#theme: conversion therapy

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation, is this considered angst? idk

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Just another warning that this fic deals with heavy themes. It’s honestly been so therapeutic for me to write due to my own history. If it’s not for you, I have plenty of other Nanami fics that are more lighthearted. For the anons in my requests asking for more Nanami, this is for you.

Part one. |

“With those things in mind, I’m interested in what has brought you into my office today.”

“I’m not sure… Sex just doesn’t appeal to me much anymore.”

Being a sex therapist, Kento Nanami has heard it all. He’s seen this same presenting problem again and again. He’s counseled young and older men with erectile dysfunction. He’s counseled persons of the LGBTQ+ community come to terms with their sexuality and how that relates to sex. He’s counseled so many people who come from purity culture and struggle with sex. He’s counseled couples who can’t seem to get it right in the bedroom. He’s counseled sexual assault survivors.

Kento Nanami prides himself on upholding the ethics of counseling. He keeps the code of ethics proudly sat upon his shelf. His goal as a therapist was to give everyone a safe space to divulge their most vulnerable inner thoughts to him.

Sex was too often treated as a taboo, offensive subject, which is why Nanami got into sex therapy in the first place. He wanted to change the stigma around it. Sex was a basic need for the majority of individuals, and many times, people have poor experiences with sex since it’s not normalized and hardly talked about.

“Okay, so is it fair to say you don’t often feel like you’re in the mood for sex?” he asked as he looked towards his client. A pretty young lady sat across from him on his couch. His “office” was in his home, finding that people often didn’t want to talk about sex in what they considered to be a “public” space like a therapist’s office.

“Yeah, I mean… I just...” your voice trailed off. You already felt like this might be a mistake. Your arms crossed over your chest as it felt like you were naked in front of your incredibly handsome counselor.

His office was nice, serene almost. He had different seating options and all kinds of fidget items around his office. He also had a plethora of books on a shelf behind his desk.

It seems he enjoys spending his time reading up about the art of sex. You can’t help but feel your face warm from thinking about him reading those sorts of things in his free time.

The walls were painted a nice soft blue grey color, and the office smelled like fresh linen from the aroma diffuser in the corner of the room. Several different houseplants were also scattered about. They all looked healthy, assuring you that Nanami paid attention to detail. He was responsible and consistent.

“Take your time,” Nanami assured you as he sat back in his chair. “The first visit is always the hardest. Don’t feel pressured to get down to the bottom of why you’re lacking a sexual drive. These things take time and trial and error.”

That was… almost reassuring. You took a deep breath as your fingers absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair behind your ear. The familiar ministration worked to calm your mind.

“I’m young, and I’m recently married. I have no kids. I feel like I should be… I don’t know— at my sexual prime or something.”

“What gave you that idea?” Nanami probed as he continued observing your small nervous habits. He found his lips trying to curl into a smile, but he kept his face meticulously trained as a look of interest.

“Well, girls talk, you know? My girlfriends talk about their lack of a sex life stemming from other obligations or from a lack of a connection…” you explained as you briefly looked up at Nanami. Each time his hazel eyes met yours, you had to look away immediately.

When you found his information online, you didn’t think he’d be this handsome. You just saw all of his credentials, and you had heard good things about him on different websites centered around “rating” therapists.

Of course, you had done some digging on him. There was no way in hell you were going to go to some strange man’s house to talk about sex. That sounded ridiculous.

“Do you compare yourself to these so called ‘girlfriends’ often?” Nanami asked calmly. His voice was even and smooth, allowing you feel even more safe to open up.

“I mean, no. They’re just all I have in terms of what’s normal for sex.”

“Okay, so let me make sure I understand this right. You lack a sexual drive. You feel guilty that you lack sexual drive because you believe you don’t have a good enough reason to not want sex on a regular basis, and you think that you’re not normal. Does that cover it?”

You winced a bit as it was all laid out on the table for you. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to hide from how pathetic you sounded. You sheepishly nod in response.

“Y/n, open your eyes for me,” his voice spoke gently, coaxing you to slowly flutter your eyes open to look into his. Once he had your gaze, he went on, “These are all normal feelings to have. I can blab on and on to you about how our society is blatantly misogynistic when it comes to sex, but I’ll spare you the details since I’m sure you’re painfully aware. We’re going to figure this out together, alright?”

You took a deep breath, letting his words wash over you as a security blanket. It was nice to have someone to just talk about these things freely to. You felt a glimmer of hope shine through.

“Okay,” you said with a small nod, feeling more confident now.

“So, you mentioned earlier that you're recently married. Tell me a little bit about that."

You try not to have a physical reaction when Nanami brings up your husband. It was a topic that felt too raw.. too close to home. You’re supposed to be a dutiful wife, right? So, why would you feel that way when talking about your husband?

“Oh, uh… well,” you stammer, looking away from Nanami as you suddenly came up blank on your own marriage. “We got married about a year ago. Some say we’re still in the honeymoon phase, but…”

Nanami perks up a little in his chair. Some therapists take notes or record their sessions. Nanami doesn’t believe in it. He thinks it takes away from the moment. He’d much rather be present with his client rather than jotting down notes.

“But..?” he urges you to go on.

“But… I guess it just doesn’t feel that way.”

“What is your idea of the honeymoon phase? What does that look like to you?” Nanami asks, clasping his hands together in his lap as he relaxes into his chair.

You take a moment to process his question. What does the honeymoon phase look like?

“For me, it looks like the movies where couples do things for each other without being asked. They’re attuned to each other’s emotions, and they make a conscious effort to be sensitive to their partner’s feelings.” Your eyes meet Nanami’s once again, and you let out a deep breath. No one told you that counseling would be this mentally strenuous.

“Okay, what about in your current life? Do you feel like that’s how it is now?”

You nearly laugh from the question. You mentioned that sort of love being in movies because you’ve never seen it in real life. You’re nearly convinced that it doesn’t happen in real life, and anyone who claims to have that type of love must be lying.

“No, I feel like we’re both focused on our own lives… We just happen to also be in a marriage together.”

“That doesn’t seem like an active partnership,” Nanami responds as he searches your face thoughtfully. He can feel his heart ache for you. This is by far his least favorite presenting problem to work with because he can’t just tell you that you need to leave your husband. All he can do is inspire you to seek the changes you need. “What are you focused on in your own life right now, y/n?”

You feel the tension set in your shoulders and neck as soon as you hear that question. Just thinking about what all you have to do is enough to stress you out. “For starters, I work full-time. It’s a standard corporate job from eight to five, but it can be a lot.”

“That’s not easy, y/n. Just because that is what’s considered to be standard, doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m sure that’s a lot on your plate.” His voice was low and calm. His presence felt so warm in the room; you feel like you’re finally able to open up a little.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I also take care of the house and our pets.”

“The housework… is that all your responsibility?” Nanami asks as his eyebrows knit together slightly. He feels like he’s already scratching the surface of why you don’t have any sex drive.

“Yeah. If I want him to do anything, I have to delegate the work to him. My husband always says to just tell him whenever I want something done, and I should be grateful that he’s willing to help—“

Nanami couldn’t help himself. He doesn’t like to interrupt clients often, but the more you talk about tour husband, the more he’s having to hold himself back. “That’s the bare minimum.”

You’re slightly taken aback, and you look away from Nanami. A part of you knows that he’s right, but… you didn’t want to bad mouth your husband. A large boulder of guilt settled into your stomach.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Nanami’s voice returns to that gentle tone. “That probably wasn’t appropriate for me to say. I apologize.” He knows he shouldn’t have said that, and he knows he has to appropriately handle this if he wants you to feel comfortable enough to open up again.

“I guess I just… It feels wrong talking negative about my husband to another man. It just feels different when I’m ranting with my girl friends.” You straighten your posture and take a deep breath. It feels good getting that out in the open.

Nanami slowly nods his head. He can see why you view that act as troublesome. “So, you’re feeling tense because of our opposing sexes? Tell me. Does your husband know where you are right now?”

“Well, yeah… He was honestly the one who told me I needed help since I don’t feel any sort of sex drive.”

Nanami’s teeth subtly clench together, but he keeps a stoic expression as best as he can. The thought of your husband claiming that there’s something wrong with you absolutely repulses Nanami.

“How does that make you feel?”

Your fingers twitch a bit as you look down to the ground. You should be honest with Nanami if you really want the help that you came here for.

“I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.”

Nanami feels his chest tighten while he listens to you. This is why he hated working with this presenting problem. This man is ruining your confidence and self-esteem, and your low sex drive is either completely natural or it’s because of him.

If Nanami could show you what it was like to be truly loved, he would. Then, you’d probably open your eyes and see that your husband is the one who isn’t good enough for you.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head. He knows he’s bound to a code of ethics. He can’t pursue you romantically or sexually. It’d be morally wrong.

“That’s heavy.” He nods, allowing silence for reflection. He then speaks up again after a pregnant pause, “Let’s break down what you said sentence by sentence, okay? First, you have said that you feel guilty and not good enough in terms of sex.”

You slowly nod, still avoiding eye contact with Nanami. Why didn’t anyone tell you that this would be so emotionally exhausting.

“Do you put a lot of pressure on yourself to perform?”

That question alone opened up the floodgates. Tears bit into your eyes, and you covered your face with your hands. “All the time,” your voice cracked, betraying how deep this affected you.

“Oh dear,” Nanami says softly. He grabs a box of tissues, and he hands them to you. “Sex is meant to feel natural and progressive. It’s understandable that you don’t feel any drive if you’re constantly pressuring yourself.”

You nod as you take the tissues, dabbing your eyes gently.

“I just,” you let out a deep shaky breath, trying to calm your nervous system. “It’s easier to just do it and get it over with rather than to hear him ask multiple times.”

Nanami clenches his jaw. His hand gently finds your shoulder, and he makes you look up at him. “Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this entire session, take this. Asking multiple times even though the answer was clearly a no is coercion. Whenever he asks multiple times, he’s hoping that you get tired of telling him no and just give in.”

Your eyes meet Nanami’s, and your eyebrows furrow a little. Coercion? No.. no, that can’t be right. He’s your husband. He’s just asking to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind. He wouldn’t coerce you into anything you didn’t want to do…

You slightly pull away from Nanami. “I don’t think that’s right… He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s not abusive.”

Nanami leans back. He chides himself internally for going in too deep too quickly. He’s grateful that you’re giving him grace right now. You definitely could’ve just left the session after he blatantly told you that your husband was a conniving piece of shit.

He takes a deep breath. “I apologize. I must have it wrong,” he says as he regains his posture. He knows he needs to make you understand. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh—? Uh, no.. no I’m okay, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s good tea.” Nanami leans in slightly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I don’t really think I can stomach it..” you respond, confused as to why he was suddenly wanting to make you tea.

“Tea is good for digestion. It might help your stomach. You really don’t want any? I can make it quickly with an electric kettle I bought the other day.”

You slouch back a little, a frown covering your lips. “I mean.. I guess tea would be okay.”

Nanami then gives you a knowing look, and the realization hits you. “Did you actually want the tea, or were you just going to accept the tea because I kept pestering you?”

Goddammit. This therapist is good.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[simmerkate]

Xtra Interactions Mod v3

Take your Sims' social lives to the next level with the Xtra Interactions Mod, now updated to Version 3! This mod introduces a variety of unique, thought-provoking, and entertaining social interactions that bring more depth, realism, and storytelling opportunities to your game. Whether your Sims are debating ethical topics, bonding over family discussions, or simply sharing their love for food, this mod offers something for everyone.

What’s New in Version 3?

New Pie Menu: Family A dedicated Family Pie Menu has been added, offering unique interactions for children, teens, parents, and siblings to enhance family relationships and dynamics. These include:

Child Interactions: Ask for a new sibling, show a birthday gift list, share future dreams, ask about the family tree, or request a new pet.

Teen to Parent Interactions: Discuss college plans, ask to increase allowance, express annoyance at siblings, talk about romances, request prom outfit payments, or confess to skipping school.

Sibling Interactions: Argue over clothes or bathroom time, ask for crush advice, gossip about parents, share concerns about friends, or simply express sibling love.

New Health and Wellness Interactions Expand your Sims' self-care conversations with interactions like:

Share anti-aging tips

Compare morning routines

Discuss the benefits of hydration

Talk about vaccinations

Encourage therapy

Express love for yoga

Talk about "turkey teeth" (cosmetic dental work)

New Activism Interactions (Pie Menu) Help your Sims champion causes they care about with socially-conscious interactions:

Debate animal testing

Debate wage equality

Talk about cleaning the oceans

Discuss saving the turtles

Explore AI ethics

Share wacky water-saving tips

Debate paper vs. plastic

Discuss protesting

Expanded Foodies Talk (Pie Menu) Food-loving Sims can now engage in even more culinary-themed conversations:

Talk about cooking classes

Swap recipes

Debate food trends

Discuss favorite cheeses

Loads of New Buffs Every interaction comes with its own unique positive or negative buffs, bringing a variety of emotional outcomes to your Sims’ social lives. These buffs add depth and unpredictability to gameplay, from joyous moments to tension-filled disagreements.

Why Download the Xtra Interactions Mod?

This mod adds depth and personality to your Sims, making every social interaction meaningful and engaging. It offers:

Diverse Topics: From health and wellness to activism and family dynamics, your Sims can discuss contemporary and relatable topics.

Unique Buffs: Many interactions come with positive or negative emotional buffs, adding variety to outcomes and enriching gameplay.

Enhanced Storytelling: Create richer narratives with dynamic social interactions that impact relationships and moods.

Perfect For

Players who love storytelling and want deeper relationships between Sims.

Simmers looking for new and exciting interactions that add realism and complexity to the game.

Families, foodies, and activists looking for a new way to express their Sims' personalities.

Public Release - 3rd February Download (xx) ad-free

[thefriendlypigeon]

To make it short: I watched a show about gay men in the 50's and conversion therapy was a theme there so I thought to myself: "… but what if KINKY DOCTORS??" so I clapped my fanartist hands together and threw Destiel into this absolutely-not-problematic mix 😏💙💚

👉COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN👈

[my social media links]

[woso-dreamzzz]

Helper:Christmas

Arsenal Women x Child!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Guppy

"I...I don't understand. What's...What's going on?"

"Just keeping holding it up," Codi whispers to Rosa, who looks like she's about to lower the tinsel that she's holding up.

"I don't get it. What's going on?"

"We're decorating the tree."

"No, I get that. But why are we holding it up in a line?"

On her other side, Leah huffs. "Because Lia's raising a kid who doesn't like mess and gets freaked out by Christmas trees. Ow! Lia!"

Lia's elbow, none too kindly, digs a bit further into Leah's ribs.

"Don't make fun of her!" She snaps, imaginary hackles raised in annoyance at Leah's dismissal before turning to Rosa to explain, much more kindly. "Guppy...She gets a bit overwhelmed about this kind of stuff and these cretins like to go overboard until the tree's a big mess. So, Guppy gets to pick the theme and then we all decorate. Leah's exaggerating."

"I'm just saying! Maybe exposure therapy will be good for her! I love her, Lia, I do. You know that. But you have to admit, this-"

Lia whips her beads at Leah in annoyance.

"Alrigh! Alright! I get it! Sorry!"

Lia's not finished though as she points to practically everyone in line in turn. "None of you are allowed to talk about that kind of stuff while y/n's in the room too, do you understand? She's sensitive and I'm not letting any of you make it worse!"

"I think they get it," Mario intervenes quickly," No one wants to make her feel bad."

Rosa's kind of glad that Mariona did. She's never seen Lia angry before. Annoyed, yes. Overtired, yes. But never angry. Not truly anyway but she's heard how protective Lia gets over you.

You're not really an oddball. You're not overwhelmingly weird either. But something that Rosa's noted is that you're very particular. She's never met a child so particular in her life. You like things done in a certain way.

You get all fidgety and anxious if you're not allowed to do things in the way you want and tend to start things over if it hasn't gone perfectly. You flick the lights on and off twice in whatever room you leave and you always knock on doors twice.

Rosa's seen you on the team bus, getting Lia to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt twice over just before the bus sets off to whatever away match they need to get to.

You're just...

Different.

It's clear that Lia knows that too and a lot of her energy is put into making sure no one makes you think that you don't fit in.

"Alright!" Kim comes in holding your hand and from what Rosa strains to hear from Mario and Lia's conversation, this is normal too.

Kim helps you pick out the theme.

You both whisper together, Kim clearly going along with your childish wonder and happiness. She crouches down at your side as you look between Rosa and Kyra's tinsel.

Rosa's holding a red one and Kyra's holding a gold one.

Kyra wiggles it enticingly in your face but your features all scrunch up at once as you move away from Kim to take Rosa's hand and then to choose Codi and her matching green tinsel as well.

"Alright," Kim says," And what about baubles?"

"Er..." You look at the rest of the team and all the baubles they hold up to you, suddenly overwhelmed with choices.

You look at Leah's glittery baubles and shake your head.

"Not-Not glitter ones."

Then you catch sight of Lia and Mario, immediately breaking away from Kim to go crashing into them.

"Mummy!" You gasp," You bought the special beads from home!"

Wound around what looks to be an old piece of cardboard, is a long string of silver beads.

"I did," Lia says," Because our tree is too little for them this year. I thought we could use them on the Arsenal tree."

You nod, head bobbing up and down happily before you also take Mario's hand, dragging her into your little group of chosen people without even looking at the bauble in her hands.

"Nah!" Leah complains," This is so unfair! Why can't I be chosen?"

"Because you clearly didn't choose a good bauble this year," Beth teases," Not like me."

"Not Beth's bauble either," You say to Kim.

"Wait...What? Come on, come back!"

Decorating the tree is a team effort because while you may have been the one to make your selection, you're much too small to decorate it all by yourself and Rosa's found herself with you on her shoulders as you strain to put a candy cane onto the tree.

"Careful," Lia warns her," Keep straight or she'll fall."

"Rosa's doing fine," Steph says," And it's not like Guppy is going to start throwing herself around. She's very responsible."

"I am, Mummy!" You say," Very responsible! I helped Mrs Gina find the missing gluestick lid yesterday!"

So, Lia ends up worrying from a distance and insists on being the one to lift you up so you can put the star on the tree before letting you down and leading you from the room without any more preamble.

"What's happening now?" Rosa whispers as it looks like everyone starts sitting down on the floor in a little circle that she has no option but to join.

"Lia's been doing this since Guppy was born," Caitlin explains," We're getting presents now. It was pretty cute the first time, little gifts in baby y/n's hands. It was her handprint the year she was born and then it was like little keychains? She's old enough to give them out by herself now."

The present Rosa gets is kind of soft and squishy and it doesn't rattle or anything when she holds it up to her ear and shakes.

"No opening until Christmas!" You say once everything's been given out and everyone's attention is on you," Because that ruins the surprise! You can only open them on Christmas!"

The little Arsenal teddy bear you got her sits on Rosa's desk for the rest of the season.

[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.

[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(★‿★)

part two

←MASTERLIST

[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 ]

[revelboo]

Soooooooo

Can we have another part of Invisible Monsters plsssssss

Ofc if you want to or have the time •^•

Sure! Seeing rumors we may get first images of the rest of the Blokees Wave 7 today. We should have Shrapnel/Bombshell and I’m guessing, another conehead unless this batch is solely TFO themed

Invisible Monsters Pt 14

MTMTE Megatron x Reader

• Still can’t quite believe you’d choose him. That you hadn’t just told him what he’d wanted to hear. Stretched out on his side facing you, his servos trace the curve of your cheek as you sleep. And he’s painfully aware of how fragile this happiness is. Your confession that you’d wanted to stay making it even harder to resist bonding you. But as soon as he does? You’ll know every awful thing he’s ever done and he’s afraid it’ll kill this between you both. That you won’t look at him the same way, that you’ll cringe away from his touch and it’ll kill him.

• Stretching lazily feeling warm servos trail down your neck and over your collarbone, you blink up at him leaning over you, his face so serious you want to kiss him. Make him smile. “Hi,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek and his optics shutter as he leans into your touch like he can’t get enough. Smiling, you run your thumb against his bottom lip.

• Venting, he leans down, pressing his face against your neck, feeling the barely there hum of your biofield prickling against him. And you run those soft hands over his helm. “You know what a spark is,” he murmurs against your skin and you make a soft noise of agreement even though it’s not really a question. “How much do you know about our sparks?” Can’t meet your eyes and can’t seem to stop himself. Wanting you to understand who he really is even as he’s so afraid you’ll be horrified if you do know. Doesn’t want to hide things from you, owes you the truth. Even if you despise him after.

• Trying to figure out where he’s going with that question, you brush your mouth against his helm. “I know they’re your life force. Your spark is you,” you say. But that’s really all you know and it’s mostly from overhearing conversations while you were playing therapy pet for Rung. And that feels like a lifetime ago. He’s silent aside from his soft venting and you wait.

• “Two sparks can bond. Twine together so thoroughly those partners are tied together for life,” he says and your hands still. Doesn’t even know if it would work with a human. You don’t have a spark, but that pull to bond you can’t just be hopeful delusion. Because that would be worse. To try and find out he can’t share this with you, that there’s nothing to bond to. Refuses to believe that. To believe you’re so different he can’t bond you to him. A voice he despises in the back of his processor whispering that if you fully bond him, even if you learn the truth, even if you hate him, you’d still be his for life. You wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Previous

[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.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Reconciliation - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.2k+

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die" 

Alternatively, 

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: therapy, tiny angst.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: This is a feel-good chapter I swear! we are at the end almost. next chapter will be more of an epilogue than an actual chapter.

“Why did you choose to keep the baby? From our conversations and assessments before, what I have understood is that you are not a turbulent person. You tend to think logically before taking any step, then despite knowing the baby is not a good idea why did you keep it?” one of the doctors once asked you while you were at the retreat. 

“I wanted to keep a trace of Yoongi in my life. I know it was not a valid reason to keep a baby but for him I challenged my rationality.” You replied without fumbling. You were feeling a lot better already. You accepted your mistakes, your bad decision of keeping the baby as a replacement of Yoongi, you also accepted the fact that when you go back to Korea, Yoongi might not wait for you. 

You accepted that life needs to go on. 

You accepted that everything becomes alright when it’s time. 

“How do you feel about him now? If I ask you to describe him with an emotion, what would you use?” the doctor questioned further. 

“Love.” a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. 

“So, your feelings towards him remain unchanged despite the pain he had made you go through?” 

“Yes. I think it was tough for me because a part of me wanted more from him, be it his attention, his validation - I wanted more, which was simply unnecessary. I don’t want anything from him any longer. I can love him for as long as it lasts and it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same this time too.” 

“Are you sure you will be okay?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

Even amid the busy cacophony of the airport, your ears register Yoongi’s voice crystal clear - as if your brain has curved out a side of it to fit his essence perfectly. 

When your eyes fall on him, waving at you slightly, you see how different he looks. 

His hair has grown longer, cheeks have sunken a bit, his eyes are tired with heavy bags underneath those. 

But he looks jovial. His eyes have a shine you have hardly ever witnessed, his gummy smile is small but real, his face is shining what you could name as prosperity. 

And all of these are for you. 

Or at least.. You think so. 

“You came.” you whispered as you reach close to him. The woody fragrance of his skin makes you feel like you are finally home. 

“I had to.” Yoongi smiles at you. And then you see him inhaling a sharp breath as if he is preparing himself for a war. 

“Y/N..” he utters your name again and this time the vibration of his voice sends a spark through every inch of your body, “I am in love with you. I think I have been in love with you for a long time now. I know I have made you go through hell all alone. But if you give me a chance - I will.. I will be the best for you. I will try to give you back everything you have lost because of me.” 

Your heart thumps inside your chest. 

This. You have waited for a lifetime to hear this. You have imagined how elated you would feel when you finally hear these words from the man that you love. But no imagination prepares you the way your heart finds itself at peace. The way you feel less excited but more content. 

So, this is how it feels to be loved by the person you love? 

It feels like a warm ray of sunshine in the cold dark winter. It feels like the first shower that cuts through the scorching summer heat. It feels like finding an oasis after wandering aimlessly in a desert. 

It feels like finding a home amid the maze of glass and concrete. 

“Are you sure you are not misjudging your feelings?” you find yourself saying. 

Yoongi smiles a little, “I have never been surer.” 

“I guess you already know that I feel the same for you. But still I think we should take it slow. We should take some time before labeling our relationship.” you place your suggestion. No matter how sure both of you are, you don’t want to jump into anything. You did once and the results weren’t in favor of any of you. 

Yoongi nods with glassy eyes, “You’re right. Let’s take it slow.” 

“What do you think?” You read Yoongi’s lips as hearing anything overpowering the sound of music is almost impossible with these headphones on. 

Putting your thumb up, you nod with satisfaction and with a smile playing on your lips. 

Min Yoongi is not only the man you love, he is also the best music producer you have ever known. 

The name of his studio is justified - this is indeed a lab of a musical genius who doesn't even need lyrics to make you feel a thousand emotions. Only the tune is enough for him. 

“Who is this for?” you ask while detaching the bulky headphone from your ears. 

“No one. This is a personal project. For me…. And you.” Yoongi smiles sheepishly. 

He looks so young under the dim and artificial light of the studio. He looks so fresh - so pretty. You want to reach out for his hair like all those times before, when you had no right on him. 

But this time you do, so you spread your fingers to touch his hair. 

Running your fingers through his long dark locks and tugging those behind his ear you say, “what about the lyrics? Have any?” 

“Not yet.” he replies, reaching for your fingers and intertwining those with his. He pulls your hand towards his mouth, places a sweet kiss on the top of it. 

“Wait then.” you leave your chair to access your bag.

Yoongi looks at you in awe when you place your notebook on his lap, lyrics written all over the pages. He takes it up and reads what you have given him. 

“Somebody does love. But I'm thinking 'bout you?” he reads quietly but his voice has dipped down an octave lower. 

“When did you write it?” he places his question. 

"Who do you love?

Who else do you think?

Who else do you remember?

Who else do you hate?

Who do you live for?

Who else are you smiling for?

Who do you cry for?

Could this be love?"

“At the retreat.” 

“Is it.. Is it for me?” 

You nod in affirmation. The back of your neck feels hot. 

“When you left, I thought you were going to kick me out of your life. I.. I thought you hated me.” Yoongi’s voice trembles. So does your heart. 

“I would never.” you reach for his lips, place a sweet kiss on those pink muscles. 

He kisses you back. Grabbing the back of your head, he pushes your entire weight on his body. 

“I.. I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much. Will you- will you be mine?” Yoongi speaks with fear and hesitation in his voice. 

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.” you connect your forehead with his. 

After a month of taking things slow with him, you think it’s finally the time you dive head first in the vast ocean called Min Yoongi. 

And the way Yoongi wraps himself around you, you know he is just as eager to dive into you too. 

You have never wanted anything more. 

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii @kam9404 @honeybloomyyyy @seoulazzyy @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @magicshop96

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 9.4k

CHAPTER THREE:

Two days pass in a blur of restless thoughts and half-distracted tasks. You and Ava decide to blow off the tension with some much-needed retail therapy, roaming the racks of a bustling mall. It’s easy talk at first but eventually, the conversation circles back to the night everything exploded.

“So,” Ava prods, turning a hanger in her hand, “you gonna tell me more about you and Chris making out, or are you gonna keep me in the dark forever?”

You flush, half-hiding behind a hoodie you have no intention of buying. “It just… happened,” you mumble, recalling the heated kiss and the way things nearly went further. “I was hammered. He was there. We were alone. You know.”

Ava’s grin widens, catlike. “Alone in just your panties, playing strip pong, if I recall.” She pulls a face of mock innocence. “Totally normal scenario.”

You give her a playful shove and head for the register, trying to hide the flutter in your stomach. Despite the anger you still feel toward Chris, you can’t deny the memory of that kiss sends shivers down your spine.

Later that evening, you and Ava settle into a cozy booth at a small Italian restaurant—candles flicker on each table, and the scent of garlic bread drifts through the air. Over plates of pasta, you swap stories about the week’s ups and downs. Ava mentions Matt texting her random nudes to apologize for the headboard fiasco. You roll your eyes over Chris’s radio silence, trying to focus on the tangy sauce in front of you rather than the knot in your stomach.

Midway through dinner, Ava’s phone buzzes. She glances at the screen and her eyes go wide. “Oh my God,” she breathes, “we need to get home.”

You frown, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “Why? We just got our food.”

She slides her phone across the table, the screen still lit. “The boys just posted their first YouTube video.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh they finally posted?”

Ava nods, half exasperated, half impressed. “Apparently, yeah. It’s a get-to-know-us video or something. Matt told me they’ve been brainstorming for months. C’mon, I’m dying to see what these idiots came up with.”

You can’t help a curious smile, despite everything. “Fine,” you relent, signaling for the check.

You rush through the last bites of your meal, pay up, and head out into the crisp evening air, still chuckling about the inevitability of the Sturniolos launching a channel. Once back at your apartment, you barely toss your bags aside before Ava snags the TV remote, pulling up YouTube on the big screen. The bright platform logo loads, and your heart skitters with a mix of curiosity and residual frustration as she clicks into their brand-new channel.

Seconds later, the title card for their video appears, and you settle onto the couch with Ava, bracing yourselves to see what Chris and his brothers have done. Then she hits play, and the screen fades in—

The shot opens on three faces partially illuminated by the overhead light of Matt’s car, which is parked in an otherwise dark, mostly empty lot. The orange glow of a distant streetlamp outlines the windows, and the faint hum of traffic can be heard in the background. Matt is in the driver’s seat—though the car is off—looking a bit shy. Chris, baseball cap pulled low, lounges in the passenger seat, arms crossed casually. Nick, in the back seat, has leaned forward just enough to fit into frame.

Nick taps the record button on his phone. “Alright, we’re rolling,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at the camera. “What’s up, everyone? Welcome to the Sturniolo Triplets channel. This is our first official ‘car video.’ Except, well—” he gestures at the darkness outside, “—we’re not exactly going anywhere tonight.”

Chris shifts in his seat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, apparently it’s late and someone”—he jabs a thumb at Matt—“doesn’t wanna drive around after dark. Says we should film while parked.”

Matt clears his throat, cheeks coloring under the faint overhead light. “I just think it’s safer to, uh, not be distracted when we’re doing our first video. We’ll do actual drive-around vlogs some other time.”

Nick nods with an exaggerated seriousness. “We gotta ease into this, folks. Anyway, I’m Nick, that’s Matt—who, by the way, got his license at sixteen, not yesterday—and over here is Chris.” He tilts the camera slightly, capturing each brother. “We’re nineteen, from Summerville, and, well… we decided to start this channel to share our everyday life.”

Chris runs a hand over his cap. “Sounds about right. Alright, Nick, what are we doing tonight?”

Nick holds up his phone. “I asked some friends for questions—stuff so people can get to know us. Figured we’d tackle them one by one.” He swipes a thumb across the screen. “First question: Where exactly are you guys from, and how old are you? I know we kinda said it, but let’s make it official.”

Matt, still looking a little shy, clears his throat. “We’re from Summerville—just outside Boston. We’re nineteen. All of us. Triplets, you know.”

Nick grins into the camera. “Yep, so that’s that. Next question: Favorite colors. Go.”

“Blue,” Matt says quietly, fidgeting with the hem of his T-shirt. “It’s just, I don’t know, I’ve always liked it.”

Nick bobs his head. “Me, I’m all about purple. Highly underrated color. Vibrant, mysterious—kinda like me.” He wiggles his brows sarcastically, and Chris gives him a withering stare.

Rolling his shoulders, Chris glances at the camera. “Orange,” he says, almost curtly. “No big reason. I just like it.”

Nick scrolls again. “Right, next question… ‘Are you single or taken?’”

Chris’s jaw tightens, and he says nothing, turning his gaze to the dark parking lot outside. Nick notices but decides not to push him yet. Instead, Nick answers for himself: “I’m single, because I haven’t found a dilf yet,” he says with a stage whisper, making Matt choke on laughter.

Matt fans himself in mock exasperation. “Nick, what the hell?” But he’s still grinning. “Alright, well, I’m not single. I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend, Ava.” He unlocks his phone and holds the lockscreen up for the camera: a candid shot of Ava mid-laugh. “She’s awesome. We’ve been together for almost three years.”

Nick leans forward from the back seat, peering at the lockscreen. “That’s cute, man. Look at you, all smitten and shit.”

Matt ducks his head. “Whatever,” he mumbles, a proud little smile tugging at his lips. “She’s great.”

Nick sees an opening. “So, big question: How’d you meet?”

Matt exhales, glancing momentarily at Chris, then back at the camera. “Alright. Junior year of high school, and for context, Ava’s best friend is named Y/N, and Chris here was basically, uh…” He coughs awkwardly. “...dating Y/N. So Y/N brought Ava around to hang out one weekend—”

Chris snorts loudly from the passenger seat. “Dating is a strong word,” he says, voice edged with sarcasm.

Matt shoots him an annoyed look. “Chris, shut the fuck up. Anyway, Y/N brought Ava over and—I don’t know, man, I just fell for her instantly. She was so funny and beautiful.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Get that simp shit outta here, dude,” he mutters under his breath, arms crossing tighter.

Nick cringes, aiming a quick “Sorry, folks” look at the camera. “Ignore him. He’s cranky. Next question, anyone?”

Matt tries to refocus. “Right, next question,” he echoes, rattling off the typical Q&A stuff: worst fears, favorite foods, random celebrity crushes. Chris chimes in now and then with dry remarks, but mostly keeps his gaze on the window, occasionally letting out a derisive chuckle or rolling his eyes at Nick and Matt’s banter.

Nick finally waves a dramatic farewell at the lens. “Alright, that’s enough for our first official ‘car video’” he says. “Maybe next time we’ll be on the move. If you liked this, like and subscribe or something. I don’t know—help us out.”

Matt musters a small smile, leaning forward to stop the recording. “See you guys next time.”

The screen fades to black.

The newly uploaded car video ends, replaced by YouTube’s recommended thumbnails. Ava shuts off the TV with a grimace, letting out a long sigh.

“Did you see Chris’s face?” she asks, raking a hand through her hair. “Every time Matt brought up anything about us, he was just… so passive-aggressive.”

You lean back against the couch cushions, exhaling. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s like he can’t stand even the mention of that time in high school yet he had no problem bringing it up when he was drunk and horny and all over me.” Your stomach twists at the memory of Chris’s snort when Matt called it dating. “I get it if he has regrets or bitterness, but did he have to say that stuff on camera and then post it online?”

Ava folds her arms, shaking her head. “Right? Like, ‘get that simp shit outta here’? Excuse me, let Matt have his moment! He was being sweet—he’s not a fucking simp for talking about how much he loves me. And calling it a ‘strong word’ when he was obviously your… I don’t know.” She frowns, searching for the right term.

You grimace. “We were more than friends, at the very least, I mean he was my first everything. But apparently, Chris is tryna rewrite the past now.”

Ava clicks her tongue. “That’s messed up. I mean, Nick tries so hard to keep the vibe light, and Matt—poor Matt—he’s just excited to share, you know? It’s their first video. They want it to be a success. Then Chris has to go all moody.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s always had a sarcastic streak, but this was fucking personal. He’s clearly extra upset about all this, especially after Dennys.”

Ava rests her chin on her hand, brow furrowed. “Yeah, well, he’s not doing himself any favors. Imagine being a new subscriber and seeing him sulking the whole time.”

You huff a short laugh. “At least the rest of the video was entertaining. Nick’s bit about hunting for a dilf was hilarious.”

Ava giggles, though it’s short-lived. “I just wish Chris could be more supportive. Matt’s shy, we know that, and this is big for him. They’re not even moving the car, so that should’ve been easy, right?”

You nod firmly. “Exactly. If Chris wants to brood, he can do it off-camera. Instead, he’s gotta make those little digs. It was so uncomfortable to watch.”

Ava sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Part of me wants to text Matt, make sure he’s okay. And then another part of me wants to call Chris out on his bullshit.”

Your lips quirk up wryly. “Could do both. But maybe let them have their moment. If they’re serious about this channel, they’ll have to figure out that dynamic sooner or later.”

She gives you a sidelong look. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s just… it’s so rude, right?”

“Completely,” you agree, folding your legs beneath you. 

Ava slumps deeper into the couch, crossing her arms as she stares at the now-blank TV screen. The frustration on her face hasn’t budged since the video ended. “Y’know,” she begins, voice taut, “it’s not just Chris being rude that bothers me—though that’s bad enough. It’s how Matt is practically too shy to get a word in, and whenever he tries, someone interrupts him.”

You nod, recalling how many times Matt started to speak, only for Chris or Nick to jump in. “He did look pretty nervous.”

Ava makes a tiny, annoyed sound in the back of her throat. “He’s always been anxious. He likes the idea of this YouTube stuff, but he’s a quiet person, you know? Then Chris and Nick just bulldoze over him. I mean, Nick does it in a playful way, but Chris?” She shakes her head, lip curling. “Every time Matt tried to share something, Chris had a snarky comment ready.”

You fiddle with a piece of lint on the couch. “I could see Matt clamming up whenever Chris made those little digs. He’d just… shut down.”

“Exactly,” Ava sighs. “And it’s their first video—shouldn’t they be encouraging each other? Especially Chris, since he’s so confident on camera. But he was practically rolling his eyes at everything Matt said.”

A wave of sympathy washes over you. “Matt was so excited to talk about how you two met,” you say gently, picturing the shy pride on Matt’s face whenever he brought up Ava. “Plus literally dogged on me in front of the whole internet. Name out and everything.” 

Ava purses her lips, irritation glowing in her eyes. “Right. He basically belittled anything that happened between you guys, which is rude in itself, but worse, it cut Matt off mid-thought. Like, let the boy speak!” She exhales hard. “Matt’s never been the type to assert himself, especially not on camera. He hates confrontation—always has.”

“Yeah,” you agree, remembering countless times Matt dodged drama in high school, well just dodged highschool in general. “It’s not easy for him to push back when Chris is in a mood.”

Ava’s expression darkens a bit. “He shouldn’t even have to push back. They’re brothers, for crying out loud—you’d think Chris would at least let Matt finish a sentence without being an asshole.”

You catch the protective tone in Ava’s voice and press your lips together. “Are you gonna say anything to Matt about it?”

She chews on her thumbnail, debating. “I want to. But I know he’ll just shrug it off, say it’s no big deal. He’s used to being outtalked by his brothers.”

Your chest pinches at the thought—Matt, sweet and quiet, swallowed by his siblings’ bigger personalities. “I mean, hopefully Nick sees it, too, and tries to help, right? He usually has a decent read on when Chris is out of line.”

Ava nods, though she still looks wound up. “Yeah, Nick tries. I just hate seeing Matt’s excitement overshadowed by Chris’s bullshit. One or two comments is one thing, but he barely let Matt breathe.”

“We can’t exactly force them to film differently, but maybe you could remind Matt he has a right to speak up. If he wants to start a channel, his voice should matter, you know?”

Ava inhales, shoulders lifting with tension. “You’re right. I guess I’ll talk to him, casually. Tell him I love hearing what he has to say.” She huffs a short laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “God, it’s ridiculous we even have to worry about this. It’s their first fucking video.”

You laugh. “Exactly! It might seem to Chris or Nick that we’re being dramatic but Matt is literally a baby. That's like my son.” 

Ava sets her phone aside, chewing on her lower lip as though turning a new idea over in her head. “Hey,” she begins, glancing at you. “What if we invite them over? Like, we can do a little ‘congrats on your first video’ celebration—just something small. I’ll talk to Matt then, and maybe even Chris.”

You hesitate, recalling Chris’s less-than-stellar attitude in the vlog. “I don’t know,” you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your shirt. “I mean, Chris was so… bitchy. Do I really want him in my living room acting like that?”

Ava sighs, shoulders slumping. “Believe me, I get it. But Nick and Matt deserve some positive reinforcement, right? They at least deserve to see that we’re proud of them, especially after all the nerves Matt had.”

You let out a small groan, torn between your lingering annoyance and the genuine desire to support Matt and Nick. “Fine,” you relent at last. “I do want to celebrate them. I just hope Chris doesn’t wreck the vibe.”

Ava’s face lights up with a determined grin. “Perfect. Let’s do this right—we’ll grab a little cake, some balloons, maybe a pizza. We can’t make it huge, but at least it’ll be fun.”

“Pizza?” you echo dryly. “We literally just ate.”

She shrugs, already hopping off the couch to grab her wallet. “Pizza’s timeless, Y/N. Let’s go. If we text Matt and say ‘come over in an hour,’ that should give us time.”

You find yourself mirroring her excitement, a smile creeping in despite your nerves. “Alright, let’s make it quick,” you say. “We’ll pick up decorations on the way.”

After a hurried drive through town, you and Ava dart into a party supply store, scouring the aisles for cheap balloons and a congratulatory banner. You settle on a simple metallic one that reads CONGRATS!—it’s not exactly “Congrats on Your First YouTube Video,” but it’ll do in a pinch. Ava practically bounces from shelf to shelf, gathering colorful balloons, while you pop over to the bakery section next door to grab a small sheet cake. The design is basic—white frosting with a swirl of confetti sprinkles—but you ask them to write CONGRATS across the top in purple, blue, and orange icing.

Once you’re juggling balloons, a cake box, and a bag of plastic plates, Ava steers you to the pizza place around the corner. She orders one large pepperoni and one plain cheese, plus a side of breadsticks—“Just in case,” she says, winking as you roll your eyes.

Standing by the soda fridge, you pull out your phone to text Matt:

Y/N: Hey, can you come over in about an hour with your brothers? Ava wants to celebrate your first vid! We have a little surprise. 

Matt: That sounds awesome. Let me check with them—brb. 

A few seconds later, his response flashes:

Matt: Nick’s in. Chris said whatever. I’ll bring him anyway. See you soon :)

You sigh, showing Ava the text. “Chris is, as usual, thrilled to come.”

She wrinkles her nose. “We’ll deal. Maybe with food and a little hype, he’ll chill out.”

“We can hope,” you reply, though your stomach is still knotted with apprehension.

Back at your apartment, you and Ava scramble to set up. Balloons get haphazardly taped to the walls, the small banner gets draped along the mantel, and you put the cake and pizza boxes onto the kitchen counter. The place smells faintly of fresh pizza sauce, and despite the rush, a cozy energy settles in.

Ava pulls down her crop top, taking one last look around. “Alright,” she exhales. “This is as good as it’s gonna get on short notice.”

You nod, glancing at your phone to check the time. “They should be here any minute.” Though a flutter of anxiety tugs in your chest—Chris’s mood looms over your thoughts—you still feel a warm spark of excitement for Nick and Matt.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway just before a sharp knock at the door. Ava rushes over to open it, and the triplets pile inside in their usual chaotic fashion. Nick is first, grinning wide as his eyes sweep the apartment. “Whoa! You guys went all out for us?” he exclaims, pointing at the balloons and banner.

Matt follows, carrying a bag of soda bottles. His shy smile brightens at the sight of the decorations. “This is awesome. You really didn’t have to—”

Chris steps in last, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. His usual sarcastic smirk is replaced by a genuine look of surprise as he takes it all in. “Yo,” he says, gaze landing on the cake. “Did you seriously get a cake for this? That’s kinda dope.”

Ava beams, motioning for them to come all the way in. “Of course, we did! Your first video deserves a celebration. Pizza’s on the counter, and there’s cake after.”

Nick spins in a circle, taking it all in with exaggerated awe. “This is better than any party we’ve ever thrown,” he jokes, making Chris laugh.

“Low bar,” Chris quips, grabbing a slice of pizza. “We usually just sit around eating stale chips.”

You exchange a glance with Ava, a silent note of relief passing between you. Chris doesn’t seem moody or withdrawn like he’s been the past times you’ve interacted. Instead, he’s leaning into his usual ADHD-driven energy, bouncing from the pizza to the balloons to the banner with lighthearted comments. It reminds you of the old him and your old dynamic before things got fucked up.

“This is fucking awesome” he says, pointing at the metallic CONGRATS! sign. “Where’d you even find that?”

“Party store,” you reply, biting back a laugh as he nods approvingly.

As the boys settle into the space, Ava nudges Matt lightly and tilts her head toward the hallway. “Hey, can we talk for a sec?” she asks.

Matt hesitates, glancing at his brothers. “Uh, sure.”

You catch Ava’s eye and follow the two of them to the hallway, leaving the others by the pizza. Nick and Chris don’t seem to notice at first, too busy bantering about which balloon color is better.

Once in the hallway, Ava crosses her arms, her voice soft but serious. “Matt, I wanted to check in about the car video. You seemed really anxious, and Chris kept interrupting you. It kinda bugged me, honestly.”

Matt rubs the back of his neck, cheeks reddening. “Oh yeah, I was a little nervous. But it’s fine. You know how I get in front of people. Chris was just being Chris.”

“It’s not fine,” you chime in, arms crossed. “He didn’t just interrupt you—he was being a moody brat who couldn’t wait his turn to speak.”

Unbeknownst to you, Chris has wandered closer to the hallway. He freezes mid-step, hearing your words. His relaxed demeanor vanishes as his face hardens. “Oh, a moody brat?” Chris’s tone was sharp, his expression dark as he stepped into view from around the corner. “That’s what you think of me?”

You froze, your stomach sinking as his gaze locked onto you. “Chris, I didn’t mean—”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “You meant exactly what you said. Go on, let’s hear it. What else am I? A selfish asshole? A shitty brother?”

“Chris, calm down,” Ava said, stepping in. “She wasn’t trying to attack you—”

“Oh, don’t start,” Chris interrupted, turning his anger on her. “Of course you’d jump in to defend her. You always have something to say, don’t you?”

Ava’s jaw dropped, her own frustration flaring. “Excuse me? Don’t take your shit out on me just because you can’t handle a little criticism!”

“Criticism?” Chris barked, his voice rising. “You mean this little intervention where you all gang up on me and call me names behind my back?”

“We weren’t ganging up on you!” Ava shot back. “We were talking about how Matt couldn’t get a word in because you wouldn’t let him.”

“That’s enough!” Matt’s voice cut through the argument like a whip, startling everyone into silence. His face was red, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. He stepped forward, his glare pinned on Chris.

“You don’t get to yell at her,” Matt said, his voice trembling with anger. “She’s only trying to help me. And she’s right—you were out of line in the car video. You didn’t let me talk, and you made me feel like an idiot for even trying.”

Chris’s mouth opened, but Matt held up a hand. “No. I’m not finished. You act like it’s some huge inconvenience to let me have a moment. But guess what, Chris? You’re not the only one who matters. This channel isn’t just about you.”

Nick appeared in the doorway, his pizza forgotten. “Whoa, what’s going on?” he asked, his eyes darting between everyone.

“Chris is losing his shit because we called him out for being rude,” Ava said, her voice tight.

“Rude?” Chris echoed, his voice shaking with barely contained anger. “You mean honest? Sorry if I’m not sugarcoating everything like you two.”

“You weren’t honest,” you snapped, your own frustration boiling over. “You were mean. You steamrolled Matt, you dogged on me, shitted on their relationship, and now you’re trying to justify it by yelling at us? Grow up, Chris.”

Chris turned his glare back on you, his hands twitching at his sides. “You’re one to talk about growing up. Maybe you should focus on your own shit before coming after me.”

“Enough!” Matt shouted again. He stepped between you and Chris, his face flushed with anger. “I’m so sick of this. Chris, stop taking your problems out on everyone else. Ava and Y/N didn’t deserve that, and you know it.”

The hallway fell silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Chris looked away, his jaw clenched, while Ava placed a hand on Matt’s arm.

Nick exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, can we please not burn the apartment down? I get it—there’s stuff to work through. But maybe we can do that without screaming at each other? The fuck?”

You crossed your arms, your heart still pounding. “Fine by me,” you muttered, though your gaze lingered on Chris, who still refused to meet your eyes.

“Let’s just… go eat cake,” Matt said, his voice weary. He turned and headed back toward the living room, Ava following close behind. Nick trailed after them, casting a concerned glance over his shoulder at you and Chris.

Chris lingered for a moment, his shoulders tense. Finally, he muttered, “Whatever,” and walked away, leaving you alone in the hallway with a storm of emotions swirling in your chest.

The celebration had been meant to bring everyone together, but instead, it had cracked the fragile dynamic even further.

You took a deep breath, standing in the empty hallway as Chris’s footsteps receded. Your chest felt tight, the lingering tension from the argument swirling in your mind. For a brief moment, you debated staying behind, letting the others enjoy the cake and pretending none of this had happened. But you knew that wasn’t an option—not really.

With a sigh, you pushed off the wall and headed back into the living room. The atmosphere had shifted; the room felt quieter, the earlier excitement dulled. Ava was cutting the cake, her movements a little more forceful than usual, while Matt stood next to her, hands shoved in his pockets. Nick was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like nothing had happened.

Chris was leaning against the counter near the kitchen, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor. His posture was relaxed, but you could tell he was still stewing, the tension radiating off him like heat waves.

You took a seat on the armrest of the couch, trying to gauge the mood. Ava handed out plates of cake, her usual cheerful banter replaced by a quiet efficiency. When she placed a slice in front of Chris, he nodded mutely, not meeting her eyes.

“So,” Nick said, breaking the silence as he grabbed his own slice of cake. “Anyone wanna talk about literally anything else?”

The attempt at levity was met with a few weak chuckles. Matt shot Nick a grateful look before sitting down with Ava, who instinctively leaned into his side. You noticed the way Matt’s hand brushed lightly against her back—a subtle gesture of reassurance.

“Good cake,” Nick said through a mouthful. “Not gonna lie, this almost makes up for all the yelling.”

Chris snorted softly, finally looking up. “Almost.”

The conversation meandered awkwardly, everyone trying to fill the space without addressing the elephant in the room. You toyed with your fork, not really hungry, and avoided Chris’s gaze when it flicked your way. It was clear he was holding back something—whether it was more anger or an apology, you couldn’t tell.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Nick clapped his hands together. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this depressing-ass vibe. Let’s go do something.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Nick’s grin was mischievous. “Let’s go to the park and mess around. Smoke a little, swing on the swings—anything to get out of this apartment.”

Matt glanced at Ava, who nodded with a shrug. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

One by one, everyone agreed, the idea of fresh air and a change of scenery too tempting to pass up. After you all smoked in your apartment, you grabbed a hoodie on the way out, trailing behind the group as you made your way to the nearby park.

The park was quiet, the swings and play structures bathed in the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp. The cool night air felt refreshing against your skin, and for the first time in hours, you felt your shoulders relax.

Nick immediately headed for the swings, pushing himself back and forth with exaggerated enthusiasm. “This is the shit,” he said, laughing as he swung higher. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

Matt and Ava claimed the bench near the swings, sitting close together as Ava leaned her head on his shoulder. Chris hung back for a moment, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets as he watched Nick swing.

You took a seat on the swing next to Nick, letting the gentle rocking motion soothe your nerves. Chris eventually wandered over, leaning against the swing set post. His gaze flicked to you briefly before settling on the ground.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated but nodded, scooting over slightly as he took the swing beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke, the quiet punctuated only by the creak of the chains and Nick’s occasional whoops.

Finally, Chris broke the silence. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted.” 

You glanced at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. His eyes, slightly red from earlier, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“I know I’ve been a dick,” he continued, his hand gripping the chain of the swing. “In the car, in the hallway… I didn’t mean to blow up like that.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. Before you could respond, Chris reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through you.

“I just…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground before returning to yours. “You gotta watch your mouth, though. Calling me a ‘moody brat’? Kinda bold of you.”

There was a flicker of a smirk on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face slightly so you couldn’t look away. “You’ve always had a way of pushing my buttons, you know that?”

The tension between you crackled, the space between your bodies feeling impossibly small despite the openness of the park. His thumb brushed against your jawline, a touch so deliberate it made your pulse race.

“Chris,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, his red-rimmed eyes locking onto yours. “I’m just saying,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Next time you wanna call me out, maybe don’t do it when I’m already on edge.”

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or threatening—or something else entirely. All you knew was that the weight of his gaze and the warmth of his hand against your skin were making it hard to think straight.

In the distance, you heard Matt laughing as he jumped off his swing. Ava’s voice carried through the night as she scolded him, but the sounds felt distant, like they belonged to another world. Here, in this moment, it was just you and Chris.

The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate as everyone made their way back to the apartment. By the time you stepped inside, the atmosphere had shifted to something lighter, almost playful. Ava unlocked the door, pushing it open with a grin.

“Okay, so,” she declared, kicking off her shoes, “Everyone’s staying over, and we’re drinking. No arguments.”

Nick immediately threw his arms in the air. “Hell yes! I knew I liked you for a reason, Ava.”

Chris snorted, leaning against the doorframe as he toed off his sneakers. “Like anyone’s gonna say no to free booze.”

Matt hesitated, glancing at Ava. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “We don’t wanna impose.”

Ava rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the strings of his hoodie, tugging him inside. “Matt, you’re my boyfriend. You couldn’t impose if you tried. Now get your ass on the couch.”

You laughed, heading for the kitchen to grab drinks. By the time you returned with a mix of beers, seltzers, and a bottle of vodka, Nick had already connected to the Bluetooth speaker, blasting an absurd mix of nostalgic throwbacks and hits.

Ava clapped her hands together, her grin devilish. “Alright, people. We’re drinking, and I don’t want anyone pussying out.”

“Define ‘wimping out,’” Chris teased, cracking open a beer. “Because I’m not doing vodka shots if that’s where this is headed.” 

“Lightweight,” Nick muttered, earning a glare from Chris.

The night spiraled quickly into a mess of drinking games, loud music, and questionable dares. Nick tried balancing a spoon on his nose (and failed miserably), Matt spent ten minutes figuring out how to shuffle cards for a drinking game, and Ava made everyone take a collective shot “just cause.”

When someone suggested playing Intimacy Dice, a game Ava had pulled from the back of her closet, chaos was inevitable. Two dice: one with body parts, the other with actions. The rules were simple—roll and do whatever the dice dictated.

“This is going to be a train wreck,” Nick declared, grinning as he picked up the dice.

“Exactly the point,” Ava shot back, handing him the dice first.

Nick rolled, and the dice tumbled to a stop: lick and toes.

The room exploded with laughter as Ava’s name was called.

“Oh, come on!” she groaned. “Why do I have to lick Nick’s gross-ass toes?”

“Rules are rules,” Chris said smugly, leaning back with his beer like he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.

Ava rolled her eyes dramatically, kneeling down as Nick gleefully stuck his socked foot in her direction. “Fine,” she huffed, pulling off the sock and gagging for added effect. “But I’m never forgiving you for this.”

“Take one for the team!” you cheered, your sides aching from laughing so hard.

With exaggerated reluctance, Ava leaned in and barely grazed the tip of Nick’s big toe with her tongue before shooting upright. “Done!” she declared, grabbing her drink and chugging half of it. “That was disgusting.”

Nick was practically rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “You’re a hero, Ava. A true inspiration.”

Your turn came next. You rolled the dice, holding your breath as they clattered across the floor. When they finally stopped, the room went silent.

Kiss and lips.

“Y/N and Matt!” Ava announced gleefully, pointing at the two of you.

Matt’s face turned beet red as he glanced at Ava nervously. “Uh…”

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. Your eyes darted to Ava, who was clearly trying not to burst out laughing, then to Chris. His expression was unreadable, though the way he sipped his beer a little harder than usual wasn’t lost on you.

“It’s just a game,” Ava said, waving her hand. “Go on! It’s not like I’m gonna get mad.”

Matt hesitated for another second before finally leaning forward, his cheeks blazing. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s just… get it over with.”

The kiss was quick—a soft brush of lips that lasted barely a second—but it sent a ripple of awkward laughter through the group.

“See?” Ava said, grinning. “No big deal!”

“Yeah, no big deal,” Chris echoed, his tone sharper than necessary. You glanced at him again, noticing the tightness in his jaw and the way his knuckles whitened around his beer.

The game continued, but the tension lingering between you and Chris was impossible to ignore. Every time you caught his eye, there was an edge to his gaze, something simmering beneath the surface that he didn’t—or wouldn’t—acknowledge.

By the time Nick rolled again and burst out laughing at another absurd combination, the alcohol was hitting hard, and the night had officially veered into chaos.

The dice tumbled across the floor again, the room falling silent as everyone leaned in to see what Ava’s roll would dictate. When the dice stopped, the words rub and over clothes faced up, and Nick immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” he howled, pointing at Matt. “It’s you!”

Matt’s face turned beet red as all eyes shifted to him. Ava, however, wasn’t fazed at all. Instead, she grinned, a mischievous sparkle lighting up her eyes as she turned to her boyfriend.

“Well, well,” she teased, biting her lip to stifle a giggle. “Looks like it’s my lucky night.”

Matt laughed, burying his face in his hands. “Ava, we don’t have to—”

“Oh, come on,” she interrupted, moving to sit next to him. “We’re literally dating. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

Chris choked on his drink, Nick howled with laughter, and you found yourself half-hiding behind a throw pillow, your own face burning from excitement. 

“You’re really gonna do this?” Chris asked, his voice tinged with both disbelief and amusement.

“Absolutely,” Ava replied without hesitation, already positioning herself to straddle Matt’s lap. “Rules are rules, right?”

Matt peeked up at her, his face still flushed. “You’re way too excited about this.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” she said with a wink, leaning in closer. “Of course I’m excited.”

The rest of you erupted into laughter as Ava started playfully rubbing her hands over Matt’s chest and thighs, clearly enjoying both his embarrassment and the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Don’t make it weird, Matt,” Nick called out, nearly in tears from laughing so hard. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Oh, shut up,” Matt muttered, his voice muffled by his hands.

Ava leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough for only Matt to hear. “Relax, babe,” she teased, her hands brushing over his jeans in a way that made his whole body tense. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Matt let out a nervous laugh, and the rest of you doubled over, the absurdity of the moment breaking whatever tension lingered from earlier. Even Chris was smirking now, shaking his head as he took another sip of his beer. 

Ava grinned wickedly as she climbed onto Matt’s lap, completely unbothered by the attention from the rest of you. Her confidence and excitement were palpable, and it only made Matt blush harder, his hands nervously resting on her thighs as she settled in.

“Okay,” she said with a playful smirk, running her hands over his shoulders first. “Let’s see how far we can push this without you making a mess of yourself.”

Matt groaned, leaning his head back against the couch, his cheeks still a deep shade of red. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

“That’s the point,” she teased, her fingers trailing down his chest. “Rules are rules, babe.”

The room was filled with laughter, Nick practically doubled over on the floor as he wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh my God, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he gasped, clutching his stomach.

Even Chris was leaning forward in his seat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Matt, kid, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Chris,” Matt muttered, his voice strained, “shut up.”

Ava’s hands moved lower, pressing lightly against Matt’s stomach before slipping down to the front of his jeans. She rubbed him gently over the fabric, her grin growing as she felt him stiffen beneath her touch. “Oh,” she cooed, her tone both teasing and affectionate. “Someone’s enjoying this.”

Matt groaned again, his hands gripping her hips as he tried to shift away, but Ava didn’t let up. Her movements stayed playful, light enough to make him squirm but not enough to push things too far.

“Ava,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low, “seriously, you’re going to kill me.”

“Not yet,” she teased, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “But I’m having way too much fun watching you suffer.”

The rest of you were practically crying with laughter, the absurdity of the moment too much to handle. Nick fell over onto the floor, gasping for air between fits of giggles, while Chris shook his head, his smirk widening.

“This is peak entertainment,” Chris said, his voice laced with amusement. “Matt, you’re a champ for putting up with this.”

Matt shot him a glare but couldn’t say much else as Ava’s hands continued to move, her touch just firm enough to keep him completely flustered. His breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body tense.

“Okay, okay,” Ava finally said, pulling her hands back and laughing as she sat up straighter. “I think that’s enough for now. Don’t wanna break you.”

Matt let out a long, shaky breath, his face still bright red as he muttered, “You already did.”

The room exploded with laughter again, Nick literally rolling on the floor as he clapped his hands. “Ava, you’re insane,” he declared, wiping his face.

Ava leaned in to kiss Matt’s forehead, her expression softening just a bit. “You did great, babe,” she teased, patting his chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

Matt groaned, hiding his face in her shoulder as the rest of you continued to laugh and tease. Even though he was mortified, the warmth in his eyes as he looked at Ava made it clear he wasn’t mad—just very, very embarrassed.

The room was still buzzing with laughter from Ava and Matt’s ridiculous display when Nick grabbed the dice, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. He held them up dramatically, shaking them for effect before letting them clatter onto the floor. Everyone leaned forward, waiting for the result.

Makeout and partner’s choice.

The room went silent for half a second before Nick, ever the showman, jumped up and pointed at you. “Y/N! You’re my partner of choice,” he announced, waggling his eyebrows.

Your eyes widened as laughter erupted around you. “Say less, mama. C‘mere.”

“HAAAAAA” Ava laughed, clearly enjoying your mortification as much as everyone else had enjoyed hers. Matt, still recovering from Ava’s teasing, managed a weak chuckle.

Nick strolled over to you, extending a hand like a gentleman. “Milady,” he said dramatically, “I promise to be gentle.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help laughing as you let him pull you up from the couch. “Two minutes? That’s insane.”

Chris, who had been leaning back with his beer, suddenly straightened in his seat. His jaw tightened as his gaze flicked between you and Nick. “You better keep it PG,” he muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to catch.

Nick ignored him, his grin unwavering. “Alright, someone set a timer!” he called out, glancing at Ava, who gleefully grabbed her phone.

“Timer’s ready,” Ava announced, holding it up like a referee at a sporting event. “And… go!”

Nick didn’t waste any time, pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. You had expected it to be awkward and funny—just another silly moment in the ridiculous night—but Nick, to his credit, was surprisingly good at this. His hands rested lightly on your waist, and his kiss was playful, soft, and just a little teasing.

The room erupted with cheers and wolf whistles. “Get it, Nick!” Ava shouted, nearly falling off the couch as she laughed.

Matt shook his head, laughing along. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Meanwhile, Chris’s expression darkened. His beer sat untouched in his hand as his eyes locked on the two of you, a muscle in his jaw ticking. You caught his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and for a split second, you could swear you saw something more than annoyance—something sharper, hotter.

Nick, oblivious to the rising tension, deepened the kiss slightly, his thumb brushing your side as he leaned in closer. You couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, the ridiculousness of the situation making it impossible to take seriously.

“Thirty seconds left!” Ava announced, giggling uncontrollably.

Chris muttered something under his breath, his knuckles tightening around his beer bottle. He leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze never leaving you and Nick. The air between you and Chris felt charged, like an undercurrent of something unspoken was threatening to surface.

When Ava finally shouted, “Time’s up!” Nick pulled back with a triumphant grin, his lips still slightly red. “Well,” he said, pretending to adjust an imaginary tie, “that was magical. You’re welcome, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you pushed his chest lightly. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

The room was alive with laughter and jokes, but you couldn’t ignore the way Chris’s gaze lingered on you. His expression was a mix of frustration and something else—something darker that sent a shiver down your spine.

Nick plopped back onto the couch, throwing an arm over the back as if nothing had happened. Chris, however, stood abruptly, muttering something about getting another drink as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Ava leaned toward you, whispering, “Did you see Chris’s face? He looked like he was about to explode.”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where Chris was pointedly not looking at anyone, and felt a pang of unease mixed with something you couldn’t quite name. 

Chris strolled back into the room, his face unreadable as he grabbed a beer from the counter and leaned casually against the couch. The energy in the room had shifted slightly since Nick’s turn, and you could feel Chris’s gaze flick toward you every now and then, sharp and assessing.

“Alright,” Nick said, handing Chris the dice with an exaggerated flourish. “Your turn, bro. Don’t wimp out on us.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Like I’d ever wimp out,” he said, shaking the dice with a deliberate slowness that made everyone groan.

“Just roll already!” Ava laughed, still curled up next to Matt.

Chris finally tossed the dice onto the floor. Everyone leaned forward to see the result, and the room went dead silent as the words hickeys and boobs faced up.

“Holy shit,” Nick breathed, his face lighting up with mischievous glee. “This is about to get interesting.”

Matt immediately turned to Ava. “Not happening,” he said firmly, his protective instincts kicking in before anyone could even suggest her name.

Ava raised her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m off-limits.”

Chris’s eyes flicked toward you, and you froze as the realization hit. He couldn’t pick Ava, which left… you.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and low as his gaze locked onto yours, “looks like you’re up, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and the room collectively erupted into laughter and cheers. “Are we deadass right now.” you protested, your face heating up.

“Rules are rules,” Nick said, barely holding back his laughter.

Chris set his beer down, standing up and extending a hand toward you. “C’mere,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Chris settled back onto the couch, motioning for you to come closer. The room felt electric, charged with a mix of laughter and tension as you hesitated for a moment. Then, with every eye on you, you slowly made your way toward him, your heartbeat pounding louder with each step.

He reached out, taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap with a confidence that made your stomach flip. His hands rested on your waist, steadying you as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Relax,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “I’m not gonna bite—unless you ask.

“Hey,” Ava said, waving her hand like a referee. “No funny business, Chris.”

Chris smirked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to mischief. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I’ve got this under control.”

His hands slid up your sides, his movements slow and deliberate as he hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt. “This okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, nodding, your cheeks burning. The room had fallen eerily quiet, everyone watching with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

Chris lifted your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the floor. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, he unhooked your bra and let it fall forward, though he made sure to keep your back to the rest of the room. From their vantage point, all anyone could see was your bare shoulders and the curve of your spine.

He glanced around the room briefly, addressing the group. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, his tone light but carrying a hint of warning, “this is for my eyes only.” 

“You good?” Chris murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands settled back on your hips.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His fingers trailed lightly over your skin, sending a shiver through you before he leaned forward, his lips pressing against the curve of your shoulder. He started slow, his mouth warm and deliberate as he worked his way toward the base of your neck. Each kiss was soft but insistent, and you felt your pulse quicken as his teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp.

“Jesus,” Nick muttered from somewhere behind you, breaking the silence. “This is… wow.”

“Yeah I’m horny as fuck” Ava sighed, though her tone was more amused than anything.

Chris ignored them, his focus entirely on you. His lips moved with precision, leaving a trail of red marks along your skin, his breath warm against you. His hands tightened slightly on your hips, holding you steady as he pressed another kiss just above your collarbone, lingering longer this time.

Chris’s hands stayed firmly on your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your hips as he leaned in again, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re so tense,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “We’ve got time.”

Before you could respond, his lips found your collarbone again, trailing down with unhurried precision. He pressed another kiss just above the swell of your chest, his mouth lingering longer this time. The warmth of his breath against your skin made your pulse race, and you gripped his jeans tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“Chris,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He hummed softly, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. “Hmm? Something you wanna say?”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot just below your collarbone, the sensation sending a jolt of heat through you. He pulled back slightly, his red-rimmed eyes meeting yours with a mix of mischief and intensity.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone condescending.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. Chris tilted his head, studying you for a moment before leaning back in. This time, his kisses were slower, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your tits. He left a trail of faint red marks, each one deliberate and placed with care around your nipples, like he was painting a picture only the two of you could see.

The room around you felt like it had disappeared entirely. You were vaguely aware of the occasional murmur or laugh from your friends, but their voices were distant, muted by the pounding of your heart and the heat of Chris’s touch.

His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs skimming the curve of your ribs as he tilted his head to press another kiss just above your sternum. He paused, his tongue flicking lightly over the mark he’d just made, soothing the sting before moving to a new spot.

“You’re letting me take my time,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “I didn’t expect that.”

You swallowed hard, your voice shaky. “What do you mean?”

Chris chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your chest. “You’ve always been a little stubborn. I figured you’d push me away by now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his lips found your nipple, and all coherent thoughts evaporated. His teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp, and his hands tightened on your waist, holding you steady as your body instinctively grinded down on him.

The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating, as his kisses became more purposeful, more insistent. He moved to your other nipple, leaving a series of marks along your breast that you knew would linger long after the night was over.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Chris leaned back slightly, his hands moving back to your waist. “All done,” he said softly, though his eyes lingered on your purple and red chest for a moment longer.

“Damn,” Nick said, shaking his head with a grin and leaning over to catch a glimpse. “Chris, you didn’t have to make it an art form.”

“Shut up,” Chris muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. He picked up his beer again, taking a slow sip as he leaned back into the couch. “Don’t look at that,”

Ava gave you a knowing look, her grin playful. “You good, Y/N? You look a little… flustered.”

You avoided Chris’s gaze, your cheeks burning as you focused on adjusting your shirt. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing.

Chris leaned closer to grab his beer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re fine, huh?” His eyes glinted with that same mix of mischief and heat. “Good to know.”

Chris smirked as you fumbled to put your shirt and bra back on, his eyes lingering just a little too long as you adjusted the fabric over your chest. Before you could fully settle back onto the couch, he caught your waist with one hand and turned you around so you were sitting sideways on his lap. The movement was seamless, and natural, as though he had done this a hundred times before with you. Which wasn’t nesicarily a lie. 

“Whoa,” you mumbled, caught off guard.

He chuckled softly, his other arm coming around your waist, resting there with a protective ease. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and calm. “You look more comfortable here.”

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the weight of his arm across your waist grounding you. But what made your breath hitch was the distinct pressure beneath you, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh and lower back. Your cheeks burned as you tried not to squirm, hyperaware of every shift in your position.

Chris’s grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in a way that sent a shiver through you. He didn’t say anything about your reaction, but the faint smirk on his lips suggested he knew exactly what you were feeling.

“You good?” he asked, knowing damn well.

You nodded quickly, your hands nervously clutching your knees. “Yeah,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

The game continued, though your focus was shot. Every time someone laughed or shouted, it felt like background noise compared to the steady rise and fall of Chris’s chest against your back. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, his fingers occasionally flexing, sending small jolts of heat through you.

Nick rolled another absurd combination and ended up having to kiss Avas neck, which sent everyone into fits of laughter. Ava, still giggling, leaned into Matt, her head resting on his shoulder as the group wound down.

Eventually, the game fizzled out, everyone too tired or too drunk to keep it going. Nick sprawled out on the floor, groaning. “Alright, I call dibs on sleeping in Y/N’s bed,” he announced, throwing an arm over his face dramatically.

You laugh but agree nonetheless. 

“I don’t wanna deal with Chris kicking me all night. And the couch sucks.”

Chris’s arm tensed around your waist for a brief second before he let out a low laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “Enjoy.”

Ava stretched, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Matt and I are obviously taking my room,” she said, standing and pulling Matt to his feet.

Chris shifted beneath you, his hand dropping from your waist as he gently nudged you to stand. “Guess that leaves me with the couch,” he said casually, though there was an edge to his voice.

You glanced at him as you stood, catching the flicker of something in his expression—annoyance? Frustration? It disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual smirk.

“Night, Y/N,” he said, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment too long.

“Night,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating again as you turned away, trying not to think about the warmth of his hands or the way your body had reacted to being so close to him.

Nick grabbed your arm, tugging you toward your room with a grin. “Come on, bestie,” he teased. “Let’s crash before Chris decides to steal your bed or hop in with you and kick me out.”

You glanced back briefly, catching Chris settling onto the couch, one arm draped over the back as he watched you leave. His smirk was faint but there, and it stayed with you as you closed the door behind you, trying not to let your thoughts spiral into dangerous territory.

MASTERLIST

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @sturnsvelocity @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick

[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.

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Four)

A/N: This one is super short! I promise to post another today, so don't be too bored with this one please!

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc (will add more if asked)

To: Bruce Wayne 

Subject: Checking in on Casey’s Progress

Dear Mr.Wayne,

I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to take a moment and discuss Casey’s progress in therapy. They seem to be responding positively to self expression through art and psychotherapy. However, over these past weeks, I have noticed reoccuring themes in our conversation that I feel are important to bring to your attention.

Casey has expressed feelings of isolation and uncertainty about their role at home. They seem hesitant to ask for help, even when they need it, and I’ve observed signs of both emotional withdrawal and separation anxiety. In addition, I am curious about the role their companion, Yaya, plays in their socialization and development. 

My priority is to ensure Casey feels happy and secure, both in our sessions and in their daily life. If you are at all open to it, I’d like to further discuss ways we can work together to support their well-being. Please let me know a convenient time for us to connect.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards,

Johanna Hoffman, Ph.D. Child & Adolescent Therapist

Subject: Re: Checking in on Casey’s Progress

Dear Dr. Hoffman,

Thank you for the update. I appreciate your efforts.

Casey is well taken care of at home. I will keep your observations in mind.

Please contact Alfred for the details on future discussion.

Best,

Bruce Wayne

Subject: Re: Follow-Up on Casey’s Progress

Dear Mr. Wayne,

Thank you for your response. I will be sure to copy Mr. Pennyworth regarding the possibility of scheduling a parent or guardian interview in the near future. Additionally, I would like to extend the invitation to you, should your schedule allow. I believe a direct conversation with Casey’s parent as well as their guardian could provide valuable insight.

Best regards, Johanna Hoffman, Ph.D. Child & Adolescent Therapist

Delete this email thread?

A/N: I did say I'd get into their perspective didn't I? (...just never specified how much) ipromisethere'smoredon'tunfollowplease

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

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

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

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

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father��s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[piecesofkatecreates]

Some more X-Files fic recs

I've been working on a meaty new fic and haven't had much time to read, but here's a selection of some great ones I managed to squeeze (heh) in!

Some are WIPs.

This is a Safe Space by @wonder-xphile (WIP)

Mulder and Scully go undercover as a married couple attending therapy sessions. Nothing could go wrong there, could it? Not only a gripping twisty turny story but some great funny moments too, and quirky secondary characters. Can't wait to see how it ends!

An Unmarked Path by Spark_a_Flame1013

Heavy themes, but the story unfolds brilliantly and punched me in the feels (in a good way). Topped off with some steamy MSR and beautiful prose. I can't say too much without spoiling - so just read it!

Irrlicht by @asteraceae-blue (WIP)

Another WIP, I can't wait to read more of this one! I love a good AU. Mulder is the local weirdo to Scully's college student as their paths cross in the Summer of '83. Some lovely vivid descriptions - I was right there in that bar and grill on the sea. Some fun cameos, too.

lucky stars by @thursdayinspace

A lovely, well-paced story set in the aftermath of Syzygy. I love a one-bed, and this had some great working through of complex feelings, with both of them written perfectly in character the whole way through. Cosy cabins FTW.

rain check? by @thatfragilecapricorn30

Great little fluffy valentine fic, with spot-on banter. I wish I could be a fly on the wall watching this unfold. Sometimes these light, understated moments are the best.

The Reunion by @muldersfingers

This was great. Mulder poses as Scully's husband at her high school reunion, 'playing along' enthusiastically, of course. Highly entertaining and brilliantly bookended with their memories of a past indiscretion.

The Caller You Are Trying To Reach by @cecilysass

What is it about phone calls between these two that gets me grinning like a weirdo? Three of a Kind is one of my favourite episodes, and the thought of this conversation taking place tickles me no end. Mulder tripping over himself is such a treat. And that ending *chef's kiss*