beef to support her 3 kids, all while being a single mother. We don't know if this feeling of abandonment is something she has carried since childhood, but in the state of current womanhood, it wouldn't be uncommon. The work of women (especially mothers), particularly the emotional labor, is rather invisible and not valued at all.

But again, this is something she has used as fuel to resent her kids, who, at the end of the day, didn't ask to be here. Her anger has to go somewhere since she cannot direct it toward the people that ctually caused it. To get to the point:

THE BEARZATTO SYBLING DYNAMIC

Carmy said, "You are not alone; I am here with you." (This kind of comes back to telling Syd she was not alone at the end of the season.) This scene is about a kid trying to communicate to his mother that he loves her and trying desperately to connect with her, to get her to express her affection for him as well.

It tells me that growing up, he felt like he had to "earn" her affection. Donna likes to make her kids feel guilty about her unhappiness, so the kids feel that they are constantly walking on shells because they think their mother hates them, or at least that she resents them and that it is their responsibility to fix it.

In the scene, Carmy asked,

"What is so hard, Mom?"

I think what he was actually asking is, "What is so hard about being with us, to love us? What did we do to you that made you resent us this way?" He is asking because he wants to know, to finally understand. Why do you drink, Mom? Why do you yell? Why do you say such hurtful things?

When she answers, "Nobody makes things beautiful for me," you can see in his face the disconnection. He knows he can't do anything about that.

Then, a crucial part in the scene occurs when Donna calls him "Michael, " which indicates that the only one of her children who could make her feel happy was Michael, or at least that is how the other two kids felt. You can see the hurt in Carmy's eyes in the scene because this answer dismisses his effort to connect to his mother in his own right. She asks him to just leave. He offers to wait to connect with her. Then, it comes to the most chilling moment on the scene, the "we have a problem" using his full name, with resentment in every word. She hugs him while crying, kisses him, and then slaps him.

This is rejection. There is a book called "The Five Wounds of the Soul": wich are Rejection, Abandonment, Humiliation, Betrayal, and Injustice. I think Carmy's wound is rejection, for never earning his mother's love, particularly comparing himself to Michael.

Michael took responsibility for the Beef, finally giving their mom a break. It was Michael's job to make sure everyone was having a good time, to compensate for the discomfort that caused being in Donna's presence, to make sure all of them stayed as a family, which was Donna's intention, so Michael thought he had to make that happen for her. Therefore, Michael is the only one of her kids who succeeds and makes her happy. We know Donna rejects Natalie and Carmy. About Natalie, we can write another whole essay.

THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIVES

According to this scene, I think Carmy thinks that her mother didn't love him because he is not Michael; in fact, he is the most "not like Michael" someone could be. He was shy and stuttered and didn't have friends or girlfriends, comparable to Michael's ability to control every room he was in. Carmy was sensible and no macho alfa as Michael presented himself to be. Carmy left home and the family business, and both Michael and Donna expressed that they feel like he thinks he is better than them. Michael admitted later to admiring Carmy's work in Copenhagen, but Donna never did. carmy grew up having to live with the crumbles of Donna's attention that Michael left behind, wondering every day what was so wrong with him that made her reject him, and wondering what he could do to change that.

The lie that Carmy belives, could be sumarize this way:

I need to earn people's love. I need to always go the extra mile, doing the most possible at all times to earn people's love.

This all goes back to his trauma with Michael. It goes back to his career as a chef and how he became the best. He didn't need to succeed on a larger scale in the culinary industry to earn Michael's respect and love; he needed to be the best in the world, so he did that. He judges his own social abilities, comparing them to Miachae's. He left that promising career only because of Michae's death. He got the girlfriend Michael wanted for him (not saying it was the only reason, but it was there).

PART 2: WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS HAD TO DO WITH SYDNEY?

Well, what does a person who feels they always need to do the most? They do the most. I want to bring you back to the moments Carmy had to develop menu ideas with Syd on s1 and s2.

When Syd suggested items for the menu in s1, he gave her an inconclusive, not enthusiastic "maybe."

When she had to actually cook the thing for him to approve, he tried to make her feel small about it. He felt the need to remind her that she was "impatient and green," according to her previous bosses. He commented about her possibly ruining the flow by using time to cook her recipe. Yikes all around, but the core here is that he was treating her like an enemy, like competition, while she was trying to save the restaurant with what they had on hand to use the most efficient solution.

Then, when Carmy tries the dish and feels stunned by it, he has to make an ambiguous excuse on the fly and just finishes every chance of them using the recipe by saying, "is not ready yet"

And what does he do next? He goes to show the crew a recipe that is extremely complicated for the level they are operating at currently—they said so themselves. I think the recipe is a variation of Donna's butter chicken recipe. To put a nail on that coffin of his intentions to earn her love and approval at the end of it all.

But why does he do all this? Because he needs to be the hero, subconsciously, he is still that small kid begging for acceptance and love; he must go the extra mile. He cannot accept Sydney's help and partnership, because that will take away from him earning what he wants on his own merit.

In S2, he seems unenthusiastic about starting the menu in the first place. Then Claire comes along, and he tries to make it work with Syd and the menu, but I think he subconsciously thanks the universe for not having to go to his core wound. That is what self-sabotage is. That is why he bailed on the food tour with Syd, using such a stupid excuse as helping somebody else move out and never mentioning it again. He never asked her what she liked or what ideas she thought of. For most of the creative process, Syd is alone, working on her own creative crisis. The menu ends up being like two recipes they made in collaboration and then all of his family's traditional recipes. It is two of Syd's recipes and the rest of Carmy's. Then, desserts Marcus did on his own. The collaboration was superficial at best.

All of this creates the core theme of the show. The Bear was once a chaotic place (like their childhood home) that needs to evolve into an efficient, peaceful place built on love, support, and mutual collaboration like a functional family should be. Sydney is the member of this found family that forces Carmy to confront his core wound and learn he can actually be good enough while still accepting help. Therapy probably will play an important part in this theme, alongside with Carmy learning there was nothing wrong with him in the first place, that earning your parent's love is not something a kid can do.

Thankyou for reading. Gif and images are not mine.

[some-stars]

REC POST REC POST REC POST LIKE IT'S 2005

im gonna do more of these, but this one is "poolverine(-adjacent) fics where they have serious relationship conflict besides pre-confession pining and miscommunication". please enjoy! leave comments!

The One Where Logan and Wade Learn How to be Boyfriends (series), ashe_urbanipal Literally you could not describe a story/series in a way more designed to push all my most favorite buttons. They have to figure this shit OUT!! It's MESSY!!! And they keep TRYING and getting gradually, unevenly better at it, mostly!!! The love confessions happen in the first fic in the series and then we get into the MEAT of it all. Brain damage, jealousy, trauma, and intense relationship-repairing conversations while having fingers cut off. This series has it ALL.

Come Hell or High Water, farmhandler Another wonderfully messy long fic that acknowledges these guys need serious therapy. The deep affection and intense frustration are both so REAL, it makes me so happy.

Blood, Dirt, Love (Stop), por_queeee The relationship issues are resolved without TOO much difficulty here but they're definitely present, and also this fic has my absolute favorite take so far on Logan's X-Men-related trauma and how that might play out for him.

Don't Want To Be A Fool For You, HeavensAche This is just deliciously complicated and messy and beautiful. Like honestly I could list specific things but if you want the slow tangled process of them figuring their shit out, this DELIVERS.

Like a Little Prayer, whiskeywitch This one is very short but it's probably my favorite take on the "Logan skewers Wade during a nightmare" scenario. Intense but understated, not easily fully resolved.

It's Not Fucking Nice, Thestarvedghost I really enjoy this exploration of how Logan's two hundred years of issues and damage would weigh heavy on his relationship with Wade, no matter how much they love each other. A really interesting way to bring Logan's Victor issues into it, too. (Me being me, I should probably specify that this contains NO sibling incest, just deeply abusive and unhealthy relationship dynamics.)

the girlfriend experience, kekinkawaii In which Wade FUCKS UP, big time. Happy ending but GOD, I love when they really truly badly hurt each other.

so leave me my liver and leave me my skin (leave me the way all those other homes did), iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid Love when Logan gets to be an absolute fucking mess of trauma and poor coping skills. With a hopeful ending, even! (This one is gen but it's still in great part About Them.)

themes for future rec lists: best smut, my favorite honda odyssey fics, Just Really Fucking Good Shit, cablepool, ???

[fictioninmyblood]

I Meant That Shit

Summary: N’Jadaka gets tired of waiting for Y/N to forgive him and come home, so he decides to let Killmonger bring her back, kicking and screaming if necessary.

Warnings: 18+, noncon/con, smut, D/s themes, Entitled and pissed Erik being devious. Shouldthere be a warning for angst?

A/N: This was supposed to be short, but here we are. Enjoy my sexually starved thoughts.

A/N: Also, idk if this needs to be said, but I write for my demographic - black females. This has been my disclaimer/notice.

A/N: My work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than this) without my explicit consent and recognition.

After his reluctant rehabilitation, there weren't many things that brought out his killer instinct anymore. However, it seemed that lately, despite all the sparring, therapy, and meditation sessions, Erik couldn’t shake the urge to knock some sense into his girl Y/N. 

A few weeks prior when she told him she needed space and couldn’t stay in Wakanda and ignore her life anymore, he said some things. She took it the wrong way and told him they were over, as if.

When she first left, Erik was sure she’d break down and FaceTime him or use the kimoyo beads he taught her to use. She was always more vocal about missing him, so he just assumed she’d break down and restart their communication. Imagine his surprise when a whole two weeks rolled by without so much as a text, call, or video chat. He was desperate for anything from her, even a verbal lashing, but by the time a month came and went, he felt like a fiend going through withdrawal.

During week six, his excitement to finally lay his eyes on Y/N was quickly cut short when he realized she was still talking to his family even though he had been getting the silent treatment. That displeasing information lit him like a powder keg when he saw another man in Y/N’s background, getting dressed no less. T’Challa dragged him from Shuri’s lab ready to bust a gasket when his babygirl asked Shuri to go into a different room and his little cousin actually listened! His whole family was against him again it would seem.

When T’Challa got him back to his room, all he did was pace. It was ten full minutes of the king warily watching his cousin stew when M’Baku walked right into the line of fire as Erik turned to beat the shit out of his cousin. T’Challa easily dodged the current threat on his life as the giant grabbed Erik’s hands in one of his, quickly disarming him and making the pouting man even more enraged. 

“You all have been talking to her this whole time?” N’Jadaka roared.

“Just Shuri and I. She made us promise to let you figure it out for yourself, but you’ve been failing miserably cousin! Absolutely clueless!” T’Challa replied.

Erik struggled against M’Baku’s vice grip to no avail.

“No shit Sherlock. I’m gonna whoop yawls asses. M’Baku let me go.”

“Not until you promise to have a conversation with your mouth instead of your hands. I am not prepared to get involved in another war between you two.”

Erik took a few deep breaths. “Fine, I’m good.”

Once M’Baku was sure there would be no immediate violence he let go.

“You better start explaining real fucking soon T,” Erik spat, pointing an accusatory finger at T’Challa.

“Okay! Okay! Y/N is struggling to accept that you actually want her around long term!” T’Challa word-vomited.

If the prince wasn’t already enraged, the king and tribal chief would’ve laid out in hysterics at how N’Jadaka’s face screwed up. “How sway! How?!”

“From what Shuri has explained and I’ve gathered in my eavesdropping is that she thinks you only want to claim her without actually growing with her. Everything is on your terms, your way, in  your time. She’s been far more  patient than most would be with you so I can’t say she’s wrong.”

Erik jumped at T’Challa, scaring him and the big gorilla chief. “I oughta beat you up for keeping your mouth shut.”

“She and Shuri threatened me within an inch of my life and they scare me more than you. Besides, according to them, you can’t keep relying on us to figure out what’s going on in your relationship and I couldn’t find a valid disagreement.”

Erik nearly did slap T’Challa at the last sentiment.

“Aye aye!” M’Baku shouted, getting between the two yet again, “He is being truthful now. That counts eh? And if I may interject, I think you’re aiming your anger at the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik said, deflating under the weight of that truth, “but his ass still bout to pay me back and I know just how.”

————-

A few hours later…

“You know, when I told you that you could pay me back with The Royal Talon Fighter, I didn’t expect you to tag along.”

“Who else was going to keep an eye on our Wakandan technology or keep you from murdering anyone in the vicinity of Y/N, especially any man?”

Erik rolled his eyes and huffed. “I guess.”

“Or Y/N from killing you for just showing up jealous despite being radio silent since long before she left Wakanda.”

“Alright alright! You made your point. Damn! Just drive the fancy metal.”

—

Erik was all confidence until the second they landed in Atlanta. Yeah, Killmonger was out for blood and was ready to bring their girl back kicking and screaming if necessary, but Erik N’Jadaka Stevens? He was a nervous fucking wreck.

T’Challa and M’Baku’s words really struck a nerve and he had nothing but time to stew over them on the ride to your family’s hometown ranch. Before he met you, Killmonger made all the decisions, kept him alive and ahead of the game, whatever game he was surviving at the moment. He lived like that for well over a decade when he met you, but you didn’t bat an eyelash at his swift mood swings, his bloodthirst, or his possessiveness, often putting him in place. You handled him with love and care, showing him how to become the softer version of himself without sacrificing your boundaries too much. He was quickly realizing that he sometimes pushed too hard, took too much, neglected your requirements. It was your stern patience, however, that was enough to allow you to become the first person to get him the person instead of him the killer to come out and communicate, interact, and live rather than survive. 

You did it for him a second time around when he came out of cryo too. He hadn’t told you anything about how he would go about his goals, opting just to disappear and execute so it was a surprise of a lifetime to wake up to your beautiful Y/E/C. After getting over his initial anger over you seeing the worst of him, you were the first person he responded to or let touch him during his recovery. Even going so far as not allowing the medical staff to redress his wounds if he was awake.

Only your touch soothed him, only your voice gave him peace. You made him less of a killing machine and more human again, made him want to address the tsunami of emotions and trauma that he lugged around. He didn’t want to jeopardize your willingness to be that for him but he recognized how you were always giving all you had just to receive an inch of progress from him. If that.

Unfortunately, all of his introspection and nervousness flew right out of the truck T’Challa had them in when he saw you walking up to your personal guesthouse with a man in tow. Killmonger immediately took the reins pushing him and his feelings down into the abyss, and leaping out of the car before T’Challa could come to a complete stop with his cousin calling after him.

“Y/N!” Killmonger shouted from the end of the long-ass driveway, rage evident in his voice.

Y/N was haphazardly trying to get her drunk cousin up the stairs while nervously dropping her keys when she heard Killmonger. She’s only encountered him a few times since meeting Erik, after the first time she brought him back to himself, he did his best to keep that part from her. It didn’t always work since any repressed feeling or issue the man had was poured into his alter ego, feeding his desire to be wild and untamed in his decision-making. So she knew he was out for blood with just the sound of her name.

She got the key in just as Killmonger got to the beginning of her walkway up to the house. As quickly as she could, she pulled her cousin in, slamming and locking the door in her partner’s face, leaving the beast to bang on her door and demand entrance.

“I’m not dealing with your bulldozing tactics Kill! You can come back when Erik is ready to face his fucking feelings and have an adult conversation!”

“If you know what’s good for you and that nigga in there, you better open this ghatdamn door Y/N!” He roared in response.

Y/N’s cousin couldn’t stop laughing, no matter how much she waved him off. Getting trashed 3 nights in a row after a bad breakup and crashing with his favorite cousin after hearing how she was hiding from both the world and the love of her life as well didn’t prepare him for seeing her so out of character. One second she was fleeing from the man, the next she was big and bad from behind a locked door in all her 5’5” glory. It was comical as hell to him.

“You know you look constipated when you cuss? Like that stick in your ass is fighting every syllable.” He said, immediately dying in another fit of laughter at his analogy.

“Who the fuck is that in there with you, Y/N, and don’t fucking lie!”

“The next man. Nice to meet you. You must be the ex.” her cousin shouted out in a drunken slur to Y/N’s horror.

Yeah, she knew she wasn’t in the wrong, and there was no reason to defend herself against this man, but she knew not to press certain buttons once Kill made an appearance. Her cousin, unfortunately, had no discernment to see that he had just pressed the biggest red button Kill had when it came to her.

Y/N watched the myriad of emotions that crossed Erik’s face through the peephole, praying to every ancestor and display of the creator she could think of that this man wasn’t going to go full psycho-killer on them both. The last thing she needed was him taking several steps back in his healing just to unnecessarily add another scar, maybe 2 with how pissed he looked. 

Y/N turned back to her cousin, ready to kill him for putting her in even hotter water, only to find that nigga was sleep, leaving Y/N to deal with the consequences on her own. 

As soon as she had that thought her ears piqued, taking in how silent it had gotten. All she could hear was the crunch of gravel as T’Challa finally pulled in and got out. When she peeked outside the peephole again, she was met with a confused T’Challa looking for Erik.

A chill ran up her spine and her blood ran cold as she slowly turned to her current worst fear; Killmonger pissed as hell, staring her down with a knife to her cousin’s throat.

“Give me one good reason not to paint your brand new carpet with this nigga’s blood Y/F/N then fuck you on the new color.”

Putting her hands up in a placating manner, Y/N slowly inched towards Kill, stopping when he dug the knife just slightly deeper, exposing a thin line of blood, as her cousin slept unawares.

Donning a submissive voice as if she was talking to a wild animal, “Erik, baby calm down.”

“Don’t baby calm down me! You out here giving other niggas what’s mine? Mine Y/N!”

“That’s not–”

“Don’t tell me that’s not what’s going on when you’ve been M.I.Fucking.A. for weeks! And the first thing I see both on video chat and in person is you with some random?! I’ll murder every nigga to ever touch you, keep tryna play me.”

“Nobody’s playing you Daka, look closer, you know him. I promise I haven’t been stepping out on you.” Y/N continued on, internally rolling her eyes at the toddler temper tantrum she had to placate this nigga out of. “My stupidly in love, trying to escape his own heartache, and loves drama when drunk cousin that you have met several times was just egging you on.”

Kill looked closer to the man’s face and released the filter of rage clouding his judgment, upon closer inspection he realized they’d met at several of the many family gatherings he’d attended with Y/N/N. Slowly easing the knife from her cousin’s throat, Erik struggled to fight back tears at his behavior. He was proving he wasn’t good enough for her, he hadn’t actually changed all that much. Kill took the reins once again, unwilling to let him process his feelings of abandonment and betrayal just yet. Rushing towards Y/N, he laid the knife flat on the side of her face, taking up residence on the other side.

Biting a huge hickey along her jawline, before grasping her earlobe in between his teeth, Killmonger growled, “So if you ain’t been fucking him, who you been fucking?”

Although Y/N knew she logically had nothing to feel guilty about, how he was questioning her made her want to lie down and worship him as an apology regardless. She took a deep breath to center herself, understanding that any sign of nervousness would be taken as an omission of guilt.

Y/N ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulder blades to hold his face in her palms. He reluctantly released her earlobe to allow her to face him, naturally allowing the blade to rest against her neck ever so gently.

“N’Jadaka. Erik, baby? Look at me, I have been trying to live without you miserably for the last few weeks. I’ve only been going out since Y/C/N got here and I have to beg for breaks because I’m basically his chaperone. You believe me don’t you?”

Erik looked at her with suspicion clouding his eyes. He dropped the knife and held her throat in his hands, squeezing just tight enough to hint to either pleasure or pain, pushing her against the front door.

“Ion know. Why should I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N took a chance and palmed his face, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. “Cause you know that no matter how much you stress me out, isolate yourself from me, or threaten anyone who seems to have more access to me than you, that I love your crazy ass.”

Erik squeezed a little tighter, not enough to hurt her but enough to reassert his dominance. Y/N put a hand over his, doing her best to ground herself in the feeling of his hands rather than how much she wanted to cum from the pressure of them.”

“Sorry,” Y/N squeaked out, “I love every version of you, no matter how threatening any of them may be and I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Nah, princess, the other part.”

“No matter how threatening-” she started, but was cut off by the growl emanating from Erik’s chest and the pulsing release and pressure of him allowing her small gasps of air. “You know what I mean Y/N, don’t test me lil mama.”

Erik held his squeeze on her neck, tilting it ever so slightly to lick the side of her face and hold her earlobe between his teeth, tugging.

Y/N couldn’t hold back the guttural moan if she tried. Just barely keeping her eyes from rolling back and donning her sweetest sub voice, she said, “I physically can’t stand to have anyone else touch me the way I let you touch me big daddy. It literally makes me nauseous.”

Erik released her ear with a wet snap against her face, “It does?”

Y/N hummed and nodded her head as best she could in her current predicament.

Killmonger covered the forgiving face Erik started to make, replacing it with one of his stern, unyielding looks. “Then why you leave me and give me the silent treatment for weeks?”

Y/N whined at the tightening of his hands, closing her eyes to savor the pleasure only he could illicit lighting her body on fire.

Erik bit her bottom lip roughly, nearly drawing blood. “That’s not an answer.”

Losing the battle against her libido and subspace, Y/N whined again.

In a faux sweet voice Erik said, “Awww, is little mama already too far gone in her head thinking about all the ways imma mark you.”

Y/N nodded again, lost in the many images she’d acquired from her sexual experiences with Erik and Kill over the years.

“Good.” And with those words, Y/N was suddenly looking at Erik’s ass and the floor as he stomped upstairs to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

He tossed her on the bed and roughly stripped her of her clothes, halter top first, bottoms and panties all in one fell swoop last, leaving her heels on.

He positioned her over his knee and popped her cheeks until her bottom was flushed with his favorite shade of reddish purple and warmed his hands with the heat she emanated.

By the time he was done, Y/N wanted to be a ball of tears, but could only sniffle, her voice too shy to make an appearance when Kill took the reins of their scenes like this for fear of upsetting him further.

Erik used his knee to spread her legs open far enough to see her flower drenching her thighs in her nectar for him. He took two fingers to swipe some of it onto them for him to put in his mouth and savor, groaning at how much sweeter she seemed to have gotten since last he held her.

He laid her onto the bed and got up to undress himself, slapping her already sore ass when she didn’t move a muscle.

“You know what’s up. Face down, ass up lil mama.”

Y/N groaned but slowly inched her way into position. Already feeling like jello, she barely put an arch in her back, struggling not to lay back down and pass out.

Killmonger was not happy with that. After he’d removed everything except his grills and chain he let both his palms come down on her cheeks simultaneously.

Sounding more animal than human, “If you don’t assume the position like you got some sense, I swear to the gods Y/N.”

She was still lethargic, but was eager to experience less of his painful assaults and more of the pleasurable ones that she knew were around the corner. It took all of her strength but she was able to inch herself into position, deepening her arch just the way he demanded with her arms by her side and her cheek resting against the comforter.

“Good girl.”

With how pliant she was to his commands and the evidence of how much she trusted and wanted him dripping down her thighs, it took all of his restraint not to plunge himself into her until he felt her cervix try to push him back out.

Y/N smiled faintly at the praise, humming and wiggling her ass in response.

Killmonger grasped her wrists as he knelt to get up close and personal with his pussy. He spread her lips so he could get an eyeful of her throbbing clit and blew on it, eliciting a guttural moan from Y/N, before replacing his hand back on her wrist.

“Just you wait mamas, you gonna be screaming and crying by the time I’m done with you.”

He licked her juices on both thighs, leaving hickies all over them both before he finally put his whole face in her pussy and ate. If it wasn’t for the grasp he had on her wrists, she would have collapsed immediately.

Erik was a good kisser in general, but Killmonger was a master at french kissing, especially her pussy, until she was questioning whether or not she still wanted the pleasure. Those deep soul sucking kisses always made her question her sanity.

He slurped up and suctioned her clit into his mouth like that’s where it belonged, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she came with a silent scream, without ever releasing her tiny bud. Then he released it with a pop only to hold her lips open and spit directly onto her hole, watching his saliva drip down onto her clit. He flattened his tongue and licked like the dog he could be until she was a whining, moaning mess, tears streaming down her face just as promised. 

Once the first sound hit his ears, she couldn’t stop the noises he was pulling from her if she was mute, let alone at the mercy of his insatiable thirst for her most animalistic responses.

Kill continued his assault with his tongue, moving through her folds in a rhythm only he knew. After he’d gotten two more orgasms from her that way, Y/N alternating between screaming and crying, he latched his plush lips back around her clit, assaulting the sensitive bundle of nerves, and plunged his two most trustworthy fingers into her, immediately finding her gspot and caressing it with an incessant ‘come hither’ motion until she was squirting and creaming uncontrollably. Not willing to let go just yet he dragged it out for what seemed like forever since she briefly lost consciousness and came to, lips still parted in the O of her silent screams, with his mouth still eagerly slurping up the waterfall his fingers were responsible for. All Y/N could do was turn her head the other way to watch what she could see of him, whining and moaning.

When she could barely release any more spurts he released her, licking his hand, fingers, and forearm clean as he slowly stroked his hard as steel member. 

In the great deep of her sex haze, Y/N mumbled, “He brought dick too? How are we gonna survive dick too when he almost killed us with just his mouth and fingers.”

Erik chuckled at her ramblings, proud that he was, as usual, responsible for her senseless words.

When his precum made an appearance, he swiped it up with his thumb and rubbed it into her pussy, almost immediately replacing his thumb with the tip of his dick. Wanting to savor this moment of finally being able to reconnect with his pussy, he played with her, just like that. Rubbing the tip of his dick in both of their juices, up and down her pussy lips, circling her clit, and coming to apply just enough pressure to her desperately clenching hole, only to rinse and repeat. On and on he went, teasing them both until his quietly whimpering babygirl was back to guttural whines.

He knew she was right where he wanted her mentally when she started begging.

“Please big daddy, I’m so sorry. Please baba E, please baba, please. Please please please please please pleaaaaaasssssseeeeee.”

When he was good and ready, he pulled her up by her throat until she was flush against him, licked her tears from her cheek, and forced her to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t do that disappearing and silent treatment shit ever again Y/N. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded and blinked at him with a puppy eyed look that damn near melted the ice caps of his attitude, but he was quick to remind her who’s big daddy in their relationship.

“When I told you, you were mine, I meant that shit mama.”

“Yes, baba,” Y/N squeaked out.

He tongued her down with one of his sloppy french kisses and as soon as he felt her body relax in his hold, he did exactly what his body had been begging for since the second he saw her. He pushed himself into her until he felt the tip of her cervix try to push him all the way back out, savoring the fucked out look she wore as her body spasmed with the unexpected orgasm, he held them there letting her ride it out. 

In this moment he was grateful for the years of curated discipline since the way her pussy clamped onto him almost triggered his own mind numbing orgasm. Although he successfully staved off his nut, he couldn’t stop the way all of his fight was knocked right out of him.  Finally rid of the aggression that his Killmonger personality oozed, Erik was able to finally take in his queen, his Y/N, in all her sex hazed glory.

When she finally came down from her high he started moving, giving her slow and deep strokes as he showered her face and neck with kisses, hoping his attempt at lovemaking showed her just how priceless she was to him, how desperate he’d been without her.

Kiss, “I’m sorry too mamas,” kiss “I know how much you love me and I don't understand why,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “insist,” kiss, “on pouring all of the best parts of yourself into me.” He couldn’t help but shed a tear at the relief he felt, having her in his arms again. “I promise to do better,” kiss, “to listen and pay attention more,” kiss, “to treat you like the empress you are,” kiss, “just say you’ll come home with me,” kiss, “promise you’ll take your rightful place by my side mamas,” kiss, “claim your right as my queen.”

Y/N was a moaning, whining mess, barely holding onto consciousness and shedding her favorite kind of tears, just as promised.

Erik tucked his face into her neck, struggling to keep himself from cumming too soon since her pussy was gripping him like a boa constrictor, indicating that yet another orgasm wasn’t too far.

He held himself in the deepest parts of her and put a little whine in his hips. “Please mama, come home with me.”

Just when he thought he could hold out no longer she arched into him and screamed yes over and over, overwhelmed with her orgasm, and squirted all over them both. Erik came in her almost at the exact same time, his orgasm nearly knocking him out with how it overcame him from head to toe. Both of them slumped into the bed.

—

By the time he finally started to get up, her screams had quieted back to whimpers.

Erik slowly and gently removed her heels from her feet, massaging the soles with just the right amount of pressure.

He cleaned both of them with a warm washcloth and ran the tub, placing some bubble bath soap, epsom salt, essential oils, and dried rose petals in the water. Wanting to balance out the intrusive way he barged back into her life, he lit some candles and incense as well, and placed his favorite body oil of hers on the counter.

When he came back to get her in the tub, she was silently staring into space in the same place and position he left her. After he got her to turn over and sit up, he scooped her into his arms bridal and brought her to the tub, gently placing her into the suds.

Once he saw her relax he went back to the bedroom to strip and change the sheets, wanting their transition back into the room to be seamless. When he came back into the bathroom her head was leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, and tears were streaming down her face, alarming him to the fact that although he’d won the battle, he was still losing the war with treating his girl with the care she really was looking for from him.

Choking up himself, he kneeled next the tub and leaned over her face, kissing the droplets left behind.

“I’m so sorry mamas. You know that right?” His voice cracked at the end.

Although she started nodding yes, she ended up shaking her head no.

“Can you open your eyes for me please?”

Y/N shook her head no again.

“Pretty please?”

Again she shook her head no. She was too scared to look him in his eyes, anytime he touched her or they made eye contact she folded to his desires and needs, abandoning her own.

A little defeated, but determined to win all of her back, not just her body, Erik switched tactics.

“May I get into the tub with you and hold you?”

Y/N hesitated a few moments before she nodded yes. As soon as she heard the rustle of him standing back up she scooted forward allowing him to sit behind her.

Once he was seated, Erik gently pulled her into him, urging her body to use him as she did the edge of the tub. The moment she relaxed in his embrace, head lolling slightly to the left, he started kissing up and down her neck from where her ear met her face to her collarbone.

When he felt enough time had passed, he tried to get her to open up to him again.

“Lil mama?”

Y/N hummed.

“Tell me what’s on your mind please, I promise to listen.”

Y/N held up her pinky and asked, “Pinky promise?”

Erik locked his pinky with hers and brought her hand to his lips, softly talking against it, “Pinky Promise.”

She pulled her hand away, putting it back in her lap to join the other one, under the water.

Taking a deep breath she started.

“Am I a toy to be played with Daka?” Erik was ready to answer but kept silent, knowing she needed to get all of her thoughts out before he interrupted her. “To be taken out of storage to be used and then tossed aside when you’re not getting the desired result anymore?”

Rubbing the sides of her thighs and suddenly very scared, he said, “ no mamas.”

“Then why do you get to demand time and attention and energy from me, but when I ask for a sliver of honest communication, the smallest amount of all three resources you have to offer me, you shut me out? Why is it only okay for you to communicate what’s going on with you and us when you feel like it, when it's convenient? Why do I always have to beg for you to lean on me, to use me softly? Why do I have to beg you to let me hold you. Why don’t you ever just ask? Why do I have to grovel at your feet to be held by you? Why is the only time you make love to me when you’re trying to win me back? Why?” 

By the end of her list, Y/N was sobbing. Erik wrapped his arms around her body and tucked his chin in the curve of her neck and let a few tears drop himself before he answered.

“I don’t know mamas. I guess…,” he wiped the tears from his face and gulped down the rising tsunami of emotion that she so easily created with just a few sentences before he wrapped his arm back around her, “...I guess I’m just terrified.”

“Of what baby? Haven’t I been here? Haven’t I done the best to support you with all that I am, to remain honest with you and show you that I am loyal to our future?”

He kissed her shoulder and said, “you have. I just-”

Y/N pulled out of his arms to finally look him in the eye, “You just what? Aren’t my efforts to build a life with you enough?”

Erik palmed her face and gave her a deep kiss, hoping to transfer all of his emotion into it.

He put his forehead against hers and said, “I’m just so fucking terrified of losing you. To have the warmth of your love snatched away at a moment's notice. I’m terrified in a way I haven’t been in so fucking long that I just convince myself that its better to pull away and show you how unworthy I am of the full magnitude of your love.”

He pulled away and kissed her forehead, grateful she was finally looking him in the eyes again. “But this time of separation showed me I am nothing without you, just a hollow shell, no love to warm my soul and bones. Even the care and concern of my family isn’t enough to fill the abyss that’s created in your absence.”

Y/N swiped away the stray tears from his face, “that’s-”

“I know. Super intense.”

“Yes. But I was gonna say a relief to hear. You never really give me any verbal confirmation that you feel as deeply for me as I do for you unless I say I love you first.”

“I know mamas, but I promise to do better, be better, for you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “No Baba. For you. You need to talk your feelings out loud so you can hear it too. You need to know that the only reason you’re able to love me so deeply is because you love yourself that deep, if not deeper, first. Understand?”

Erik smirked, yet again grateful that he had such a wise and loving partner who always held up the pieces of mirror he’d sworn he’d broken to pieces.

“Yea lil mama, I understand.”

“Good…,” Y/N kissed him again, deepening the kiss but teasing him slightly with how lightly she moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, she almost regretted bursting his bubble. “...cause I’m not going back with you until I’m ready.”

Erik’s face instantly fixed itself into a scowl. “But-”

Y/N held a finger to his lips. “I said when I’m ready, not never. I came home to get back to taking care of me, love me, and understanding what my needs are.”

His pout deepened.

“And I learned that I need to stop jumping when you say jump. So I go back when I feel that I’m ready, not because you showed up and demanded it of me. Okay?”

He was a little deflated, but still holding onto the hope of her eventually coming back with him.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until you’re ready.”

“But-.” 

It was Erik’s turn to hush her with a finger. “I already know what you’re going to say and my duties will be waiting for me when we go back together. Now that you’re back in my arms I’m in no hurry to lose the privilege again.”

“You’re not!”

“You’re right, cause I’m staying.”

All Y/N could do was chuckle, understanding that she’d lost this battle and relishing in the fact that she won the war. It seemed he was finally starting to understand what she needed because although she was indeed going to complain about him having responsibilities to return to, she really did need him to stay. That abyss he had was mirrored in her heart and only time with him would close it back up.

Both satisfied that they worked through the root issue, they went back to enjoying the bath, Y/N comfortably resting her head against Erik.

When they were all pruney and the water was verging on cold, Erik stood them up to drain the tub and turned on the shower to rinse them both. After he dried them both, he quickly lotioned his body with shea butter, grabbed the body oil and guided Y/N hand in hand, back into the bedroom.

He laid her on her back first to moisturize and massage her front, kneading out all of the tension she held. When he was working his way back up from her feet, he couldn’t help but get stuck between her thighs, using his thumbs to massage circles up them until he reached her pussy again.

Y/N slightly parted her legs, letting one bend and fall open for easy access. He immediately used one hand to part her lips so he could see her clit clearly.

Erik leaned down to softly kiss her clit a few times before he pulled away and used the thumb on his other hand to rub slow circles. He admired her form as he brought her to orgasm leisurely. 

He went back to massaging her thighs until she returned from the heights of her pleasure.

His voice was more gruff than he wanted when he told her, “turn over.”

She easily compiled and continued his massage, paying extra attention to her sore ass.

When Y/N was 2 more seconds away from sleep and he was satisfied with his work he urged her under the covers and joined her. She tried to grab his hardened member to return the favor but he grabbed up her hands, kissing them to soften the blow.

“No, I needed to show you how softly I can treat you, I don’t need to cum right now. Sleep.”

Y/N pouted and whined, wanting to feel him connected to her again.

She lifted her leg over his as they faced each other and inched as close as she could with her hands in his, feeling his dick graze her pussy lips.

Putting a little more base in his voice, “Ay! What I just say lil mama?”

She whined out, “I don’t care, I just need to feel you in me Baba.”

Erik grunted. 

Y/N donned her best puppy dog pout and begged with her words and body, wiggling in his hold and being able to feel the lightest brush of his hot skin. “Pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee?”

“Fine, but careful what you asked for…” he said, sheathing himself in one stroke and stilled her hips before she could start moving. “...you just might get it.”

He released her hands and tongued her down, palming her face.

“Sleep Y/N.”

“But,” she said, her face scrunching in confusion.

“You can keep me warm, but that’s it for now, okay?”

She started to whine again but was cut short when he wrapped the hand palming her face around her throat.

“Sleep mamas. You’re going to need all of your energy in the morning.”

She wasn’t necessarily happy, but she also wasn’t necessarily dissatisfied. She did get her wish after all.

“Ok.”

Y/N tucked her head under his chin and started to drift before she sleepily said, “thank you for showing me how much you care Baba E. I’m really happy you’re here.”

Erik kissed her forehead and squeezed his arms a little tighter around her.

“Thank you for letting me.”

He was answered with her cute snores and let the sound lull him into the best sleep he’d had in too long of a while.

[rosedpetal]

Until Death Do Us Part

Summary: Harvey and you have been on a rocky road lately, but hopefully, you can still find each other.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 932

Warnings: stablished relationship (reader and Harvey are married), mentions of body image struggles, hints at +18 themes.

Masterlist

"No. Absolutely not." Your husband frowned when you came out from the closet wearing your 'costume'.

A huff of annoyance leaves your lips.

"What the fuck is wrong now? Did I gain weight and suddenly you can't get up or something?" Venom drips from your sarcastic remark and Harvey rubs his temples.

"Why are you like this? Jesus Christ, Y/N, it's not about some shit like that, stop trying to make me a bad guy at every given chance!" He snaps. "It's just your stupid wings, okay? You look like you came straight from a Barbie movie, when you said you'd like to roleplay being a fairy, I thought you'd use one of those Lord of the Rings-"

"Those are elves. Not fairies. They don't have wings!" You seethe, taking your plastic wings off and accidentally pressing the light button on them, turning the pink leds on, and Harvey's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I'm sorry if my knowledge in a fictional world lore is lacking, it's because I actually have a real job."

That was cruel and uncalled for and he knew it. Harvey had a bad habit of saying the most callous things without even thinking. It didn't help that he hated the idea of roleplaying from the very beginning.

"How could I forget, it's the only thing you care about!" You raise your voice, and it breaks in the end. "Tonight was supposed to be fun!"

Harvey immediately regrets the jab he made at your wings. Well, it's not that he couldn't get himself to be motivated by you while you were wearing them... It's just that it was fucking weird because he was a grown man and he was pretty sure his kid niece wore the same pink fairy wings every Halloween.

And he could explain that to you, but you just had to make a self deprecating comment about your body and imply that he wasn't man enough to look past his partner putting on some weight.

Which was another ridiculous thing, because, seriously? He couldn't care less if you were a size 2 or 20. It didn't matter. He married you because he loved you, inside and out, and you weren't an airhead that couldn't carry on a conversation with him. He respected you. He was interested in what you had to say (most of the time, at least).

But for months now, you two have been fighting nonstop, and more than often saying some hurtful shit to each other and no longer searching for the comfort of each other's arms in the middle of the night.

He wondered if your sudden self consciousness regarding your body was because you've been stress-eating ever since the chasm between you two was created.

Harvey was selfish, harsh, arrogant and snappy, but he wasn't insensitive to how women sometimes had insecurities that ate them alive.

He sighed, following you in the closet, his chest tightening at the sigh of your angry tears while you put on sweatpants and a top (the sleepwear you wore on nights you made sure no intimacy was gonna happen).

He even agreed on going to therapy with you, which he thought was an admission of defeat, that you two weren't mature enough to solve your problems on your own.

"Honey." He called, his voice soft with regret.

He hates the 'homework' your therapist gives you every week. A dinner date, a little getaway, a road trip, sitting down and talking for an hour. He feels like his own relationship is being scripted and that you can't find common ground anymore.

"What?" You wipe your tears, unable to look at him in the eyes.

"We don't roleplay." He said in a teasing tone. "Why would I want you to pretend to be someone else when you already exist?"

He gently holds your face in both hands, wiping the remaining tears with his thumbs.

"I'm an idiot. I promise my reaction has nothing to do with whatever's been making you feel vulnerable right now. Seriously. The wings just reminded me of halloween, and halloween reminded me of children going trick-or-treating and you don't want your husband to be thinking of children in the bedroom, do you?"

You grimaced. "God, no."

"Glad we're on the same page, babe." He gently pressed his forehead against yours. "Dance with me."

"There's no music." You sniffled.

"We have a nice record player in the living room. Come on, baby."

Gently, he guided you out from the room, his fingers intertwined in yours as he put on some sappy jazz music. He sways barefoot with you on his arms, your head on his chest, and it takes you back to simpler times.

"I'm sorry. For everything." He's the first to speak, and you appreciate the sentiment, because you know how hard it is for him to apologize, specially when he's the first one to bend the knee to make peace.

"We'll get through this." You mumble, and he kisses the top of your head, and suddenly the golden ring on your finger feels lighter.

"I love you more than anything in the world, darling. Please, don't doubt that. I need you to remember that every single day, specially when I'm at my worst."

"I love you too, Harvey."

He knows there's a long way to go, but the little progress you made tonight makes his heart feel more at ease, as long as you're both on the same side, because he knew with every fiber of his being that he meant it when he said 'until death do us part'.

[yolli-es]

I love jinx she’s my everything and my comfort character so I’m really insecure not even in normal insecurity like I’m on an deep level and I have a really bad eating disorder was wondering how would yandere! Jinx handle that I’m insecure about everything about me and i hide all my body I can’t eat or look in mirrors if I did I’ll break them (you don’t have to do this request I think it’s absolutely ridiculous also I’m okay I’m in therapy now)

Is it my fault? 🧊

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, mention of blood, theme of uncertainty.

Well, I was gone for quite a while, lol, but I was able to fight off the teachers and come back 💪🏻 I hope you are glad to see me again, and I also have to say that I wrote about this from my point of view, and I am sorry if I did not understand your state of mind. This topic is not so close to me, and I really tried 🙏🏻

Jinx knew from the start that something was wrong. You were always too shy, closed off, and scared. You never exposed your body. The world saw nothing but your palms and head. Is this your style? No, you always look embarrassed when your clothes suddenly ride up and just a little bit more is visible. She thought that society, all those people around you, were to blame for everything. They must have just rammed their shit into you and are enjoying themselves. Jinx won't let them trample you that easily! But nothing changes even when you become a couple and Jinx becomes your rock and protection from any unwanted contact. No, she cut you off from the world. Seeing your insecurities seemed right to her. Jinx just makes your life easier, doesn't she? You didn't change.

It seemed to only get worse.

Mirrors. It took Jinx a moment to realize you were doing this. Everything in Zaun was broken, even the people. And yet there was something strange about the mirrors in your house. She resisted for a long time and attributed everything to her new quirks. Then she counted the number of cracks on all the mirrors you could reach. And she knew. Her stomach twisted, her pupils dilated, and she wanted to pass out. No, she was going to do it right now. You were breaking mirrors. Everywhere you could reach. How could she not notice? There's blood in the cracks that can't be washed away. Damn, did you do that with your bare hand? No, no, no.

"It's my fault."

It took all her strength not to lose the last fragments of her sanity. She honestly didn't understand why. You weren't threatened, you didn't talk to anyone, and you were always under Jinx's supervision. Unless....no. She would never have affected you like that. Jinx held back then and didn't tell you anything. No matter how much Mylo screamed, Claggor was right. This would scare you; she had to act rationally now. She needs to give you time and herself time too. Jinx needs to know the real reason for your behavior. Now she will be even more attentive.

Jinx had no idea then that the broken mirrors were just the tip of a deeper problem.

You rarely dine together, usually having to eat on the run or while working. But today is a special day—your anniversary. You've been together for a year. 

Jinx bites her lip, Her nails make an audible sound as they scratch the tray with the rich cake on it. She baked it herself. But right now she's not thinking about the cake or even the anniversary. Jinx can't sleep, can't work, and even explosions don't bring pleasure. What else are you hiding? She's been watching you for weeks now after she found out about your horrible habit, but Jinx still hasn't found out anything new. But there's something else going on with you, something she doesn't know about. She feels it. Mylo chuckled. Jinx hissed. She smiled tensely before starting the conversation.

"We've been together for a long time, haven't we?" She forced herself to smile, but it came out ragged and menacing. "I mean, we're like family now. Do you consider me your family?"

Jinx, trying not to make it too obvious, leaned forward. It looked menacing. You certainly noticed it. She's just trying to keep herself together, not to give away the pressure that's built up inside her.

"Hmm, yes, Jinx, I've told you that many times! You mean a lot to me." You smiled, sincerely as always.

But Jinx doesn't believe you now. No, she just can't. Anxiety, fear, and misunderstanding are eating her up from the inside.

"Good," Jinx sat down on the chair, creaking it closer to the table. "Then let's eat."

But Jinx doesn't even try to start eating, just looking at you. A new thought flashed through her mind. Strangely, despite her obsession with your existence, she's never watched you eat.

"Are you okay? You're looking at me like that," you swallowed nervously. The atmosphere was definitely not friendly.

"Oh, sorry," she didn't even try to put on a happy face this time, "start without me."

You hesitated, looking down at the plate. Jinx carefully cut a small piece of cake and placed it right in front of you. It was fluffy, with lots of cream, and covered in food coloring. It looked beautiful and delicious. You picked up a fork and began to break it into pieces.

"So.. how's your work?" You looked up, suddenly more confident and clearly in high spirits. This confused Jinx. She responded without really thinking. Her gaze was glued to you and your hands. You didn't like it and began to distract her in various ways. This had been going on for ten minutes now, and you still hadn't put a bite in your mouth.

Jinx's eyes, which had been looking at you emotionlessly until now, suddenly narrowed in concern. And you realized. Your seat suddenly became uncomfortable, and the room was hot.

"You don't like it?" Jinx asked quietly, cautiously, almost scared. Shyness, hiding your body behind baggy clothes, breaking mirrors, and not wanting to eat your once favorite cake. Was it ever your favorite? It seemed like the puzzle was coming together in her head.

"What? Oh, no! I'm just not hungry." You were caught off guard. Is this the end? Has she figured it out, and is she going to leave you? Will she be angry or cry? You couldn't stop thinking, going over all the possible reactions Jinx might have. Unfortunately, your girlfriend wasn't stupid. She noticed it was evident on her face. The trick that worked on everyone else had no effect on her.

You can't eat. Every time you eat something like this, your conscience gnaws at you. You want to spit out everything you ate.

"I'm so sorry," was the first thing Jinx said. "I'm sorry; I should have noticed. Are you... is this because of me?" Jinx spoke softly, but there was no hint of tears on her face. There was no emotion at all. You were hurt by what was happening. Any reaction she might give would hurt you.

Jinx is about to explode with emotion. She's trying so hard to be "normal" right now so you can rely on her to open up. It's heartbreaking, but it's having the desired effect, and you're plucking up your courage.

You took a breath. This is going to be hard.

Of course Jinx thought she was just taking shitty care of you, cruelly ignoring your problems and leaving you to suffer alone.

But that's not true. You never shifted responsibility to others, realizing that you were simply insecure in yourself. You certainly met shitty people—more than you wanted. But who in Zaun pays attention to them? You just suffered from constant comparisons to others and couldn't do anything about it. You honestly fought with yourself, your shyness, and other shit that was dragging you down. Jinx only helped you along the way, without realizing it. Every time she proudly held your hand walking along the busy streets, every time she unashamedly said, "Yes, this is my future wife," and every time she ignored the advances of a conventionally beautiful girl.

Your silence and her speculations brought you here.

And yet you came to understand Jinx. How could it be otherwise? She will never let you go.

But you will never want to leave.

"Oh, I'm always here," Jinx hugged you, and you did the same in return. It was a pleasant ending after several hours of relentless altercations. You were silent, whispering, screaming, crying, and didn't understand each other. But now everything became clear.

Jinx, on her yandere side, is not ready to leave everything just like that. Now in your house there is only one whole mirror, specially stolen from Piltover. You often eat together, and Jinx tries to make each meal as relaxed for you as possible so that you simply forget about the food itself. She will definitely not let you go, love you less, judge you, or make the situation better by force. Not with this problem. She will do everything you ask to make you feel better.

Jinx loves you.

In her strange way.

That's all! I hope you haven't forgotten about me 😅 This work is quite short, but I hope I was able to convey the main points and mood.