#they never do it. they never ever ask for anything in return.

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"FOR HER" — Sakusa Kiyoomi

a/n : its official i am entering my baby fever era :) content : GIRL DAD SAKUSA. fluff. post timeskip. headcanon.

Girl dad! Sakusa who doesn’t cry in the delivery room, but when the nurse places her in your arms, you see the change happen in his expression before he even speaks. He stands beside you with one hand resting on the bedrail, still in his zip-up, curls flattened from the long hours, eyes fixed so intently on her tiny face that he barely breathes. You offer her to him, gently, and although he nods and reaches out, it’s with a kind of quiet reverence, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. When she’s finally in his arms, wrapped in that standard-issue hospital blanket, he doesn’t look away once. “She’s really ours,” he says after a long silence, voice soft and level like he’s stating a fact that still hasn’t settled in. You’re tired and aching and overwhelmed, but in that moment — watching him fall in love so quietly — you feel steadier than you’ve felt all day.

Girl dad! Sakusa who approaches parenting the way he’s approached everything else that’s ever mattered to him — with focus, with discipline, and with the same determination that made him the top ace in the country. He just does it. He reads every product label, tracks feeding times in his phone, and practices swaddling until the corners lie flat like muscle memory. You find him at night adjusting the baby carrier straps with one of her stuffed animals, narrowing his eyes like it’s something to be mastered. In the nursery, everything has its place: pacifiers in labeled containers, diapers stacked perfectly, bottles washed and sterilized on a rotating schedule that no one asked him to create. He’s not afraid of mess — he’s an athlete, after all — but this kind of order calms him. It’s the only way he knows to make sense of something this overwhelming. When you catch him in the early mornings rearranging the drawer of onesies so the softest fabrics are on top, you don’t interrupt. You just watch because you know that this is how he’s learning to love her.

Girl dad! Sakusa who is the first to notice that post-partum hit you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach, the way your hands linger over chores but don’t quite start them, the way you keep saying you’re fine even when your voice betrays how deeply tired you are. He doesn’t corner you about it — he just starts making it easier to breathe. He finishes bottles without being asked. He folds laundry without announcing it. He draws a bath and offers you the quiet without implying you owe him anything in return. And when you finally sit down beside him on the bed and admit, barely above a whisper, “I think something’s wrong,” he takes your hand and says, without even flinching. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do it alone.” That night, when the house is quiet, he tucks her in and then tucks you in too, placing your tea on the nightstand and brushing your hair back from your forehead before placing a kiss on your forehead like he’s reminding you that you’re still being held.

Girl dad! Sakusa who keeps her world structured, calm, and clean — not out of fear, but out of habit, and a deep belief that consistency makes kids feel safe. He doesn’t scold when she forgets to wash her hands before dinner. He just walks her to the sink, adjusts the faucet for her, and says, “Let’s try again,” with the same steady tone he uses when coaching a teammate through a play. You can already see how much of him lives in her — not just in her temperament, but in her tiny routines. The way she lines up her shoes by the door. The way she wipes the table with a napkin after dinner. He never told her to do any of that — she just watched him and followed his steps.

Girl dad! Sakusa who always stops what he’s doing when she calls for him. He never rolls his eyes or tells her to wait. Whether she’s holding a drawing she drew or asking him to see the rain outside on the balcony, he gives her his full attention. She brings him stories, toys, questions he doesn’t have answers to yet, and he listens to every single one. Sometimes, she climbs into his lap mid-stretch, legs crossed beneath her, curls sticking to her forehead, and just rests there like she knows there’s nowhere safer. You glance over from the kitchen and watch as he adjusts his posture just slightly to keep her steady, continuing his cooldown stretches like her presence is just part of the routine now.

Girl dad! Sakusa who teaches himself to braid because one morning she tugs at his sleeve and says, "Papa me want hair like Mama” and he doesn’t want to be the kind of father who says i don't know how to something like that. That night, while the house is quiet, you find him on the couch with one of her dolls in his lap, video tutorial paused on his phone, fingers fumbling but determined. He practices until the parts are clean, until the elastics hold. The first few mornings, the braid sits crooked on her head — slipping by lunchtime — but she runs to you saying, “Papa did it !” every single time. When he finally gets it right, she wraps her arms around him like he just won a trophy. And later, when you're brushing your own hair before bed, he watches you for a moment from the doorway, then comes up behind you, fingers gently sweeping your strands aside. “I didn’t realize how much of you she carries,” he says, quiet and sincere. “It makes me want to do everything right.”

Girl dad! Sakusa who brushes through her damp curls with more care than you thought possible. The spirals are his — the same exact texture that still coils around his forehead after a shower — but the color is yours, unmistakable in the morning light. When she’s sitting between his legs and he’s sectioning off her hair into neat parts, you sometimes find him pausing just to look. Not because he’s unsure of the process — he’s got the rhythm down by now — but because every time he sees her, it’s a new reminder that she’s equal parts both of you.

Girl dad! Sakusa who brings her to matches and never says a word about it being a distraction, though you know how seriously he takes preparation. She always sits with you, gripping a wrinkled “Go Papa !” sign in her fists, her legs swinging off the bleachers while she yells his name through a mouthful of fruit snacks. He rarely looks into the crowd — he’s too focused for that — but today, when she screams his name mid-serve, you swear you see the smallest flicker of a smile on his face. After the game, he comes straight to you both, drops to one knee, and listens to her long-winded play-by-play with a patience that makes even the camera crew step back. You take her hand as he packs up his bag, and she says, “Papa did good today !” He doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he walks just a little taller after that.

Girl dad! Sakusa who changes his phone ringtone to a voice memo of her calling for him because he says it’s easier to hear. It plays once during a team meeting and Atsumu nearly falls out of his chair laughing, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch. “She’s loud,” he says calmly, setting his phone face down on the table, “but she gets my attention.” When you hear it go off at home, it always makes you smile.

Girl dad! Sakusa who never talks about how much he loves being a father — not in words, at least. But you see it in how he shows up. In the way he learns her favorite breakfast, remembers the exact way she likes her blanket tucked in, memorizes the lyrics to a show he pretends to hate. You see it in how he looks at her when she doesn’t notice — like she’s the most surprising, most important thing that’s ever happened to him.

Girl dad! Sakusa who holds her hand tightly on her first day of school, walking her up to the gate with slow, even steps. She’s excited and confident. She lets go of his hand the second she sees her teacher and runs inside without looking back. You expect him to say something — maybe a joke, maybe a quiet sigh — but instead, he just stands there for a long moment. When you brush your fingers against his, he finally speaks. “She didn’t even turn around.” You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “She''s growing up.”

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[aphrvdisiac]

THE BLACKEST DAY.

ellie williams & abby anderson x fem!reader.

part three of off to the races & to lie and love.

synopsis | devotions, crimes, sacrifices. how far will ellie and abby go to make sure you’ll never escape again? what will be the ultimate decision to make for your life, and what is worth saving — your life and freedom, or them and their undying love?

tags | adult language. NC-17 rating content & dark elements; m*rder, mentions of kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behaviors, infidelity, violent behavior from ellabs, manipulation, graphic descriptions of t*rture (even psychologically), threats made with weapons, blackmail. slight adult content; fingering, slight voyerisum, double penetration, asphyxiation, usage of mommy and daddy.

author’s note | i want to say there is not much smut in here due to the fact there is great dominant focus on the relationship; we get a new light of ellabs, but they are 10x more cruel and mean. please proceed with much caution as sensitive and graphic content does exist in this story. if you find anything triggering to your wellbeing, please click off and do not continuing.

if you have decided or do decide to keep reading, you are

hereby responsible for your own media consumption.

Despite how much you did confession, you knew you were meant for eternal damnation.

However, you didn’t know that was being permanently tied to Abby and Ellie’s forever — and having to know what they would do to keep you by their side. 

You thought in a span of a year after they had lured you back in, they would lighten up and make some adjustments within their behavior and emotions in order for you to live a more carefree life — which made you an idiot to think that they’d ever do that.

Things had only gotten worse since you returned, and that made absolutely sure you would never be able to escape from them again; not that you planned to, but they couldn’t put it past you anymore. 

While you knew you were loved and wanted by them despite all odds, you felt like a hostage — but yet, who would put up with you like they did? They took all risks and sacrifices for you, did what they had to so you would know where you belonged.

That was understandable and reasonable enough, right?

It felt like everyday you had to lie to yourself to keep going on, to have hope and faith within the relationship. 

“You cannot stab every person who looks my way!” You yelled, upset about how Ellie and Abby dragged you out of Saks earlier because a man’s eyes moved past you while you were looking at skirts. “He was simply being human by looking around!”

“He definitely wanted you. What are you not getting?” Abby wondered, eyebrows furrowed as she sipped on a glass of bourbon. “It’s common sense and knowledge.”

“This is like when that man at the restaurant last week called you love after he asked if you wanted a refill,” Ellie recalled, and you were about to break open your skull in front of them. “We are simply protecting you. Always will.”

“I’m going to take your gun and use it on myself,” you muttered under your breath. 

It was the possessiveness and obsession that you once admired, now become so deadly and uncontrollable that it drove them mad. It drove you insane too, but in the perspective that this is what the rest of your life would look like. 

Abby and Ellie took a seat on the couch, a few feet separated from each other as they continued with sipping their drinks. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, their eyes set on you with amusing grins dancing on their lips. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the pair as Ellie cocked her head to the side, Abby waiting for you to speak your mind. 

You lifted up your left hand, your fresh manicure set being shown off. “You see this hand?” You asked, and they hummed. “Until it has a gorgeous Harry Winston ring on it, I don’t want to hear you both saying I’m all yours forever.”

“I don’t think we need to give you an engagement ring for you to know and understand that,” Abby stated, and you rolled your eyes, pursing your lips. “I feel like we have proven it enough; it’s you who needs to get that through your brain.”

“It’s unfair!” You said, and Ellie chuckled. “Murdering people doesn’t prove much.”

“No?” Ellie wondered. “You seem to enjoy our devotion to you, little one.”

“You enjoy this, bunny,” Abby followed up, her finger moving along the rim of her glass. “You know it yourself; you love that we would kill anyone for you. It gets you off as much as it does for us.”

You didn’t say anything back, only continuing to glare at them as they stared back. “I’m going to therapy now,” you said, dropping your arms and going to grab your purse. “I don’t want a bodyguard with me!”

“It’s for your fucking protection!” Abby yelled back, the pair hearing your footsteps fade away into the elevator, soaking in their high pride and ego. 

You were taken aback when they said you should go to therapy, stating how they felt guilty you had to witness Delilah’s corpse along with the amount of childhood issues you still held, and other amounts of shit to list. You were hesitant on it, but it was good that you could talk about anything, and everything — even about Ellie and Abby.

You could talk about how they were murderers, only due to the fact they paid the therapist to keep her mouth shut — they tripled her pay grade. At least at the end, you could let everything out and cry about it, be vulnerable and honest. 

A bodyguard ended up tagging along, staying three feet behind you and staying outside the therapist’s office as you sat inside, looking at your therapist, Jasmine. 

“How are you today? Do we need to talk about the girls?” She asked, notepad on her lap with her pen being played around by her fingers. “I know that look. What did they do now?”

“I am so sick of this bullshit where they say I am theirs,” you started off, holding onto the therapeutic plush that she kept on standby. “Of course, I am grossly attracted to it because of the strings that come along with that, but if I was truly theirs, why won’t they propose to me? They only speak of it when we are fucking.”

“Well, have you discussed this with them?” Jasmine asked, and you nodded. “You have to understand, all three of you have your issues that are brought into the relationship; the way your parents were has led you to be in love with toxicity.”

“It isn’t that toxic,” you protested. “We have problems, but.”

“They have killed for you, they had you bare witness to it so they could prove a point,” she added, and your eyes trailed away from hers, looking down at your lap. “Ellie and Abby didn’t have their own maternal figures, they disappeared; they knew abandonment, soaked that into yours, and transformed it into something sickening.”

“You say this, but never encourage me to leave,” you stated, and she tilted her head to the side, giving you a certain look. “I… I know it is not right, what they do, and I do hate it — but my whole life has been centered around them, they have given me everything, and I cannot just dismiss that.”

“You owe them nothing,” Jasmine assured. “You are still you, with or without them. I cannot force you to leave them, but you come in every two times out of the week, crying and complaining about them, what they have done.”

“Well, that’s what therapy is for,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. 

“Have you ever considered that you are in love with what they give, and not them anymore?” She wondered, and your eyes shot back up, locked into hers. “You said that they have given you everything — things that your parents couldn’t provide. You seek out that, not Ellie and Abby. You give into the things that fulfill your cravings.”

You scoffed. “And what cravings may that be?”

“Attention, love, protection,” Jasmine professed, and your brain had gone quiet. “Marriage won’t fix anything. You will continue to be in love with their providence, while they continue to be in love with violence and using you as an excuse to give into it.”

The room went quiet for a moment, being sure your heartbeat was making noise. “I do love them, I am in love with them,” you softly said, unknown to the tears that were coming out. “I do, I know I do.”

“You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that, rather than me,” she frowned, and sniffled, your head in your hands. “This relationship was built with purposes of chaos, manipulation, and violence — and that’s exactly how it will end. You know what they are capable of, and your love for them dissipated when you realized just how sick they are.”

After your session, you decided to go on a walk to clear your head further after your conversation with Jasmine. You knew you loved Ellie and Abby, you never questioned that at any time — the only things you questioned was how far they would go, and what personal sacrifices you would make; how much more your virtue and soul would be further tainted and bruised, just to satisfy their sadistic needs in exchange for their love and attention.

You knew there was darkness that clouded the relationship as they were purely responsible for it, but you gave into it — and somehow, you managed to find light within it all. Maybe it was to protect you from the cruel truth that they were psychopaths that didn’t hold an inch of remorse or mercy within their souls or hearts, not even in their minds. 

And sometimes, you did wonder if they used you as an excuse to murder, that maybe this entire time you gave them the perfect key for them to feed into their desires. If that was the truth, you would rather die. 

You walk back into the penthouse, taking off your shoes along with your scarf and coat. You heard your name being shouted from the girls' shared office as you careened to the sound of their voices and low jazz music that played. 

You stood there at the entrance, giving them a smile. “Sorry I took a while, I wanted to go for a walk.”

“How was your session with Jasmine?” Abby asked, putting down a file onto her desk as the pair made strict and serious eye contact with you, making your pulse race. 

They must have known something.

“It was okay, a really good session today,” you responded, picking at your cuticles. “It was one of those talks that just had me too in my head.”

“What did you guys talk about, though?” Ellie questioned, and you swallowed thickly. A haunting smile played on her lips, like she knew something and was trying to bait it out of you. 

Because they never ask what was discussed.

They said that was your business, your privacy, and they didn’t need to know about it. 

You went quiet, not knowing if you should lie though that would land your ass in hot water. You played with your necklace, fiddling with it as your mouth hung open, but nothing came out. You seemed gobsmacked, because you were.

What the hell did they know?

“I’ll tell you what was said,” Ellie started off, getting up from her desk chair, and slowly moved your way. “That fucking stupid therapist has been putting these lies into your head, and you’re believing her. Aren’t you?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, shuffling backwards. “Nothing was put in my head.”

“You hate what we do for you, little lamb?” Ellie asked, and you were on the verge of tears as she got close enough to grab your face, nearly cracking your jaw. “You think you are someone without us, hm? We can dump you back to your parents, and see if you keep thinking that.”

You sobbed, continuing to shake your head. “I–I was just talking!”

“Don’t fucking lie to us,” Abby approached the two of you, standing on the side while you looked at her. “We don’t pay her extra for no reason, and surely you are not that dumb to think we wouldn’t be keeping record of what your sessions consist of.”

You knew it was too good to be true. They just wanted to hold more stuff over your head. 

“You’re really breaking our hearts, bunny,” Abby sighed, but in a faux manner. “Do you think we are sick? Manipulative?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, and Ellie deepened her squeeze, getting a whimper out of you. “No, no! I was just too in my head!”

Ellie moved her head so you could be looking directly at Abby, your eyes glossy and tearful. “Do you know what will happen if you leave us, baby? If you even dare think about it?” She asked, her face close to yours that you could smell faint alcohol, and you shook your head. “We will fucking kill you. Your death will be guaranteed.”

“You are nothing without me! You have no fucking purpose if I don’t exist!” You shot back, and they chuckled. “You’ll go blue simply because I am the oxygen you breathe and crave; your life will be dull and boring because you have no excuse to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, look who finally got a mouth on her,” Ellie cooed, pushing you into Abby’s arms, and you were being lifted over her shoulder. “It’s almost like you enjoyed being fucked to the point your brain is sponge; only things you’re soaking up is to remember your place and who your devotion is to.”

You were being led up upstairs, knowing what was to come. You were sure the thumping of your heart could be heard, felt against Abby’s shoulder, and nausea came over you with regret attached to it. You started to cry out a symphony of apologies, trying to find any use or way to get out of Abby’s grip but the eyes of Ellie’s was proof that it wasn’t such a good idea to do.

The wind was knocked out of you when Abby settled you roughly onto the bed, your clothes stripped off your body with the desperate yet furious hands of Ellie. “I swear I am not going to leave you or anything!” You pleaded, trying not to break into tears as your glossy eyes begged for mercy. “I–I’m sorry!”

Abby had already seized a set of bunched-up rope, loosening it as Ellie straddled on top of you to hold you down. 

A part of you was getting hot and bothered by this, but the emotional state of you could not take it. After such a therapy session and a conscious part of your brain coming to life during your session, you could not even take the simplest touch of their hands on you. 

“Violet!” You screamed. 

You hardly used the safe word. Hardly. It has only been used twice in the span of dating the pair, and today it had to be used. 

Ellie hopped off your body, Abby dropping the rope. You broke into heavier sobs, your chest moving too rapidly and your breaths were shaky. 

They were trying to comfort you, but you only snapped. “Get the fuck away from me!” You kicked and crawled away to where the pillows rest, curling yourself up into a ball. “Get out, get out!”

“Baby—“

“Leave me alone!” You yelled, tossing a flower vase that sat on the nightstand towards their exact direction. To your unfortunate luck, they moved out of the way of it. “I just want to sleep. Alone.”

“Fine. Sleep alone,” Abby seethed, marching out of the room as Ellie stayed behind for a few seconds before following the blonde’s direction. 

It didn’t take long until tears came running out of you, nearly drowning in your sobs. You laid down, sobbing into a pillow and brought your knees back up to your chest again, shaking and shivering. 

You don’t know why it was today when you felt like you were breaking. It had been three years now, and the good girl act you kept up for them was coming to a crash, feeling it in your bones. 

You couldn’t bite your tongue anymore, but you had to. Because you were much of a bad person as they were; everyone they killed or harmed was because of you, because you tattled and wanted to see how far they'd go. 

And this was it. You reached the final level, and it caused you to have a psychological breakdown. You were now trapped in love with them, not in love.

Your need for love, attention, and desire caused you every sense of dignity and self worth you carried. You were nobody without them because they stripped you of who you were before them — and that made you fucking sick to your stomach. 

You couldn’t stand a night in the house with them as you boosted yourself up out of the bed and moved back to the front door where your shoes and coat hung with your scarf. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Abby asked, noticing her and Ellie staying feets away from you. “It’s late.”

You turned your head to them. “I’m not a fucking child; if I want to be one, I’ll go to my parents.”

“The ones who don’t fucking care?” She spat back, and you rolled your eyes as you adjusted your scarf around your neck. 

“Well, when I left you both and asked for haven, they offered it without hesitation,” you stated, grabbing your purse. “I’m sick of this shit.”

And like that, you walked out of the house before they could further protest. 

Which was only the beginning of the end. 

You were four dirty martinis in, elbows rested on the bar countertop as old blues music faintly played throughout the dingy bar. 

A body sat next to you, hearing the man order bourbon on the rocks. There was significant silence as it was you, three other strangers, and now him sitting around in the bar smelling of old musk and lemon. 

“So you’re here alone?” He asked, eyes focused on the basketball game that played on the laggy TV in the corner. “Or are your girlfriends waiting around?”

Your eyes snapped to him on cue as he met yours. “What?” You managed to sputter out. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Well that depends,” he mumbled, slouching forward with his arms crossed onto the countertop. “You see, your girls did a great deal killing my friend, Brandon. I mean, h—he was gonna go to fucking Princeton!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, pushing away your drink. “I have to go.”

“Oh, but I’m not going to let you,” he told you, grabbing a hold of your wrist as he viciously gripped it and leaned in closer to the side of your head. “Unless you want your pretty brains blown out.”

He had a gun. 

You stayed firm in your seat, his hand removed from your wrist. “How do you know me? Who are you? What do you even want?”

“Karma. Payback. Whatever they call it,” he admitted, clearing his throat as his drink finally arrived. “See, I did some good research into you and your girlfriends. Whoever is protecting them has a good way of keeping anything about them completely clear and hidden.”

“No one needs to protect them. They are good people,” you said, brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, but you— you fucking New York princess — no one is protecting you or your family,” he grinned, and nausea consumed you. “Now, you have a good record. I guess being a goody-two shoes will do that. However, those parents of yours… well, fuck.”

“My parents have nothing to do with anything,” you said, ready to break your martini glass for shards to stab into his eyes. “You leave them the fuck out of this.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“I don’t even know your name, freak.”

“Vincent Hayes.”

“Well Vincent,” you said, getting up from your chair, and threw down a few twenties onto the stained countertop. “I don’t give a fuck what agenda you have planned or want to succeed at, but leave me alone or I will take a gun to your head.”

“You might want to care,” he suggested, grinning. “No one wants a father who commits tax evasion and bribery, and has multiple affairs.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, inching yourself closer to him. “And if you dare to come after my family, I’ll come after yours. Whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

“You didn’t have this much spunk before Ellie and Abby,” Vincent reminded you, and you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, a method you’d had to come to use to prevent any harmful flashbacks.”If I remember correctly, you were a loser bitch.”

“And so was your buddy,” you said, giving him a pat on his arm before you walked out of the bar, and back home. Once you were only a few miles away from the place, you took your phone out of your purse, and went to your phone app, contacting your dad immediately.

“Hello?” He answered after a few rings. “Are you okay?”

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” you started off, exhaling heavily. “Nothing’s bad happening, right? Like you would tell me if you were okay, or in trouble?”

He went quiet for a few moments, only static making prominent noise over the line. “You have nothing to worry about, okay? I am taking care of everything for this family, and I need you to continue staying with the girls because of that. Okay?”

Continue staying with the girls.

When you wanted to be out, there was always going to be a reason why you had to stay. You hung up the call, and continued to walk back to the penthouse, stifling your sobs as you walked past strangers and a violent urge to puke everywhere. 

You didn’t want to go back home; in fact, you were okay with staying at a hotel or anything else for that matter. You disabled the tracker on your phone, and went on to call Jasmine. “Good evening,” she picked up after only two rings, and you sighed. “Why are you calling this late?”

“I… I don’t want to stay with them tonight. And I know this is inappropriate to ask, but may I stay with you this evening?,” you wondered, sniffling, and looked at the ground. “There is just so much that has happened tonight since the session, and I don’t have anywhere to go because they’ll find me.”

Jasmine gave you her address, and you sighed in relief, minimal anxiety being lifted off your shoulders. “I’ll run a kettle of tea for you, and I’ll be sure to give the doorman your name.”

You were curled up with a soft throw blanket on Jasmine’s couch, a warm cup of tea sitting in your hands. “Did anything particular occur today?” She asked, and you sighed, soaking in the sweet smell of lemon. “Seems like you’re extra fragile today.”

“They recorded our session today, they know what I said,” you sniffled, looking up from your tea. “I don’t know how, and of course I know they pay you to keep things a secret, but… Yeah, they know.”

“I would still be silent even if they didn’t pay me,” Jasmine confessed, and you grinned, your ears perking up, too. “Not for their sake, but for yours.”

“You’re a therapist, not my savior,” you stated, taking a sip of the tea. 

“When will it be enough for you?” She asked, placing herself slightly closer to you. “You are exhausted, scared, and finished. When will you draw the line?”

You wish you had the answer to that, but you never would. You should have drawn the line the second they killed Brandon James or Delilah, but instead you ran back to them, and caved in you; you were indefinitely trapped forever, and the only way out would be death.

“You deserve better,” she whispered as you noticed her body leaning in towards yours, her head dipping to a side angle. You knew what was going to take place, and you reckoned with your loyalty as Jasmine didn’t hesitate to put her lips onto yours, you caving into the kiss. 

You were loyal and submissive to Ellie and Abby — you had been for years. If they knew you were with another woman, letting her kiss you and tell you that they didn’t deserve you, they would be cutting her apart before your bare eyes. 

You shifted onto her lap, the kiss turning into a messy, desperate makeout session as Jasmine’s hands found their way under your shirt, and unclasped your bra. “I got you, you’re safe with me,” she whispered between a kiss, your shirt and bra coming off during it. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore,” her lips dragged down along your neck, to your collarbones. 

Guilt and shame should’ve come so sudden to you, should have allowed you to push away but you only wanted more. 

It wasn’t like you were sex deprived because you weren’t — Ellie and Abby made sure sex was a continuous routine in your everyday lives. But it was the gentle touching, the soft reassurance and kisses that you missed, and Jasmine was filling that void, and that is what she was only doing. 

You were using her to fill your satisfaction. 

The sun cracked through the windows and flared across your eyes, forcing them open and adjusting to the brightness. An arm was wrapped around your waist, and you noticed the tattoos on Jasmine’s arms, your fingertips following the traces of them. 

Your touch awoken her, and she hummed, smiling the moment she saw you. “Hey,” she whispered. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“I think she feels just fine,” Ellie’s voice came about, causing you and Jasmine to both jump up, your anxiety spiking. “Considering the fact our girlfriend’s clothes are off, and scattered in your living room.”

Abby stood aside, seemingly irritated and disappointed in you. However, you made out the gun that was in her front right pocket, and you swallowed thickly, nauseous and scared of what was to come. “I think Jasmine here thought she was her property,” Abby said, gesturing to the hickeys on your neck. 

“Just leave her the fuck alone,” Jasmine spoke up, and you cringed to her defense, only knowing she was making it worse. “She wants nothing to do with you.”

“Oh?” Ellie grinned. “Is that true, lamb?”

You felt small and weak suddenly, not responding or moving. 

“She won’t answer that,” Jasmine continued, scoffing. “She is scared of you, and she is done loving the two of you.”

“I’m really done hearing you whine, you bitch,” Abby chuckled, stomping towards Jasmine’s side of the bed, and grabbed her by a fistful of her hair. She tried to fight off your girlfriend, but it was impossible as she then dropped her to the ground, kicking her repeatedly in the lungs. “This is just the beginning of it.”

“Come on, sweet girl. We have to take these affairs somewhere more private,” Ellie said, and you glanced at her, shaking your head. You seemed like a scared, afraid puppy who had just been kicked again, and the auburn cooed at you, giving a faux pout. “You know something like this would happen, baby. Did you really think you would get away with this?”

Abby was in the background forcing a coat around Jasmine’s nude body, and slipping on her shoes. You couldn’t make out what the blonde was saying to her, but you were sure it wasn’t kind things, and possibly reassuring Jasmine that she was going to meet the end of her life. 

“Get on up, sweetheart,” Ellie pulled out her gun, clocking it. “Or do I have to re-train you all over again?”

You got up hesitantly, but moved your yesterday’s clothes back onto your body as Ellie made sure to keep the gun in your eyesight. “Are you going to kill her?” You asked, voice hush and soft, on the brink of crying. “You should hurt me, not her, Els.”

“We’re gonna find out together, baby,” Ellie grinned, and cocked her head for you to start following her. 

Minutes later, you and Jasmine were tossed into the back of a limo with your girlfriends. Abby had to securely put tape around her eyes and mouth the moment the doors closed behind you all, and you had to do your best to ignore her sobs. 

“We weren’t paying you to fuck our girl,” Abby blurted, and Jasmine let out a sniffle. “Miss Hills… You should have known better, even after you knew how Brandon Jasmes died when he decided to be a stupid fuck.”

“But you aren’t going to kill her,” you defended. “Not her — she does have people who will miss her, and someone will find out?”

“Like who?” Abby wondered.

Your brain registered the night of last, how you met Vincent Hayes who was a friend of Brandon’s, and was warning you of what he knew, and was going to do. 

“Someone’s threatening me,” you stated, and the girls shifted their eyes entirely onto you. “When I left last night, I went to the bar and this guy started threatening me – saying how he had stuff on my dad that could land him in prison.”

“And you decided to what — fuck your therapist? How fucking cliché can you be, sweetheart?” Ellie asked, and you rolled your eyes, visibly irritated and frustrated. “What’s his name? What does he know?”

“He knows your guys’ slates are clean, and you killed Brandon,” you recalled, and they hummed. “But he said my dad is committing tax evasion, bribery, and more. And then he…”

Your girlfriends shifted closer in, panicked but alerted.

“Spit it out, bunny.”

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “He then threatened to blow my brains out.”

Abby looked at Ellie, an unsettling laugh leaving her mouth. “Jasmine… Today is your lucky day,” Ellie said, Abby giving her a curt nod. “But we still need to take care of you for fucking around.”

The car came to a sharp halt as you looked outside to see an empty warehouse. Ellie opened up the door, stepping out while Abby grabbed and dragged Jasmine out of the car, the girl kicking her legs and screamed. “Bunny, you need to see this for yourself. This is your new punishment.”

It's not like you had a choice, you had to oblige and obey. You already put yourself in a grave for letting someone else fuck you, although you continued to see it as you using Jasmine. You got out of the car, following behind all the girls, and saw a table that had multiple objects on top of them; a wrench, hammer, pilers, and rope. 

Abby shoved Jasmine into a chair that stood in the middle of the large, empty warehouse. You eyed around, seeing dried blood spots scattered everywhere, and your body cringed and shivered. 

So this is where the killing takes place, you thought to yourself. This is where people I caused to die last saw before they went away.

And Jasmine was possibly next.

“I don’t want to see this please,” you cried, shaking your head. “Please don’t let me.”

“But you will miss all the fun,” Ellie said, frowning. “And I told you that this is your punishment.”

Abby binded Jasmine’s arms and legs, putting some around her waist to the chair to keep her entirely strapped down. “You think we must be exaggerating when we say we would do anything for you,” she started off, grabbing the wrench. “Or when we say that you lead all these people to die, and we just have to take care of them for you.”

The wrench then hits Jasmine in the stomach, a muffled scream coming out from behind the duct tape. 

Ellie stood behind you, her gun pointed to your back as her hand held and squeezed your jaw, forcing you to watch closely and attentively. “Some of those fingers of hers have to go,” she cooed, sighing dramatically. “It’s unfortunate. She was a good therapist for a while.”

The wrench went on to beat down on her legs, Abby taking a fun swing at every inch and part, bones cracking and breaking. 

“Abby, take off the tape,” Ellie suggested, and the blonde obeyed, ripping both pieces off. “We are going to give Jasmine a show, baby. Take off your bottoms.”

You nodded and sniffled, your shaky hands reaching to the waistband of your jeans and underwear as you snug them off down to your ankles. Ellie’s hand went from your jaw, down to your stomach and cunt, her fingertips grazing over it. You shivered to her touch, whimpering for more — it was sick how your body immediately responded and gave into her touch, wanting and needing more. 

“Who’s your daddy, angel?” Ellie asked, loud enough for Jasmine to hear. “Go on, and say who is. Let her know.”

“I–It’s you, Els. Only you,” you moaned, her fingers dipping inside of your cunt and perfectly curled in, moving at a harsh pace. “My body is yours and Abby’s.”

“You hear that, Miss Hills?” Abby wondered, dropping the wrench and picked up the hammer next. “Did you fucking hear that!” The hammer struck at her feet, a harsh scream escaping her but Abby got a cruel rise out of it, taking the hammer to her hands. 

Your brain ran around with what was happening around — Jasmine being tortured, Abby finding it humorous, and Ellie fucking you for her to see. 

Your climax approached you instantly, not giving Ellie a heads-up as you let it go, and continued to cry from how you wanted to cover yourself up and repent for how your body gave into Ellie’s demand. 

Abby shifted from the hammer to the piler’s in the blink of an eye, and used them to break and half-amputate a few of Jasmine’s fingers. You knew what they were doing, though — they were also torturing you, wanting you to understand that they could do worse than this next time. 

You knew about them being murderers, so why wouldn’t they give you a show. 

Jasmine Hills ended up being discarded in an alleyway hours later with a pulp face, dangling fingers, damaged palms, and a bruised and broken body. 

You decided to stay at your parents house for a few days after what you witnessed and endured. You didn’t know what to do about your girlfriends, almost terrified to even sleep around them, and you were already experiencing nightmares

“Amore, you have a guest!” Your mom shouted, and you groaned, getting up from your bed. You had been sinking in your comforters for those days, garbage of foods and cups dumped in mindless places, with you in days-old pajamas. 

You shuffled into the main living room of your parents Manhattan’s penthouse. Thinking it would be about anyone else, you were met with Vincent Hayes.

You couldn’t curse him out in front of your mother, without making it suspicious. “Um, hi?” You said, and he smiled, taking a close look at you. “How can I help you, Vincent?”

“We need to have a conversation,” he told you, and you sighed. Your gut wanted you to listen and have the conversation, a part of you feeling like it was something you needed to hear. You only nodded and gestured your head for him to follow you out to the terrace. 

You stepped into New York’s cold weather, sitting down at the small coffee table as he sat across from you. “So, you’re stalking me now?” You wondered. “I could have you arrested for that.”

“You’re barely with them,” Vincent said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “I have eyes on you and them. Last thing I know is you were in some dingy warehouse.”

You sucked in tears to the memory, and he noticed, only tossing his pack and lighter to you. 

“They needed to do what they did,” you defended, lighting up the stick. “Nothing horrible happened.”

“The girl is in the hospital — the NYPD categorized her as a Jane Doe because she was that unrecognizable,” Vincent professed, and you let out a heavy puff. “You don’t want part of this, and I can help you.”

“What? Who said I want your help?” You scoffed and shortly chuckled, shaking your head. “Abby and Ellie are everything to me — you just don’t understand our relationship. They have done so much for me, more than my parents ever have.”

“A friend of mine in the DA office knows who has eyes on your dad, snitching him out and stuff,” Vincent started, lighting up his own cigarette as he dazed out for a second when he let go of his first puff. “You see, there is corruption in the justice system. Some of the prosecutors in the DA office know that the girls paid somebody to plant evidence on that other person, and that they are killers.”

“And you are telling me this, why?”

“You exchange information about Anderson and Williams, and the DA office will drop everything on your dad,” Vincent confessed, and your eyes widened, your heart sinking. “You don’t want anything to do with what they are doing. You were seemingly unaware until Brandon.”

“So let me get this straight,” you paused, deadpanning at him. “You want me to betray my girlfriends — the only people in my life who truly love me — just to save my dad’s ass? For all I care, my dad deserves to be there more.”

Vincent sighed, irritated and in disbelief. “I can see that you are struggling with what to do,” he stated, almost as if he wanted to sympathize, but just couldn’t. “If they get caught, you will be in just the same trouble as them. Imagine how that will look on your parents? What will it do to them?”

“It's like you said — I didn’t know what was happening until Brandon,” you repeated, nearly out and done with your cigarette. “The reason why your friend is dead is because he decided to be a prick, and think he was a high value man or something. If it wasn’t the girls going to take care of him, someone else eventually would.”

Vincent kept a calm demeanor, but with his hands tightened into vein-popping fists, it was sure he was going to blow at any moment. Minutes passed and his hands unclenched as he stood up from the chair, and burned out the bud of his cigarette. “There’s going to be a memorial for Brandon tonight at the St. Peter church,” he told you, and you raised a brow, tilting your head to the side. “Tomorrow will be one year since he was discovered dead. Just come by… I encourage you to do so.”

He excused himself out, and you continued to sit outside, staring at the skylines and sighed heavily. You felt an immense amount of guilt for Brandon’s death, it is something you couldn’t ignore, even as you tried to justify why he died or how he came to it. 

You were the only person at fault. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you took it out, seeing Abby’s contact name. For days, they have tried to ring you, text you back to back, and do anything they could to get an ounce of your attention. 

You decided to answer it this one time. 

“Bunny.”

The line was static for a few moments. 

“Bunny, come home,” Abby pleaded, and you sniffled. “We only mean to take care of you, love you — however we mean to do that.”

“I… Tonight’s not good,” you mumbled, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I have something to do, and I’m not just ready to see you and Els yet. I need time.”

Abby was quiet, and it caused you to shiver. Any silence that came from your girlfriends was not a good sign, and it could only mean they were a plot being made, or they were going to do something beyond inhumane. 

The line went dead, and you were left with the bustling noises of New York, your heart sinking into your stomach. 

How could anything get worse?

You stood outside St. Peter’s church, frozen and paralyzed in your spot as you watched people walk in. You swallowed thickly, your fingernails clawing into the palm of your hand to give yourself any hint of ease and calmness. 

Then you heard your last name being called out to you. You turned your head, seeing two older figures approaching you, a female and male. “I’m Detective Ramirez, this is Detective Adams. We are with NYPD Homicide, and we are revisiting a case involving Brandon James,” the female spoke, a smile playing on her lips to seem pleasant and kind. “It’s surprising to see you here.”

“His friend invited me,” you answered. “How can I help you?”

“Miss, you know why we are here,” Adams said, and you hummed, nodding. “You were declared a misfit for the trial, that’s why you weren’t in it, but you know what happened. And you can put them away.”

“If they were already found innocent, why retry them?” You wondered. “Doesn’t the justice system grant innocence to those who are innocent?” 

“The DA wants a retrial, but it is only possible if you agree to be part of it,” Adams added, and you scoffed. “If you consent to it, the DA will let go of your dad, and stop sniffing around.”

“You are some corrupted fucks,” you laughed. “Now if you excuse me, I have to get inside.”

Ramirez momentarily stopped you in your tracks, shining a small card in front of you. “Here are our contacts if you decide to change your mind.”

You stared at her and the card, back and forth, before your hesitant hand seized it and you nodded. You walked off, putting the cards in your purse and continued inside, a crowd filling the pews while some stood off to the side talking. 

“Welcome, child,” you heard the priest approach you, and you smiled, greeting him. “You are a friend of the deceased?”

You nervously smiled. “I guess you can say that, Father.”

You two shared a small, curt laugh until his eyes shifted a deep focus on you. “Something is troubling you however,” he stated, and you shivered, stumbling on your words as you tried to deny it. “The Lord never lies, my child. You are tackling something.”

“I believe I cannot confess here, Father,” you told him, and he hummed, nodding. He gestured his head for you to follow him, and before you knew it, you were in the confessional booths. 

All you could think about was getting fucked in one by the girls about last year. 

“Forgive me for Father, for I have sinned,” you began, blessing yourself and kissing the side of your hand shortly after. “Forgive me for I am not that religious but–”

“God accepts all,” the priest stated. “He forgives all.”

“Well Father, I think I killed a man,” you admitted, looking down at your lap. “My partners, they are protective of me, and it is in their nature. But they have taken it far multiple times, and I wasn’t aware of it until last year. And when I tried to escape them, I only allowed them back in, and now I am trapped in Hell.

“But, I love them, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to go to Hell for things they have done, or for God to hate me over it. They have killed so many people because I tattle-tale on them, and my partners showed no mercy, no kindness. And I just… I am so lost, and scared. Father, I don’t see no way out of this except self execution.”

“Self execution is a sin, I plead you know this,” he stated, and you broke into sobs, hunching over as you held yourself. “There is nothing wrong to love those who God brought into your life, child. The only sins that have been committed here are wrath, greed, and pride; and they have not been done by you. You are not responsible for the sins that have been committed, you are not destined for Hell.”

“But I have fueled their sins. I am their biggest one.”

The priest went quiet for a moment, a frustrated but saddened sigh escaping him as he himself struggled. He sympathized, knowing you were just a girl who was lost and landed herself in a wrong situation. 

For the past few years, the high was blissful and could not get better than that. You thought Abby and Ellie were your angels sent from God himself, but after Brandon, Delilah and Jasmine, you realized they were fallen ones, instead. Their fair beauty and success drew you to them, and you were blinded by it so much, you could not see what they were like beneath.

They used you to excuse their drive and need to harm individuals, to let out what they were made up of.

Evil.

“Am I wrong to love the Devil? Is that what this is, Father?” You asked. “I need to know.”

“Jesus loved Judas. God loved Lucifer. Does that make them wrong? Did they let Lucifer and Judas' betrayal and sins affect them?”

You sniffled, and only nodded to yourself, assuring you that this fate was old as time. You were not wrong to come to love them, but it was only about what you were going to do next. 

“I want you to do penance — charitable work, twenty hail marys for the next two weeks, and leaving these partners of yours soon,” the priest demanded, his voice tough and stern. “The Lord will then forgive you, my child.”

When everyone wanted you to stay with Ellie and Abby — even made a reason to — the voice of God himself demanded you shouldn’t. 

“Thank you, Father,” you said, and walked out of the confessional booth. Walking back into the main center of the cathedral, you saw Vincent, and his eyes immediately picked up on you. You decided to let yourself approach him as a smug look was plastered onto his face, and you rolled your eyes over it.

“Something change your mind?” He asked. “Thank you for coming, it means everything.”

“I just wanted to um… pay my respects,” you assured, and he hummed. “It is my fault he is dead after all. But I can’t stay long, I have some things to situate.”

“Going to testify?” He wondered. “I saw those detectives talking to you outside.”

“Wow, you do stalk me a lot,” you bitterly joked. “I am sorry about Brandon, though. I didn’t know they were so capable of… you know. I didn’t think they would do that.”

“The only way you can truly get forgiveness is if you leave them,” Vincent said, and you knew he was right, but it wasn’t that easy. Everybody made it sound like it was the most simple action you could make, but it wasn’t. 

Abby and Ellie had been your whole life, and they had committed so much towards you, and the thought of abandoning them after it all made you want to hurl everywhere. You knew that leaving them would end with catastrophic consequences, and it wouldn’t happen right away nor ever; the last time you tried to leave, you were brought right back in. 

You walked out of the church without saying much else, and you were met with your girlfriends right outside. You froze paralyzed, eyes scanning for the detectives as a precaution, and you shivered to their darkening gaze that rage with hunger and madness. 

“Come on, baby,” Abby beckoned you over to her car. Ellie fiddled with something in her pocket, and it made you hesitant and nervous. “We aren’t gonna hurt you, we just need to show you something.”

For once, your interest was piqued and you tried to let go of your anxiety, practically shuffling over to the car. Abby opened the backseat door, and you climbed in with Ellie trailing behind you. “I have to blindfold you, honey,” Ellie said, and you eyed her, shaking your head. “Not because of that. We are taking you to a sweet surprise, I cross my heart on that.”

“You could be killing me just for leaving,” you protested, and Ellie sighed, taking out one of her suit ties from her pocket. “No, no! I don’t want to die.”

“Oh, don’t be so hysteric,” Ellie groaned. “It is sweet and you’ll like it. It is what you have been waiting for.”

You wanted to hesitate, but instead slowly gave in and let Ellie blindfold you as your heart raced immensely under your skin, and you could feel a wave of nausea coming to you. They could be tricking you, and as foolish as you are, you had fallen for it and were about to be executed.

Maybe God heard one of your prayers, and decided to cave into it for you. 

The car ride went by in quiet, the only thing surely heard being your heartbeat and the sound of you cracking your fingers as a distraction.

Ellie put her hand over both of yours. “Stop that. You know it isn’t good.”

“I’m scared.”

“We would never kill you, bunny,” Abby stated, sincerity drawn into her voice. “We know you get caught up in your head because of things we have done and put you through, but the thought of taking your life has never crossed our minds. In fact, it still stands that we would not exist without you.”

You nodded, unknowingly of the grins that played on their lips. The car came to a full stop only minutes later, and Ellie carefully escorted you out, feeling hands on each side of your waist guiding you; Ellie’s hand was cold, while Abby’s was warm. 

They made sure you didn’t trip or fall down while altogether padding up a flight of stairs, always careful whenever they were the ones moving you around; you were that fragile to them. If you were to fall down on the pavement you were walking across and scrape your knees, they would immediately be kissing the wounds and tending to them, angry at themselves for being so mindless with you. 

“Okay, here we go,” Ellie whispered, and the second the blindfold was off, a symphony orchestra played a version of Hallelujah – but it wasn’t the original, but by your favorite 1994 version of it by Buckley.

A candlelit path remained in front of you with rows of your favorite flowers being placed everywhere, and you could see the city lights of New York in the background. 

Then you realized you were on the rooftop of Faye Academy – where history all started. Your partners moved you down the path as you broke into sobs with your face into your hands, and could not believe what was about to happen. 

A proposal. 

When you got to the end of the pathway, you were in a circle of roses and lilies that were in beautiful blossoms. Ellie and Abby stood in front of you, noticing them nervous for the first time ever in your life; usually they were so bold and confident, but in this moment, they were shaking and finding a way to calm themselves down. 

Ellie started off by stating your name, a shiver running down your spine. “You have been the bane of our existence for a few years now, and you will forever remain as our religion, and our sole reason for living and breathing. Abby and I never thought we would find the same soulmate, but it is one of the greatest and only blessings we got out of God, and we would not want it any other way.”

“Since the first day we saw you, mindful and occupied, we were instantly drawn to you,” Abby continued on, grinning as she could recall that very memory. “The light from the sun graced you that day, and we just knew you were meant to be ours for lifetimes.”

What you had just confessed to the priest fleeted through your head, and his demands for you were sunk into nothingness in this moment. You wanted to believe they were just finding a way to further hold you hostage, but the way their face and voices softened, laced with love and genuinity, you wanted to kiss them and forgive them for everything.

At the end of the day, they were your girls and they did everything for you. They were the ones who always took care of you and defended your honor when no one did, and when you were left abandoned and alone, they came to your rescue.

You were always meant to be theirs, one way or another.

“Will you be our wife, bunny?” Abby asked, and you broke into further sobs, nodding. Ellie took the ring box out of her pocket, and you saw a beautiful Harry Winston ring that made you nearly choke onto your sobs.

“I love you!” You shouted, jumping into their embraces as they both managed to hold you close. “Yes I will marry you– Fuck, I want to be your wife.”

A wife. You were going to be a wife to the loves of your life, and your brain managed to forget everything that had happened for the past year until only a few days ago. You believed that everything was worth it to lead up to this moment, and now everything would get better and healthier; you would be wives, and you would have to live a happy marriage if things were meant to be, or if a kid would come into the picture. 

“Our pretty little wife, hm?” Ellie teased, and you nodded again, earning a soft laugh out of them. 

In an hour, you were between the two of them back at your shared home, Abby kissing on your neck as Ellie groped your ass and bunched your dress up to your waist to get a feel of your soaking cunt. “So soon until we put a fucking baby in you, little one,” 

You purred at their touches and kisses, any ounce of purity and doubt moving out of you. You would let them desecrate you every time, and you would feel pure heaven and bliss in it, letting them own and control your body. 

“We missed you so much, baby,” Abby said, kissing behind your ear. “Make us proud and get on the bed.”

You hummed, maneuvering yourself onto the bed where you slowly removed your dress as you gave your girlfriends a strip tease, with your undergarments coming off last. You bent your body down, knees and elbows sinking into the mattress, able to feel it dip heavier from behind you. 

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Abby cooed, her fingertips grazing along it. “Will never be able to get enough of this; you just know how to make us want to destroy you, bunny.”

Ellie came onto the bed in front of you, her strap in front of your face as she pushed any strands of hair out your face, and gripped onto your chin. “You gonna be good for us, doll?” Ellie wondered, and your eyes softened before her primal ones, nodding.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s our girl. See, you still remember who you belong to,” she praised, and you giggled, putting your hand around the silicone, licking the tip. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.”

Abby spat down onto your cunt, rubbing it in before she roughly pushed herself into you, and you gasped harshly, eyebrows furrowing. “Left us hanging for a bit, baby. You let another girl touch you and everything; can’t lie to you, it made us wet and turned on. We knew she wasn’t better than us.”

Ellie grabbed your head and forced a mouthful of her cock into yours, earning immediate gagging noises and a glop of drool forming around the object. Your eyes rolled, light breaths coming out of you with each thrust from Ellie and Abby, your head already dizzy and cloudy.

“Oh, look at you, sweetheart,” Ellie teased, petting the top of your head with each thrust she put forth into your mouth. “She just always gets so messy, doesn’t she, Abs?”

“She’s fucking soaking and milking my cock,” Abby groaned, feeling her own wetness form under the harness. “Just needed us to fuck her and break her all over again, make her remember she can’t leave ever again.”

Abby pounding into you always feel intoxicating, you always needed to be bouncing on her cock and letting her know how desperate you were; you wanted to suck and gag on Ellie for hours, and let her fuck the back of your throat until it was hoarse and raw. 

You needed them in each, every little special way that could satisfy your needs to the fullest extent. They could do that, no one else. They could make you theirs and make you feel worship with their sweet nothings, or cocks breaking into you one way or another.

Drool dripped down your chin, your eyes drooping as Ellie had to practically keep your head up to keep her cock shoving back and forth into your mouth. You allowed her to use your mouth, let her get her own sick satisfaction out of this moment, Abby doing the same thing while your cum was looping around her dick.

“Let’s break her,” Ellie said, and Abby stopped all movements into you, a whine escaping your mouth. “You need another punishment, baby. You must think we are stupid.”

Abby grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to be dragged to the floor before them, and your knees slammed against the hardwood floors. “Jasmine was one thing, baby,” she began, clicking the roof of her mouth in thought. “But the police are another. Where is your loyalty?”

You frowned, staring up at them back and forth. “It’s to you. It has always been to you.”

“And Vincent Hayes?” Ellie asked. “He is awfully close to you.”

“I wanted to pay my respects to Brandon,” you admitted, sniffling. “I… I felt guilty and bad.”

“Guilty? For what? For letting that sick fuck call you a bitch?” Abby questioned, and you shook your head. “Use your brain, sweetheart. You are clearly dumb, and need us to guide you through everything in life.”

“I’m not dumb, I—I just felt really bad,” you neared breaking down, eyes shifting away. “It is my fault he is dead. It is my fault so many people got injured or died.”

“Here is what you seem to forget – and look at us, baby,” Abby demanded, and you slowly peered back up at them. “It is our sole duty for us to take care of you, and protect you. Do you know where you would be in life without us? How sick and lost you would be? People would be using you and taking advantage of you if we never existed, sweetheart.”

“I… I would have minded my own business forever if we never met,” you stated, wiping your tears away. “I won’t talk to anyone, I haven’t spoken. This ring,” you lifted up your hand, “it states that I am yours for lifetimes, and I will do anything as your wife and partner. Nothing or no one could take me away.”

The pair seemed to be satisfied by your answer because in their heads, they got you right where they needed you forever; submissive, trapped, and loyal – like a fucking dog.

It took cunning patience to mold you into this state, and make sure you would never leave again; if putting a ring on your finger was the way, so be it — at least you could not go anywhere and your loyalty was finalized by a proposal, and soon a marriage. 

They could not risk you fleeing from them, and they had to keep as their pretty hostage for the rest of your shared lives; if they had to repeatedly kill, torture, and remind you where your lifetime stood, they would do just that.

After all, they loved you. They cared. Who else would?

A backhand came from Abby as she dragged you back to the bed, and in moments, you were stuck between Ellie and her. Ellie bent you slightly forward as spit went down your ass and she shoved her into your ass, and Abby wasted no time getting back into your swollen cunt. 

“Tell us who you belong to, sweet thing,” Abby said. “Come on, use your fucking brain.”

“I belong to Abby and Ellie, I be—belong to you!” You cried out due to their rigorous, violent pace, being able to feel them literally and physically break your holes. 

“Yeah, baby? Nobody else?” Ellie taunted, eliciting a breathy laugh. “We could fucking kill you, you know that? But we just love you so much, and wouldn’t want that.”

You shook your head, too spaced out to closely listen to what Ellie was saying; it should’ve been a sign, but you were focused on the feeling and motion of them pounding into you. “I—I love you so much, so so much,” you moaned, your back arching, and fingernails clawing into Abby’s wrist the second she put a tight grip on your throat. “So much, mommy. You don’t understand how much I love you.”

“Oh, we know baby,” Abby told you, grinning and panting. “Going to do anything for us, right?”

You nodded. “Anything for you. My loyalty and life is to you.”

“Then you are going to kill, baby,” Ellie stated, and the sexual high was shifted into terror and panic. “We are gonna teach our pretty baby how to kill, and take care of business.”

“N–No, please no!” You cried, their laughs ringing in your eyes as they sounded like maniacal psychopaths. 

“You need to– hey, focus!” Abby yelled, having to keep her hands on your waist to keep you up. “You need to take care of that boy, angel. That silly idiot, okay? We’ll teach you.”

That’s when you realized — you had taken the bait. You caved right into what they wanted and needed. 

And you would never have any way out every fucking again.

You broke into sobs, the sick high of pleasure and despair mixing into the heat of sex that lingeried and fully thrusted into the bedroom. Your body shook with anxiety, your climax rattling in you and took control over your nerves, the girls always finding a way to take a note. 

“No, you don’t get to cum,” Ellie spat, her hand wrapping around your neck from behind you, and you gasped when her fingers pressed into your throat; hard enough to leave bruising or any fingerprints. “Be a good girl, lamb. Don’t disappoint us more than you already have.”

“Please let me cum,” you managed to cry out, her strength tightening around your throat, almost slowly cutting off any airway. “Please!”

“Why should we let you cum, bunny?” Abby panted, pinching at one of your nipples. “You don’t think this is fun? Us using and breaking you?”

It didn’t take sex anymore in order for them to find their cruel ways to psychologically torture you, but rather mock and taunt at you for everything and anything. They did it with Brandon, Delilah, and Jasmine — everyone would be killed in front of you because it was the only way for them to break you into submission. 

You came anyways, and despite that they would usually stop and punish you further, they used it to their advantage and Abby’s put her hands on top of Ellie’s, both of them choking you and fucking harder into your sore, ruined holes, and your vision went blurry and you were croaking out cries and moans. It was sick that a part of you truly liked them being this vile and vicious with you, and that it would always get you off, but it was scarier that they would go further than this in the future. 

The violence was covered by affection, and now by marriage.

Abby and Ellie spent weeks teaching you how to use a gun on someone, be sleath and quick with it. They wanted you to kill Vincent Hayes at the very second you could, and be out of sight when you did it. You knew you couldn’t do it; you weren’t like your girlfriends. That’s why they liked you to begin with, because you were the complete opposite of them, and at some point, that must have changed. 

For those weeks, you spent time in isolation wondering what to do, what you could do without getting yourself or others killed in the process. You would stare at the ring, playing with it, and break into tears whenever your partners were around.

You were a hostage in a relationship for eternity, and the thought of escaping once more did cross your mind, but you knew what happened last time when you tried to; who knows, they could kill your parents just so you could come crawling back to them. 

You avoided any discussions about the wedding or future plans because you were slowly coming to terms with your decisions, with what you wanted to do, because you just simply couldn’t think about that. 

You sat in your parents home, telling the girls your mom wanted a spa day together in order to avoid suspicion; after all, you were doing well playing the sweet fiancée. 

Vincent sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hands. “You can talk to me.”

“I want out,” you mumbled. “But I need you to do one thing.”

“Well, what is it?”

You gnawed onto your cheek, inhaling sharply. “I need you to kill me.”

Silence filled the room. 

“What the fuck did you say?” Vincent asked.

“I said I need—”

“No, I heard you. You just must forget that your girlfriends are insane, and will do worse to me,” he stated, and you looked at him. “Why do you want to die?”

“Not actually kill me,” you said. “I—I just need a way out, and death sounds fleeting and the only way.”

Vincent joined the quiet that tumbled back into the living room, the two of you now staring down into your cups of coffee. After what felt like hours moving by, he hums. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he tells you, and though your heart sank, you nodded. “Think of it as an eye for an eye because of Brandon. I’ll take what is most precious to your girlfriends.”

“Okay, so how should we do this then?” You wondered.

Vincent got up from the couch, putting down his cup. “You’ll come to find out. I have to make this even. But you should talk to those detectives if you want a full clean slate.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to do this,” you started, taking a sip of your coffee. “My death could be planted on them. I’m a heiress, and that would be bigger news. I’ll leave something behind to admit Abby and Ellie’s full guilt for Brandon's death.”

“No way you would do that. You wouldn’t betray them like that,” he shot back, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t leave anything behind; how do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

“I am betraying them by finding the only way out, and I know you want revenge,” you professed, realizing how calm and collected you were talking about potentially dying for good. 

It was a suicide ideation, yes, but maybe Vincent would find a way to sympathize; you believed in that. 

“This is the revenge I had in mind.”

You tilted your head. “It’s the perfect revenge. We both get something out of it.”

“Do you want to actually die, or are you trying to fake it?” Vincent wondered, and you shrugged your shoulders. “Do I get something from you for admission either way?”

You nodded, putting down your coffee and stood up. “I will leave something behind in my bedroom after it is done. But do not betray me, or I will fucking kill you instead.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“It is fair,” you said, brushing past him as you took the cups to the kitchen and he followed behind you. “Now if you excuse me, I have to prepare any finalizations.”

Vincent found himself out, and you went back to your bedroom, spending hours putting together forms and transferring money into offshore accounts, and even called over your family lawyer to discuss a will. The lawyer sat in front of you at the kitchen table, files out in front of you. “May I ask why you are doing this?” She asked, sliding over the paperwork. “I mean, you are so young and people usually prepare a will when they are about to die. Your parents have a will with your name in it.”

“I understand that, but I just want to be prepared,” you said, grabbing your pen. “I want all my profits to go to charities for women in shelters, to under class schools for children where they will be rewarded with new books and computers for them; along with fixing up any structures they need done. A grand total of 20K will be rewarded to research, world troubles, and more. I have put it all down.”

The lawyer knew not to pry any further, and pointed to where you exactly needed to sign, and you did it with such ease, finally accepting what was coming to the end. You were tying up all loose ends that you needed to before Vincent would take charge of your fate. 

After the lawyer left and you signed away your destiny, you went back into your bedroom and grabbed a hard drive stick, putting it into the side of your computer.

 You turned on the recording, and you sucked in a harsh, deep breath that came out shaky and unsteady. “Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams killed Brandon James. There was a bloody-stained shirt that had his blood on it that was burned by them only a year after his death. I know this because I told them what Brandon was doing, and they got killed. I know the other people they have injured and killed before and after him. This is my admission of guilt.”

You paused, staring blankly at the computer screen, and you cleared your throat shortly after. “They are violent killers; there is no innocence in them or this case. By the time this has turned over to the courts, I will be gone. But I will not leave without confessing the only sin that has been killing me for months.”

You stopped the recording, and made sure it was filed into the hard drive, putting it in a box on your vanity; easy access for Vincent to get ahold of. 

After your admission, you took a walk into the bustling city of Manhattan, having your own headphones in to take away distractions or thoughts of anything that was to come. The girls spammed your phone, but you decided to go on airplane mode, and let yourself cruise around the city you were raised and born in. 

If your death would be soon, you rather take in any last memories. Your walk went on and on, losing any track of time as you were on it. You would go home, get changed for bed, and go to sleep with the decisions you decided to commit to. 

You let yourself walk and wander for hours, grabbing ice cream on your way to home. The sweet flavor gave you sweet memories of your childhood; how your dad would take you out for ice cream and sweets whenever you did well in elementary school, or how your mom would let you mix candy into a huge bag whenever you had a bad day. Those were the parents you always remembered and wanted back, but when their careers and success became bigger than you, they had shut and tossed you out. 

If they hadn’t, maybe then Abby and Ellie would have not come into your life, and ruined it all. 

You tossed your cup of ice cream into the bin outside your penthouse hotel, and the busboy opened the door for you as you thanked him on your way inside. The building felt colder and eerie, seeming as if no one lived inside and you were the only resident. 

You were sure you were overthinking it after the day you had, and were just overly tired. After all, it was New York, and people were always going out. 

You grabbed the elevator, and selected the floor of your parents’ penthouse, your hands in the pockets of your coat with your headphones and phone tucked inside of it. It took a few minutes until you reached the floor, and when you walked in, you heard the sound of glass clinking together. You paused inside the elevator, hesitating to get inside your home.

Silence entered back into the room, and you assumed it could have been your mom pouring herself a cup of wine and was making a ruckus for no reason. You sighed, walking inside anyways and when you dropped your tote bag on top of the island, you found the horror scene and sight of your butchered parents. 

Your scream ripped out of your throat, falling down into their blood as you first moved to your mom. “Mom, mama!” You screamed, crying and panicking. You picked her up, lifting her into your lap, your blood-covered hand brushing her hair. “Mama, please wake up! Come on, come on, you’re okay.”

You turned over to your dad, letting your head rest on his chest which was repeatedly stabbed at. You sobbed into him, grasping onto his shirt. Your jeans soaked in their pool of blood, and you shivered, wanting to cradle into their embrace again.

Now what was there to live for?

“Eye for an eye,” a voice came behind you, and before you could see who it was, your vision went cold and black.

Waking up from a concussion was more hellish than anything.

Your eyes took their time to adjust to fluorescent lightning, feeling loose ropes around your wrists and ankles, a throbbing ache in your frontal cortex. You felt nauseous and feeble, like death was reaching out at you, and about to take you.

The second your vision and memory was intact altogether, you realized you weren't in your home anymore, or hovering over your deceased parents. Instead, you were in a quiet, dimmed room as you were strapped and hostaged to a chair, and you groaned.

“Where the fuck am I?” You groaned. 

“I brought you here,” Vincent’s voice erupted through the room, and came in front of your eyesight. “I told you it would happen soon.”

You swallowed thickly, and hummed. “You killed my parents?”

He nodded.

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” you spat. “My parents had no part!”

“Killing you was just not enough for me,” Vincent stated, and you fidgeted with the ropes. “You need to know what lose truly feels like. How it killed me when my best friend died.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“The deal was I'll kill you,” he recalled, and you groaned. “But that’s just too easy. I want to have fun with it.”

Maybe he was just as fucked as your girlfriends. 

“If you kick or bite, I’ll hit you,” he threatened as he moved over to you and slowly took off the ropes, you staring at him while he did it. “Play nice.”

“I could rip out your eyes and eat them right now!” You snapped, and he chuckled. “You are such a fucking asshole. I hope you see Brandon in hell.”

Vincent could only then grab a fistful of your hair, using it to crane you in whatever direction that he took you in, the two of you leaving the room you were trapped in just a second ago. You moved into another room later, and then found your girlfriends tied to chairs, and clearly unconscious.

“Abby! Els!” You shouted, sprinting over to the middle of them, shaking them by their legs. “Hey hey, wake up, baby. Come on, wake up.”

“I took pride in knowing I was able to overpower them,” Vincent confessed, and you peered over your shoulder back at him, shaking your head. “I just needed an extra pair of hands to help me out; they are a bit feisty.”

Ellie and Abby slowly awoke out of their unconscious slumber, taking their time to adjust to their surroundings. “Baby?” Ellie whispered, and you smiled, nodding. “What’s going on? What the actual fuck?”

“We are about to play russian roulette,” Vincent grabbed a gun out of the back of his pocket; a revolver being loaded with clearly only a single bullet. “I am going to answer questions; if we are all honest, I won’t kill your girlfriend. If we aren’t, I’ll make sure she is tortured in front of you, and she kills herself.”

Ellie and Abby paused, registering what deal he had just made until they looked back at you, pure concern and disappointment in their faces. “What have you done, bunny?” Abby asked, and for the first time in a while, they looked panicked and scared.

You retreated backwards, and stood up, now standing center in the middle of the room. Vincent came to the side of you, feeling the cold tip of the gun pressed up against your temple, and you sucked in every despair and anxiety that ran through you.

“How many people have you killed?” Vincent asked.

Quiet. Silence. An oath of silence.

“I’ll blow her brains out right now.”

“About a dozen, maybe fifteen. Including your shit friend,” Ellie confessed, and you sighed in relief. The revolver luckily didn’t click. “We tortured every one of them, some of them were taped.”

“What?” You gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellie brushed it off, clearly unfazed.

“What did you do Brandon?” Vincent asked another.

“Just fucking killed him, man,” Abby answered, and revolver clicked, but nothing came out. “Fuck, okay! We burned a cigarette, cut his tongue — it was a while ago, we honestly forgot.”

“You killed my best friend like he was just cattle,” Vincent spat out, and you trembled. “You’re lucky I don’t kill your girlfriend, even after she betrayed you.”

“What is he talking about?” Abby asked.

You would rather kill yourself at this point because he knew what you were referring to. You were the reason you got them into this spot, that they were so blinded by their love for you, you casted them under this spell that had caught them in these chairs, and were possibly about to witness you die in front of them.

“I… I signed my will. I told Vincent an eye for an eye,” you sucked in a harsh breath. “You were part of that agreement, but not this shit. He even killed my parents.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Ellie shouted; she had never shouted like this before. Her voice was laced with pure distraught and anger, like she was willing to kill you herself at this point. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Are you fucking stupid!”

“Oh, don’t act like you are such saints yourself!” You seethed, scoffing in disbelief. “You only married me so I wouldn’t leave your asses again! You didn’t marry me out of love, you married me out of pure Stockholm syndrome! You use me to fulfill your need and drive of violence; you need me as an excuse to kill people!”

The pair went absolutely silent, and that validated everything Jasmine had told you long ago. 

“New game; I am going to leave this gun with you,” Vincent took it out, showing it off as he untied you a few seconds afterwards. “Your little girlfriend will decide who gets to live.” He slowly walked out of the small four by four room, only then tossing the gun your way shortly after he walked only, the trigger off and the door closed and locked.

It was you, a gun, and the loves of your life. It was now a sicker, cruel game between the three of you. You put the gun in your back pocket, going on to untie your girlfriends as they massaged their wrists and glared at you with utter betrayal, and slight disgust. 

You made sure to careen yourself backwards at a steady pace, getting the gun out and instantly got the gun out of your pocket, pointing it up and direct at them. They took rapid notice, both of them raising their arms up in self defense and protection.

“Okay, bunny… I know you are probably really scared right now,” Abby started off, and your hands became shaky, the sweat from your palms forming around the handle. “Just give us the gun, and we will figure it out together, okay?”

“Please don’t make this any harder,” you whimpered, sniffling. “I should do this — you guys have put me through Hell.”

“Little one, we care about you so much,” Ellie added, and your gaze shifted over to her. “You know we do; from the first moment we saw you, we finally understood our purpose for existing in this world, and that was to protect you, to care only for you.”

Your body shivered with anxiety, your brain trying to refuse anything they were both saying to you. “You don’t understand anything,” you whispered, and you tackled with multiple options to end this moment; shoot them and kill them, shoot them in the legs and run off, or end your own life. 

If you were to shoot them and run away again, where could you possibly hide? There would never be anywhere for you to go. You needed a way out but there wasn’t any, and that made you face only one true fate for yourself; you had to take yourself out. 

You turned the gun onto yourself, the head kissing your temple.

“Angel, no no! Put down the gun!” Abby shouted, and Ellie carefully stepped over to you. “Els is gonna take the gun, and we are gonna get out of here. We are gonna go home and pretend none of this happened, and move on to our happy lives.”

“I have to do this, I have to!” You sobbed, and they shook their heads. “If I leave and run away, you guys will find me and kill anyone who stands in the way! You always do that, and make me witness it as your sick punishment!”

“Baby…” Ellie beckoned, and her eyes softened to you. “No more killing, no more hurting. We promise. We knew that chapter was over when we asked you to be our wife. We want to move elsewhere with you, and begin our exciting new life.”

You couldn’t decipher genuinity or manipulation that played a role in her tone, and you could not tell if she was being honest with you, given how many epiphanies you’d been having ever since the proposal. Maybe Ellie was being right for once; the way she glanced at you was pure and worried, almost like she wanted to embrace you, and let you cry into her hold. 

Maybe that little hope that danced in your heart was right, and going to come true. 

You slowly put the gun down, sniffling and nodding. “No more killing please,” you begged, hiccuping and sniffling. “I can’t take any more of it.”

“Just us and our happy life from here on out, babydoll,” Abby reassured, and you nodded, frowning. You held the gun out into her reach, and the second she grabbed it, the door swung open to reveal Vincent with his own gun.

“Eye for a fucking eye,” he said, and an immediate pain stung to the middle of your abdomen. You stood in shock, every nerve going numb and your brain falling quiet on you. Your hand touched down to where the ache and throbbing sensation formed itself, only to reveal a coat of blood. 

Vincent ran off before the girls could get to him, and their attention landed back onto you when they heard your body thud against the ground. You stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurring in and out, and you felt eerily cold. 

“Eyes here, baby,” Ellie coeed, Abby ripping a piece of her shirt off and putting it over the wound, and applied pressure. “There we go, you are gonna be just fine.”

“There’s too much,” Abby panicked. “Too much fucking blood— I’m gonna fucking kill that fucker—”

“It hurts,” you muttered, breathing heavily. “It hurts— Please, make it go away.”

“We’re trying, angel, just keep breathing,” Abby worriedly smiled, Ellie stroking the top of your head. “You are gonna be okay.”

You just nodded, even though the fluorescent lighting was dimming and their panicked voices slowly turned into echoes, your ears ringing. If there is a Heaven, you hoped it’d be kinder to you than all your years were.

Privilege does not give you anything; you have to exchange many of it, just for a little something beautiful.

ONE YEAR LATER.

“Please rise before the court,” the judge said, and everyone stood. “This trial was once again complex and complicated, I will say that. The tape we got from the deceased was hearsay, and without her here with us, the jury had to make a decision based on other testimonies. Jury, do you have a decision?”

“Yes, your honor,” a juror lady stood, a card in hand. 

“What is your defense?” He asked.

“On behalf of the New York vs. Anderson and Williams, we hereby find them not guilty on multiple counts of first degree murder, manslaughter, torture,” the juror said, and the pair sighed in relief, knowing that their plans could fall back into place. 

When the tape was stolen and found from Vincent, he turned it over to the police which then resulted in the girls arrested. The trial took a while to begin, evidence being enough to upstart one, but they knew it would not conclude how Vincent intended for it, too.

You died horrifically before their eyes, and a funeral was held for you, and everyone attended for you; they knew you would have loved the turn out. You would have loved how Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley played for you, and how it is the only way they can easily cry.

But Vincent decided to go hide away, and what they did best was play cat and mouse. Vincent Hayes thought he could escape by murdering you, and trying to turn over your partners, but they love a good chase, and better yet – a needed murder.

“Miss Anderson and Williams, you are hereby dismissed and free,” the judge announced, and they cheered, hugging their top-tier lawyers. 

When Abby and Ellie left the courthouse, they took a trip to the cemetery and visited your grave. They sat down on the moppy gross, setting down flowers near your headstone.

‘Beloved Daughter, Friend, and Wife’

“We did it, angel,” Abby said. “We did it – and now we are going to avenge you. We promise.”

Abby and Ellie knew what they were going to do, and how they were going to get Vincent Hayes. They knew at the end of the day, it was the only way to remember you, and seek justice for your soul.

To the ends of the Earth. 

[thepencilnerd]

Hi! No pressure at all, but I was wondering if I could make a highly self-indulgent Dr. Robby request in honor of Teacher Appreciation Week?

I’m a middle school special ed teacher and I would love to see Robby with a Teacher!Reader. I just know he would be so supportive and encouraging, especially on the really hard days 🍎

Thank you! 🫶🏻

first of all—THANK YOU FOR DOING WHAT YOU DO!!!! i cannot tell you what an impact my earliest academic mentors have had on me in my life inside and outside of the classroom, and my appreciation for educators knows no bounds. thank you for everything you do and the difference you make ❤️

—

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the noise of the world outside, and still—somehow—it felt too loud. Your bag slipped from your shoulder with a thud, your shoes kicked off in two graceless arcs as you stumbled forward and dropped to your knees. Then you let gravity take the rest, folding down until your cheek met the cool surface of the hardwood floor. You didn’t even make it to the couch.

It grounded you—just enough to stop shaking, not enough to hold back the sting behind your eyes. Your limbs ached, not from anything as simple as strain, but from the slow erosion of a day spent holding space for everyone but yourself. A hundred tiny heartbreaks you couldn’t fix, piling up behind your ribs.

From the kitchen came the soft clink of a mug, the rustle of fabric. Footsteps padded toward you, quiet but certain. You didn’t lift your head.

“Hey,” came Robby’s voice—low, rough-edged with tenderness. The kind of softness meant only for you. "I promise you the couch is exponentially much more comfortable." 

You barely had time to brace before you felt him kneel beside you, his fingers combing gently through your hair. That was all it took. Your throat closed, and tears welled up, slipping silently down your cheek, soaking into the floor.

“Bad one?” he asked, his hand settling at the nape of your neck, thumb stroking slow, grounding circles.

Your voice came out raw, muffled. “I couldn’t reach her. Lila. She just… shut down. Wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t move, and I tried everything, Robby. Everything I know. But nothing got through. And then Jason melted down in the cafeteria, Liam bolted out the classroom door again, and—”

You hiccuped, voice breaking.

“I don’t know if I’m helping. I don’t know if I’m making any kind of difference at all. Why am I even trying?”

There was a pause—not hesitation, but soft and thoughtful. Then his arms slid beneath yours, lifting you up gently, carefully, until you collapsed against him. Your knees still anchored you to the floor, but your weight sank into his chest, your face pressed into his hoodie that smelled faintly of hospital soap and burnt coffee.

He kissed your temple, breath warm. “You do help. You do make a difference. You don’t have to do everything perfectly. You don’t have to be okay every day.”

“I just wanted to be the safe place,” you whispered. “I wanted to be what they needed.”

“You are,” he said. “Even when they can’t say it. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. You’re the one they come back to. The one who stays. That matters more than they’ll ever know how to say. They see it. And I see it. I see you.”

The words broke something loose. You cried harder then, but didn’t pull away. Because Robby held you like he never would. Because with him, falling apart didn’t feel like failure. It felt like trust.

Later, after he murmured a soft, "Come on, let's get you off the floor," and guided you gently to the couch, tucking a blanket around you with practiced care, he disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, it was with a plate in hand and a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

A grilled cheese sandwich—golden, crisp, and sliced diagonally, just how you liked it. And an apple, shiny red, with a tiny heart carefully cut out in the center.

“For my favorite teacher,” he said.

You laughed through your sniffles, voice thick. “You’re such a sap.”

He leaned in, brushing your nose with his. “Only for you.”

And when he settled in behind you, arms circling your waist as you curled into his warmth, the ache in your chest began to ease.

Because Robby never asked you to be perfect. Because he knew the weight you carried, and never once made you feel like it was too much.

Because he loved you—fully, gently, exactly as you were.

And that was more than enough.

[spxllcxstxr]

Give Me Strength to Stand • M.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: Could you do a story where the reader (she/her) is a nurse and is struggling with returning to work in the Pittsburgh after losing their dad suddenly? Hurt and comfort with either Abbot or Robby if possible 💜 -- @rae4725

Summary: With the recent death of your father dominating your thoughts, you find it difficult to think about going into work the next day. You call up Robby to help you through it

Warnings: nurse!reader, fem!reader, death of a father, grief, overwhelming sadness, talk of Adamson's death, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 950

A.N: I have never lost a parent, but I tried my best. If you ever need to talk I'm always here for you guys <3 Also first time writing for robby and the pitt (that's why its so short lmao) so let me know if i need to work on anything or something lol

•

Tomorrow was the end of your bereavement leave and the thought of getting out of bed and going to work as if everything was fine petrified you.

You would have to step into the trauma center and focus on saving people--saving other people's fathers so they didn't lose them like you did just a week ago. You would have to give them chest compressions or a blood transfusion and while you should be focused on their care, your mind would wander and you would wonder if you father received the same treatment, states away, and if they did why didn't it work?

Thoughts like these plague you enough that you pull your covers over your head, the sunlight filtering in through your blinds irritating. Your face aches from crying and your throat is raw from sobbing into your pillow. The thought of returning to work and seeing sons and daughters go through the exact same thing difficult to swallow.

It was hard before his accident, you know this, because you always imagined the father lying in Trauma 1 with their child holding his hand while pleading for them to wake up was you. But now it really was. Tomorrow when you brought a kid to their dying dad you would now see yourself, ragged and exhausted and racked with despair.

Your back aches from laying in your bed.

Your phone dings with a text from Dana, telling you that you could take another day off if you felt you needed it. All week your coworkers had sent you heartfelt messages that made the whole process just a little bit more bearable. Your fingers hover over the keyboard to reply to Dana. Of course you wanted more time; going back to normal felt like an insult to your father's memory and simply dragging yourself there seemed like an impossible task.

But something stopped you from simply taking her up on the offer.

Instead, you text Robby to meet you at your apartment after his shift. He was your mentor, your friend, and most of all, the man you trusted with your life. Having lost someone akin to a parent, you knew he could tell you what to do.

He replies moments later, assuring you he'd be there when he's able to, and it all feels a little less scary knowing that.

Robby comes late in the night, bags under his eyes and short hair resting in chaos. His sad deep brown eyes track your movements as you let him inside and offer him tea. You can feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you shiver when his hands accompany them on your skin. His soft touches contrasted with his bone crushing hugs comfort you in a way the countless amount of sympathies from relatives and friends haven't.

On your couch, his hands clasp on of yours, thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

"How did you do it?" You finally ask, voice cracking after not being used in days. You must sound so fragile because he frowns. "How did you just get back up and start another day after Adamson's death?"

He heaves out a sigh at the mention of his mentor. "It was hard," He states, nodding almost to himself. "So excruciatingly hard, like the world just crumbled beneath my feet and I somehow had to just keep walking like nothing was wrong."

Robby swallows roughly, thinking of his next words carefully. You bump his knee with your own, reminding him that you're still there with him. "But I knew I had to get up and continue on."

"I just...I just know I'm gonna have to save someone's father or watch someone's father die...and I just don't know how I can do that anymore without seeing him." You admit, looking past his shoulder to the yellow light of your lamp, hoping your tears would fade.

"The more you sit here and think about your father's passing, the tougher it will be to get up and resume your life." Robby shrugs. "It's a bitch, but it's true. You can't let the grief eat you alive, your father wouldn't want that."

Bottom lip wobbling, your eyes find Robby's. While your vision is blurry with tears, you can still see that his are as well.

"It's been well over a year since my mentor died but...but I know that if I stop for even a moment to lay down, I know my grief would consume me to the point of no return. He wanted me to be a great doctor and goddamn it, I'll be a great doctor for me, my patients, and for him." Robby huffs out a rough laugh. "Wherever he is, I'll make sure he knows he taught me well." His own smile is tight, red dusting around his eyes.

"You think I can do it?" You ask after a beat.

"Kid, I know you can do it. And you won't have to do it alone, either." Bowing his head, he searches for your eyes once again. "It gets easier, it really does, the grief you'll hold onto for the rest of your life will be a reminder of all the love you had for him and all the love he had for you. You just have to hold onto it and not let it consume you, ok?"

You take a deep and shuddering breath and nod. "Ok." Squeezing your eyes shut you lean into your attending and he wraps his arms around you once again. "Thank you, Robby." You whisper into his jacket.

"Any time, kid." He replies softly into the top of your head, lips grazing your hair. "We've got you."

•

[sharkwidow]

They Come Back to You | BlackHill x Teen Reader

Summary:Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff, in the middle of a mission, abandon their task to return home where their daughter is experiencing a sensory overload.

Content warning:Sensory overload, emotional distress, mention of unintentional self-harm.

Words count: 2,400

The world was too much.

Too much light, even if the lights were off.

Too much sound, even in silence.

Too much touch, even when you were alone.

Your hands were trembling, and you’d lost count of how many times you had scratched your skin. Pain was the only thing grounding you in reality. You didn’t know if seconds or hours had passed, but you couldn’t escape the unbearable feeling. The discomfort, the noise, the chaos inside your mind… all mixed into a tangle of desperation. Every attempt to breathe was a titanic effort.

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to speak. You didn’t want to think.

You just wanted them to be there.

But they weren’t.

Miles away, in the dark corridors of an underground bunker, silence reigned. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly, as if the air was thick. Maria Hill walked with firm steps, weapon ready, gaze focused—like a soldier trained for precision. Natasha Romanoff followed closely, as always, observing every detail, ready for anything. There was no room for error, not in their line of work.

“Three marked on the ground floor,” Natasha murmured as she activated thermal imaging. Her voice was calm, controlled, but with the tension of a high-risk mission.

“Cut access in two minutes. We grab the intel and get out,” Hill replied calmly. Straightforward, direct, efficient. The voice of a leader used to pressure.

But suddenly, a beep interrupted the rhythm of the mission. It wasn’t an alert, nor a threat. It was a private channel. One only they could receive.

They both stopped at once, the immediate change in their posture made it clear:

The mission had been interrupted.

“It’s her,” Natasha said, her tone soft but unwavering. She lowered her weapon without hesitation—a gesture full of unshakable determination.

Maria raised her wrist and activated the link with FRIDAY, already knowing what it meant.

“Location.”

“Bedroom. Elevated heart rate. Irregular breathing. Repetitive movements. Visible scratching. Matches sensory overload symptoms.”

Natasha was already moving. There was no fear in her face, only the tense calm of knowing they had little time.

“Is she alone?” she asked, her tone more urgent, though still composed.

“Yes,” FRIDAY confirmed. A simple answer, but enough to know there was no help nearby.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

“Abort mission,” Maria said, without hesitation, as if it was the clearest decision she’d ever made.

“Hill?” Fury jumped in through the open channel. “Tell me I didn’t just hear that. You’re aborting at a critical point?”

“I am.” Maria didn’t flinch. She knew what she was doing.

“And why the hell—?”

“Because our daughter is having a sensory overload, alone at home,” Natasha cut in, her voice firm but tinged with concern.

Fury exhaled on the other end. The sound of his breath crackled through the line.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to let a child’s emotional breakdown jeopardize the whole op.” His tone was incredulous.

“I’m telling you, crystal clear,” Maria replied, leaving no room for doubt. “If you think I’m staying in this damn bunker knowing she’s alone, scratching her arms, unable to breathe—then you don’t know me at all.”

“Hill, you were the agent who never failed.” Fury tried appealing to her loyalty.

“And I won’t fail today. But there are priorities you just don’t understand.” Maria’s voice was firm, almost sharp. Her gaze had hardened, and Natasha saw it. She knew this wasn’t negotiable.

A brief silence. Then Fury’s response came, dry and resigned:

“Do what you have to do. But this will have consequences.”

“Whatever,” Natasha muttered, already in the Quinjet, as the doors closed with a metallic hiss.

The air buzzed in your ears. Everything was still too much.

Your tears were gone, but the shaking remained. The red marks on your arms stung. You wanted to stop feeling, but everything was still too intense. Too loud. Too present.

And then—you heard it.

Faint at first, like a familiar roar, an unmistakable presence:

The Quinjet.

Your body reacted before your mind did. You curled up tighter, pressing yourself against the wall, hands covering your ears, as if blocking the sound could shut everything out. You didn’t know if it was real or just your mind playing tricks, but for the first time in hours, you felt something other than pain:

Hope.

The muffled roar of the Quinjet landing.

The sound of hurried footsteps.

The door swinging open in haste.

And then—contact.

Strong, warm, firm—but only in the most comforting way.

Natasha embraced you from behind, covering you completely with her presence. Her hands gently held yours, stopping you from harming yourself further. She didn’t use force—only the calming presence you so desperately needed. She rocked you slowly, breathing steadily, as if her peace could somehow transfer to you.

“We’re here now, маленький,” Natasha whispered, the Russian word soft on her tongue, holding you a little tighter without forcing, as if making sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself anymore. Her words were gentle but firm—the kind of comfort only a mother could give.

Maria knelt in front of you. Her eyes focused on your arms, on the scratched skin. Her face darkened briefly with concern, but then she looked to Natasha with steely resolve. Without a word, she lifted a damp towel and began cleaning your wounds gently, doing her best to be soft. Her touch was firm—not just to heal the skin, but as if she were trying to mend something much deeper.

She looked into your eyes, and though her expression was serious, there was a softness there. You didn’t need words. Just their presence made you feel safer than ever.

“Are you feeling better?” Maria asked without looking away from your wounds, but her voice was filled with protective warmth.

You stayed silent, but the pressure in your chest began to ease. Calm, finally, was finding you.

Natasha, still with a hand on your shoulder, hugged you a little tighter, as if she wanted to wrap you entirely in the safety of her presence.

The silence that had once been unbearable was now your refuge.

They were there.

You were the priority.

And nothing—and no one—could take that away from you.

[vesipha]

a seat away | jeon jungkook

summary: in a dark theater built for escape, jungkook becomes the one person who doesn't try to fix your grief—he just stays. content: angsty fluff ♡ 1197 words isla's notes: for my own light-in-the-dark friend; we are also a seat (a text) away. i love you, c.

Jungkook.

Thursdays are slow. Slower than the espresso machine in his uncle’s snack bar, slower than the flickering trailers that repeat before the first act of every film. And Jungkook likes it that way.

He likes the hum of the projector behind the walls, the hush that blankets the theater like freshly fallen snow. He likes sitting in the back row with one leg over the other, sneakers kicked halfway off, hoodie pulled up.

And he likes you.

You, who always come alone—same seat, middle row, slightly off-center. Always with that worn-out baseball cap pulled low and a paper cup of coca-cola you rarely drink. You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t look at anyone. Least of all him.

But he notices everything.

Your deep eyes, which sometimes crinkle with laughter when a scene is unexpectedly funny. Your fingers, peppered with rings, always restless on your lap. The way you lean ever so slightly to the right, like you’re always ready to get up and leave.

He’s liked you for months. And he’s never said a word.

Until today.

Because today, you look like the world’s weight is sitting on your chest. And Jungkook, inexplicably, can feel it.

You walk into the cinema ten minutes late for Thunderbolts, a rare Thursday screening. Just you and him in the room. He knows this already because his uncle texts him like clockwork:

only 2 tickets sold. one of them is yours. come if u want.

You settle in your usual spot, cap even lower than usual, arms folded tight. And Jungkook doesn’t think. He just gets up and walks down the steps, quiet like a ghost, and drops into the seat one over from yours.

Just a chair between you.

The screen glows, colors dancing across your face. Yelena’s voice echoes across the empty space. “Grief makes you weird,” she says, and Jungkook watches you go still.

You shift. You press your lips together.

Then you close your eyes.

Not sleeping. Not watching. Just… gone. The kind of gone you only are when everything hurts too much to keep pretending you’re fine.

He can see your chin shaking. Tiny tremors. He hears you sniff, barely there. Then you bite your lip.

And he can’t do nothing anymore.

He leans in, gentle. Just enough that his voice won’t carry.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

You.

You open your eyes.

Not fully—just enough to see someone sitting next to you, one seat over. You’ve seen him before. The quiet and somewhat edgy one. The one who always gets to the cinema before you. Sometimes you’ve caught him looking, and you’d pretend not to notice.

Because it felt safer not to.

But now he’s here. And his voice… is soft. Not intruding. Just there, like a hand stretched out without asking for anything in return.

Surprisingly, you shake your head. No. You’re not okay.

He nods, slow. Like he knew the answer already. Like you were both used to confide in each other as old friends unspokenly do.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You blink hard, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“No,” you whisper.

He shifts, and now he’s in the seat right next to you. Not touching. Not even close enough to brush elbows. But he’s there. And for some reason, it makes breathing a little easier.

The flickering light from the screen plays across your skin. You pretend to watch, but you’re not really seeing anything. There’s too much weight behind your eyes, pressing against the inside of your skull like a wave about to break.

A single tear escapes before you can stop it. Just one, but it betrays the whole dam.

Then his hand—steady, warm—lifts just slightly. It doesn’t rush to wipe it away. It just finds your cheek, the edge of it, his inked fingers grazing the path your tear took. Like he wants to understand it more than erase it.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t want you to sit here alone tonight.”

You don’t look at him, your eyes trailed firmly toward the big screen. Nor do you speak. Just sit in the quiet. Let the soft hum of the projector and the weight of the moment hold you both.

“You always sit over there,” you murmur after a moment. “Back row.”

It feels oddly okay admitting to a complete stranger you had noticed him before. He seemed rather comfortable implying the same. Like he too had watched you come and go from the darkness.

He breathes a soft laugh. “I watch a lot. Movies. People. I don’t usually say anything to anyone though.”

“Why now?”

“Felt like maybe… someone should.”

You laugh, but it comes out uneven. “You picked a great time. I’m really winning at life right now.”

He glances sideways, not smiling but not looking away either. “I don’t think we get points for winning. Just… surviving.”

Your eyes finally meet his.

There’s nothing flashy in his face. No grand heroism. Just quiet steadiness. That kind of calm you don’t notice until you need it.

“I come here when I can’t think straight,” you say, your voice no louder than the rustling of candy wrappers somewhere in a memory. “When the world feels too loud.”

“I come when it’s empty,” he replies, like a confession. His eyes twinkle like they hold a thousand stars. “When I can pretend I’m the only one in it.”

The silence stretches, but this time it doesn’t press in—it holds.

You ask, “Does it help?”

He shrugs, but it’s soft, almost careful. “Sometimes. Not always.”

“Same.” you sigh, taking your cap out and straightning your stray locks.

Then, after a pause, he adds, “You looked like you needed someone who doesn’t expect anything from you.”

The words land like a hand on your spine, steadying.

“Yeah,” you say, nearly breathless. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

You don’t know what this is. Who he really is. What any of it means. But it doesn’t feel strange.

It feels like finding a light in a room you forgot had windows.

“You know… You don’t even know me,” you whisper, when the intensity of his stare starts blooming something warm in your chest. "I don't even know your name."

He doesn’t flinch. Just watches you like you’re a film he’s been meaning to see.

“But I see you,” he says with a soft smile. "And you can call me Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook."

And somehow, that’s even better.

The tear you didn’t realize was forming slips down your cheek. You don’t wipe it. Neither does he. But his fingers find your cheek again—gentle, reverent. A soft graze like he’s saying I know without needing to say anything at all.

And in the hush of that half-lit theater, with the story on the screen lost to both of you, it feels like a beginning.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just right.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ♡

[graciescott27]

Non-Disclosure Agreement! — M. Kaiser

Michael Kaiser slept with you once and now won’t leave you alone?!

Last Chapter! — Next Chapter!

CHAPTER FOUR - BIRDS DON’T SING!

cw: very clearly toxic, private relationship, friends with benefits but not really friends, Kaiser, Ness is tweaking

AN: I’m FINALLY picking this bad up I’m SO SORRY

Michael Kaiser x reader!

mdni!

word count: 805

You hadn’t spoken to Michael Kaiser in six weeks. It had possibly been the most enjoyable six months in all of your adult life, actually. You could focus on your studies, your actual friends, and, well, everything other than pleasing Michael Kaiser. Not like you attempted to do that very much, anyways.

College, as you were finding out, was a lot more time consuming than it looked. You had always been the star student all throughout your grade school years. You never managed to make it to valedictorian, but you did graduate as an honor student, at the very least. College, however, was unbelievably different. Fortunately, you had some semblance of free time now, since you had dropped all of those useless clubs you used just to get some credits. Unfortunately, without Michael Kaiser, you now had no way to use your free time. 

That was when you got desperate enough to turn the most mind numbing activity ever invented. Walking. Your typical route was through a small park near your house. You never spent more than an hour out. The one day that you did, you ended up either an… *admirer* of sorts.

You had never intended to tell Michael Kaiser your address. That was the plan. You lived at home with your parents still. That wasn’t exactly a suitable place to hookup. When you made the tragic mistake of informing him of it when you were drunk, you hadn’t expected him to tell Alexis Ness where you lived. At least you assumed that Kaiser had told him. He could have just been stalking you. Or maybe he was in the park just across the street from your home by pure coincidence. You didn’t live far from the stadium, after all.

That argument was immediately invalidated when you realized that he was waiting for you. He stood there and watched you as you walked, smiling at you with those stupid, humanly impossible V-shaped lips. He waved, and you gave him a small, hesitant raise of your hand back. He started walking towards you, and you nearly ran away. What did he want? Should you hide behind a tree? Should you pretend to get a phone call? Should you suck it up and act like a mature adult for once?

You didn’t think fast enough. 

Maybe thinking a professional soccer play wouldn’t cross an entire park in seconds was wishful thinking. In the blink of an eye, Ness was standing just a few feet away from you, still smiling.

“Do you have a minute?” he tilted his head a bit to the side, holding his hands together in front of himself.

You sighed. “What do you want, Alexis?”

“Just needed to talk to you about something. I couldn’t seem to contact you at all,” he nodded. Right. You had blocked Ness on everything, too. Just in case Kaiser tried to steal his phone to reach out to you.

Ness moved to a bench, gesturing for you to sit beside him. You took him up on his offer, staring at one particular tree to avoid eye contact with him.

“So? What did you need to talk to me about?” you finally asked once both of you were settled.

“Well… okay,” he took a long breath, preparing himself for his next words. “Kaiser has been… a bit panicked since you stopped talking to him. Even his playing is being affected, and Kaiser never lets anything affect his playing—“

“Ness,” you sighed. You couldn’t bear to let him get farther into whatever poor attempt at guilt-tripping he had prepared.

He returned your weary expression, tired eyes searching your face for just a single ounce of empathy. “Please,” he pleaded. “He needs you, you don’t understand.”

“He has you.”

“I’m replaceable.”

You were nearly too shocked to react. “No, you’re not.”

“To Kaiser I am,” he shrugged in defeat; slumping against the bench. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

“I’m not going to risk myself for him.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

You both went silent after that. Surely he was insane. To you, Alexis Ness was too brainwashed to understand how unreasonable he really sounded.

Ness took a sharp breath finally. “I don’t think that Kaiser understands that he’s flesh and blood and bone and… real.”

A dry laugh came from you as you stood. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

You were walking away before he could protest. Continuing the conversation didn’t matter when you already knew what he was going to say. Ness was never born to servitude, but he would die a slave to his own obsession. You accepted it as casual fact, and he needed to start treating it as that, too. Being that devoted to Michael Kaiser seemed insane to you.

God, how had you even ended up in this situation?

@graciescott27

[hannie-bees]

Benjamin vs Jessica | c.hs

Pairing: Vernon × reader

Wc: 395

Synopsis: Your bf is terrified of bugs, and you're his knight in shining armor

A/n: just smth while I write Art of Chase pt 3

Masterlist

It started with a scream.

Not yours, of course. Vernon’s.

You were brushing your hair in the bathroom, minding your business, when his strangled voice rang through the apartment like someone had been stabbed.

“BABE. BABE. BABE. HELP.”

You dropped the brush, sprinted out with full concern... and then paused at the doorframe of the living room.

There he was.

Standing on the couch.

Holding a rolled-up magazine like a weapon.

Staring at the wall like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline.

“What happened?” you asked, scanning the room for signs of a break-in, murder, explosion, anything.

“There’s a bug,” he said, pointing like he was in a horror movie. “It FLEW at me.”

You squinted. There, lazily crawling on the wall, was the tiniest ladybug you’d ever seen. Honestly? Kinda cute.

You blinked once, twice.

Then crossed your arms.

“Jessica, please. You’re being dramatic”

“I—what?” he looked personally offended.

“Get down from the couch Jess, you’re embarrassing the family.”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT.”

“Then stop screaming like you saw your GPA in college.”

You casually walked over to the bug, while he shrieked, “DON’T TOUCH IT!”

With zero hesitation, you cupped it in your hand and walked toward the window.

“This is Benjamin,” you informed him.

“That’s a what now?”

“Benjamin. He has anxiety, just like you, but he’s trying his best.” You opened the window and gently let the bug out into the breeze. “Go live your best life, King.”

Vernon was just standing there, magazine still raised like a gladiator who never got the chance to fight.

You turned to him. “Crisis averted. Benjamin has been released into the wild. You may now return to your Netflix marathon.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You named the bug,” he finally said.

You grinned, walking over to ruffle his hair. “You screamed louder than you did when we saw that jump scare in Hereditary, so yeah. I had to do something to balance the drama.”

“You’re insane,” he mumbled.

You kissed his cheek. “And you’re in love with me.”

He sighed, sliding off the couch and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Unfortunately.”

“But you screamed like a Disney princess, my love.”

“…Shut up.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder, mischievous smile in full bloom. “Say goodbye to Benjamin.”

“You're never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not in this lifetime, Jessica.”

[kaiserboom]

౨ৎ boyfriend! Hinata: ideal idea of an date, is you watching him sing his heart out in karaoke, heads up he sucks, but you never tell him that.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Hinata: loves sending you video's to you, especially those type of videos, captioned "us"

౨ৎ boyfriend! Kageyama: hates how easily you get under his skin, your talking to him, with tiny bit of eye contact?, you just gotten him flustered.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Kageyama: hates when you slightly give other's more attention than him, he want's to be your center of attention, after all he is the king.

౨ৎ boyfriend! tsukishima: is an obvious menace, the way he treats Yamaguchi? it's almost the way he treats you as well-if not its slightly better. when you ever try to correct tsukishima, all you ever get is an "shut up y/n" in return.

౨ৎ boyfriend! tsukishima: loves when you buy him anything dinosaur related, even though he rather die then admit to that.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Yamaguchi: follows you around like your made out of glass, when you try to lift something?- out nowhere he doing it for you!, "i'm not a baby, yams" "I know, but let me do it!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! Yamaguchi: you once caught him drawing you, it was so detailed and so pretty, but once he found out that you caught him, he started panicking, now thinking that you see him as a pervert, to this day he doesn't know, that you found his drawing of you amazing. "GAHH y/n!! I'm sorry!!" you look at him with the most unphased expression ever, "what?"

౨ৎ boyfriend! sugawara: makes sure you eaten all your three meals, don't give him that crap of excuse "i'm not hungry" because he just going shove your food down your throat.

౨ৎ boyfriend! sugawara: not an texter, he prefers calling you. he likes hearing your voice.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Daichi: when you guys started dating, tanaka asked him, how the hell did he managed to pull such a divine human being?, which ended up Daichi giving that bald headed dingus, 20 laps.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Daichi: waves at you during passing period, if you end up not seeing his wave, or not waving back, sugawara and asahi utters a "ouch".

౨ৎ boyfriend! asahi: HATES HATES, when he does something wrong to you, he always blabbering apoloisges, he would even go on his knees, if you wanted him too. "Y/N! I'M SORRY!" when he hears no utter from you, it's always makes his body shudder.

౨ৎ boyfriend! asahi: once the both of you, went on walk to the park, some stranger had to ask you if asahi was bothering you, when you explained, that you guys were about the same age, the stranger looks up in shock, "i thought he was thirty." which always ends up making him sulk up.

౨ৎ boyfriend! tanaka: is crazy crazy, you post something on your socials?,well now your comments are flooded with him, "WOOHOO" "IT'S SO HOT IN HERE. 🥵"

౨ৎ boyfriend! tanaka: takes you shopping, then drops the bomb "hey so... I forgot my wallet." you ended up paying, but don't worry! he pays you back, with hugs and kisses.

౨ৎ boyfriend! Nishinoya: hates when your slighty pissed at him, one time you got so frusated because, he ended up 'accidently" selling one of your limited editions. using the excuse of "hey! don't blame me! it was on your shelf, in an box!.. you weren't even using it!"

౨ৎ boyfriend! Nishinoya: watches you from every corner, it's not like he trying be creepy, he just takes "watching your every move" very seriously.

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hi! How's it going? I'm going through withdrawal. I need a dose of Lilia. Can you please write about a date with a reader? Something with the boys in Diasomnia, where Lilia goes somewhere without them for the first time in her life. I guess they're not used to him having a private life and are shocked for the first time, "Where are you going? To a cafe? Yay, we're getting dressed already. Why are we staying home...?"(help, I don't know how to describe the plot in English 😔)

A date With Lilia (and not them)

For most of his long life, Lilia Vanrouge had always been part of something larger. A general. A father. A guardian. A mentor. A watchful figure lingering in the corners of someone else’s story.

But lately… he’d wanted something different.

Not duty. Not tradition. Not the comforting, exhausting cycle of raising the next generation.

Just you.

So when he slipped into a neatly buttoned shirt crimson, did his most charming make up and combed through his hair neatly for once, the boys of Diasomnia took notice.

“…You’re dressed nicely,where are you going ?” Silver said with a tone neutral .

Lilia smiled, brushing a hand through his hair again. “Hmm? Oh, thank you! A café in town.”

“Where?” Sebek demanded, already rising. “Do you require an escort?!”

Malleus looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t mind some tea. It’s been a while since we’ve gone out as a dorm.”

“I’m going alone,” Lilia said simply.

They all stopped.

“…Alone?” Sebek echoed, like the word offended him.

Lilia chuckled. “Yes. I do know how to walk unaccompanied, you know.”

Silver leaned forward. “Are you meeting someone?”

There was a pause. Then:

“I am.”

Silence.

Sebek went pale. “Are you being blackmailed?”

“Sebek, please,” Lilia snorted. “Can’t an old man go on a date without someone assuming extortion?”

“You said date?” Malleus asked slowly.

Lilia smiled,not teasingly, but soft, real. “Yes. A proper one. Just… me. And them.”

He left them behind with a wave, ignoring the anxious energy in the common room like it was static dust in the wind.

The café was warm, dimly lit, and mercifully quiet. You looked radiant in the candlelight, a comforting presence that grounded him in the now.

He took your hand over the table with a reverence you weren’t quite used to seeing from the ever-joking general.

“You really left them behind?” you teased, swirling your tea.

“Mm.” He traced your knuckles lightly. “Sebek looked like he was about to faint. I almost felt guilty.”

“You’re allowed a life.”

“That’s the part I’m still getting used to,” he said quietly.

There was a weight behind the smile he gave you, something that hinted at centuries of carrying others and never once wondering if he was allowed to keep anything for himself. But he had chosen you. This quiet moment. A world not ruled by duty.

Your thumb brushed his palm. “So… what do you want now?”

He leaned forward, gaze lidded, voice low. “You.”

The rest of the world dissolved.

Lilia rarely sat still for long, but tonight, he lingered. Every moment seemed stretched in golden thread,delicate, fragile, suspended in a space where time didn’t rush or claw at him like it always had before. You watched as he lifted his teacup with his free hand, pinky ever so slightly raised, elegant even in casual settings.

“I’m surprised,” you murmured. “You didn’t bring some strange, experimental food.”

He laughed, low and warm. “I considered it. Then I realized, for once, I didn’t want tonight to be about putting on a show.”

He said it with a smile, but his gaze was focused. Unflinching. Honest in a way that startled you a little.

“It’s just tea,” you said softly, lifting your cup in return. “But I’m glad it’s with you.”

“You’ve no idea how rare that is,” he replied, voice dropping, more to himself than to you. “To sit across from someone and not feel the centuries between us like a wall.”

You leaned on the table, elbow propped and eyes locked with his. “Then tell me something true. No teasing, no riddles.”

He hesitated, which was rare. Then he said, “I was scared to ask you out tonight.”

“…You?”

“I may be old, but even I have moments where I wonder if I've earned something or if I’m simply reaching for things that were never meant to be mine.”

Your breath hitched, but your hand never left his. “Lilia… you don’t have to earn this. You already have.”

A beat passed. Then he smiled, slowly, like spring breaking over frost. “You’re dangerously good at ruining my composure.”

“You can tease again now.”

He laughed, head thrown back. The sound wrapped around you like velvet.

Dinner came and went in a rhythm that felt natural,he let you taste from his plate, you wiped sauce from his lip, he muttered something suggestive and grinned when you rolled your eyes. The waitress brought dessert with a wink, clearly invested in whatever magic had bloomed between you. Lilia, true to form, fed you the first bite of cake himself, deliberately brushing your lips with the fork.

Later, when the café had thinned out and the tea had gone lukewarm, he stood and offered you his arm with such gallant formality that it made you laugh.

“Come,” he said softly, leaning close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let me walk you home like someone who still believes in romance.”

You took his arm without hesitation.

He didn't look back once.

English is not my first language !

[yvesssssssss]

Hey!! Your writing puts me to sleep every time I swear. May I suggest shin, heiisuke + whoever you want, with a chubby!reader who’s never been properly loved? And when they give her love, and spoil her with gifts and affection she tears up maybe? Sorry I suck at explaining things. Take your time and take care!

Sakamoto days men with a chubby s/o who's never been properly loved

Thank you so much bb!! I hope you like it!💞💞 Have a good night/day🫶

Nagumo yoichi

You should have known he was planning something when he walked into your place with that dangerous glint in his eye—the one that usually preceded a prank, a fake identity, or a grocery list of mischief.

But instead of chaos, Nagumo handed you a shopping bag.

Several, actually.

“What’s this?” you asked, cautiously peeking inside the first one. A hoodie. Soft pink. Sanrio-themed. Your size.

Then the next bag: a heart-shaped mirror compact. Then: a Hello Kitty blanket. Then: a little box with sparkly earrings shaped like strawberries.

You blinked. “Nagumo...?”

“I figured it out,” he said smugly, flopping dramatically onto your couch. “You don’t know how to be spoiled. So I’m fixing that.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Nagumo, this is too much. You don’t have to do all this. I mean—why would you?”

He tilted his head, all casual mischief and unspoken affection. “Because I want to. Because you light up like a sparkler when you talk about cute things. And because it pisses me off that no one’s ever looked at you and thought, ‘Yeah, they deserve the world.’”

You swallowed thickly, hands tightening around the bag.

“No one’s ever done this for me,” you murmured. “Not without expecting something in return.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he said, scooting closer and poking your cheek, “I’m not everyone.”

Your eyes welled up, and you tried to laugh it off. “God, I must look pathetic.”

“You look adorable,” he corrected gently. “And for the record? I bought extras in case you cried. There's a backup blanket and some emergency gummies in the bottom bag. I'm not a rookie.”

You laughed—half-sob, half-giggle—and let the tears fall, overwhelmed by a love that didn’t come with rules or reservations. Just gifts and jokes and a boy who saw every soft inch of you and decided, with absolute confidence, that you were worth spoiling.

He wrapped the Sanrio blanket around your shoulders, tugging you into his chest as if you belonged there.

“Yoichi?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, resting his chin on your head. “Just let yourself be loved, for once.”

Shin asakura

It was just coffee. That’s what you told yourself.

Just coffee, just a muffin, just a boy with soft eyes and a heart that made you feel like breathing didn’t have to be a chore.

“Here,” Shin said that morning, holding out the to-go cup with both hands like it was some sacred offering. “I remembered you said you liked it this way.”

You stared. The smell hit you first—vanilla, cinnamon, a hint of warmth you didn’t think you deserved. You hadn’t even told him directly. It was just a comment weeks ago, about a café you walked past once.

“...You really remembered that?”

Shin shrugged, ears pink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Your fingers wrapped around the cup slowly, hesitant, like it would vanish. “I didn’t think—people usually don’t... I mean, I’m not really the kind of person people go out of their way for.”

Shin’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, the air shifted. His voice, usually gentle and full of awkward pauses, came out firm. “Don’t say that. Not around me.”

He reached into the paper bag in his other hand and held it out with a sheepish smile. “Also, I brought you those muffins you liked. Blueberry crumble and the smiley-face chocolate one. The barista thought it was for a kid. I told her it was for someone way cuter.”

Your throat closed up. Not from the sweetness, but from the quiet ache that followed it.

You didn’t know how to handle kindness like this. Not when it came with no conditions. No punchlines. No “if you lost a little weight” at the end of a compliment.

When you sat beside him on the couch, muffin untouched in your lap, you tried to thank him, but the words got stuck behind the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered instead, wiping your eyes.

“Don’t be,” he said gently, shifting closer until your shoulders touched. “You don’t have to thank me. You deserve it.”

You looked down at your hands, holding the muffin like it was something fragile.

“No one’s ever... done this kind of thing for me.”

Shin leaned in just slightly, voice low. “Then I guess it’s my job to do it from now on.”

You didn’t speak after that. Just sat in the quiet, his sleeve brushing yours, the warmth of the coffee cupped between your palms. And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like you were asking too much just by being there.

Heisuke mashimo

Heisuke had been acting weird.

Well, weirder than usual. Flinching when you got too close to his bag. Spinning excuses when you asked why he was hunched over his workbench every night with colorful threads and a stubborn frown.

“I-it’s just target practice!” he stammered once, red in the face. “With... fabric. For like, stealth. Or something.”

You’d nodded, suspicious but amused.

Then, one rainy afternoon, he showed up at your door with a large cloth bag tucked beneath his arm and a nervous grin that twitched like a faulty light switch.

“I, um... made something for you,” he said, eyes wide. “I was gonna wait for your birthday. Or like, a holiday. Or an asteroid impact. But I couldn’t—so here!”

He thrust it toward you like it was a live grenade.

You opened it carefully.

Inside was a handmade plushie.

The stitching was a little uneven. One of the button eyes was slightly too big. The body was soft, stuffed with love and probably too much cotton. It wore a tiny, clumsy version of your favorite hoodie. A scribbled-on tag near the ear read: You're my comfort, so I made you a comfort too.

Your breath caught.

“I know it’s not professional or anything,” he rushed on, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “And maybe it’s dumb—like, who gives someone a stuffed animal when they’re not a kid, right? But I just thought... I dunno. You always give me this warm feeling, like... like I don’t have to aim so hard to hit something good.”

You clutched the plush to your chest.

“Heisuke,” you whispered, “I love it.”

He blinked. “You—you do?!”

You nodded, tears welling, because no one had ever made something for you before. Not like this. Not just because they wanted to. Not because you earned it or begged for it or promised to shrink yourself small enough to fit into their idea of worthy.

“I... I’ve never gotten anything like this,” you murmured, voice breaking. “I always thought I had to look a certain way or be a certain way to deserve affection. But you just—”

“I like you the way you are,” Heisuke said quickly, cutting you off. “I like all of you. No edits. No asterisks.”

The plushie’s soft cotton pressed into your cheek as you held it tighter. Heisuke scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

“If you want, I could make you another one,” he mumbled. “With a little rifle. Or a matching hoodie. Or—hey! A tiny me to go with it—like a duo!”

You laughed, tearfully and warmly. “I’d like that.”

He smiled so hard his eyes crinkled. “Yeah? Cool. I’ll get started tonight. Might even give mine a tiny sniper scope.”

You hugged him.

It was the kind of hug that felt like home.

Heisuke hugged you back just as tightly, whispering into your hair, “You never have to change for me.”

Uzuki kei

Uzuki never said "I love you" the usual way.

He didn’t shower you with dramatic declarations or hold your hand in public just because he could. Love with him was subtle, like a second heartbeat—steady, quiet, ever-present.

Like now.

You sat curled on his couch in an oversized sweater (his), quietly flipping through a book he left for you on the coffee table. It was always like this: silent gestures, thoughtful timing, a warm mug placed by your elbow before you even noticed you were cold.

And then there was today. The tiny box.

You found it beside the mug, unwrapped, unannounced, with a ribbon so carefully tied it could’ve only been done by someone who thought it through a hundred times.

Inside: a custom necklace. A charm shaped like a star. On the back, etched in his neat handwriting:

“You make the dark a little softer.”

You stared at it. Breath stilled.

"Kei," you whispered, unsure if he was even still in the room.

He stepped into view, hands in his pockets, unreadable expression on his face—but his eyes never left yours.

"Do you like it?" he asked, voice calm, measured. But there was a flicker of tension in his jaw—like he was bracing for rejection, even now.

“I—” You touched the charm. It was warm. “I love it.”

A pause. Then softer: “Why?”

“Because no one’s ever looked at me and seen something beautiful enough to put into metal,” you murmured, eyes burning. “Not like this.”

Uzuki was quiet.

And then, slowly, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you, his pale fingers reaching out—not to touch the necklace, but to cup your cheek with an almost unbearable gentleness.

“You don’t see yourself the way I do,” he said, tone steady but eyes storming. “You think you’re too soft. Too much. Not enough. But I’ve never once looked at you and wanted to change a single thing.”

Your lip trembled.

“I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by silence,” he continued. “But it’s different when you’re here. Peaceful, not empty. I never knew silence could feel warm until you filled it.”

You couldn’t help it. The tears slipped free—quiet, stunned, and raw.

No one had ever loved you like this. Not fully, not without asking you to be smaller, quieter, less visible.

Uzuki wiped your cheek with the side of his thumb. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You can cry.”

And when he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice dropped low, just for you.

“I’ll keep saying it in every way I know how—until you believe me.”

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 49

Part 48

Dear Robin,

Nancy is getting a similar, more official missive from Eddie. You should hear it from my own pen as well. My mother and father attempted to kill us both. At the moment, they await their fates in the dungeon. I fear there is no changing their minds, which means the harshest punishments shall befall them. 

Rest assured, I don’t intend to take my father’s crown. I already have a kingdom promised to me by marriage. But my homeland shall fall under Eddie’s rule until my brother is of age.

In regards to him, my brother - Tristan, will be under our care. After all, what is one more child? I will do my best to keep you informed as the situation develops.

Your friend,

Steve

-----------------

Steve approached the door of his father’s study and knocked. He heard Eddie bid him enter from inside and opened the door. Eddie had been writing intensely when he glanced up, realized it was Steve and immediately brightened.

“My love, why did you knock?”, he stood and moved around the desk, opening his arms for Steve to fall into.

“Apologies, force of habit.”

Eddie kissed his temple. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me. And never again in this place. It is yours. My dowry gift to you.”

Steve couldn’t help himself and giggled. An entire kingdom as a dowry. If he wasn’t already certain of Eddie’s love before…

“Have you chosen a trusted nursemaid for Tristan?”, Eddie asked.

“Yes. Marlene practically raised me. She’ll keep him safe and promises not to ever stray far, nor leave him to anyone else.”

“Good.” Eddie knew and was sure Steve was also aware that those who opposed their plan of action would take any chance to steal the innocent babe and raise him to rise up against Eddie. With Steve at his side, it would be brother against brother. Taking Tristan as their own would save Steve the heartache and him the headache.

When they left the study, Eddie’s expression turned from adoration to something steely and cold. He glowered at all he passed in the hall. Most averted their gaze. Others quite literally froze or cowered until the two of them passed. When they returned to Steve’s bedroom, Steve sighed.

“Must you glare at everyone in the castle?”

“If they are not lining up to kiss your toe, they are an enemy”, Eddie stated, his frown softening just slightly. It melted the rest of the way when Steve kissed him.

“Have you heard the one about the flies and the honey?”

“Who would want to attract flies when I have you?”, Eddie hummed, going in for another kiss when Steve put a finger to his lips.

“If you want to keep uprisings to a minimum, then the people must not see you as a monster.”

“Counterpoint: if people fear me, they’ll try to kill us less.”

Steve rolled his eyes but was kept from arguing more as Eddie corralled him to his bed and gave him much nicer memories of this room. However, Steve was proven right in the end, twice-fold. The first was about a week after that very conversation. Steve was writing back to Robin, urging her to continue the wedding preparations. He wasn’t going to let something as silly as his parents’ upcoming trial delay such a happy occasion.

Steve gave the letter to a raven at the window, stroking its back before setting it free. It barely took off before an arrow was shot through it. Steve was more annoyed than anything else.

“That’s not my husband!”, he shouted to whoever the would-be assassin was. He was just thinking of the tedium of finding and investigating them when he heard growls, then screams, then a wet squelch and gurgling from the bushes below. Eddie, in the form of a great black bear, appeared, dragging a dead man in his jaws.

“Please retrieve my letter for me when you come up, darling”, Steve called out.

The next incident was just a few days after that, they had just returned to their bedroom after a moonlight stroll. A man tried to ambush them by their bed. Eddie’s claws were in his neck before he even had time to brandish his weapon. With blood on the floor, the two lovers finally took over the king’s quarters. 

“You know”, Steve began as they settled into bed. “Assassination would be the least of our problems if you made me immortal already.”

“In time, my sweet, in time”, Eddie promised. While he had used magic to bestow children on those who couldn’t bear one naturally, Eddie had never in his life given immortality to anyone. Even to those that had begged and promised to sacrifice everything for it. Eddie had never wanted to curse someone with that solitude. With Steve though, it wouldn’t be lonely. With him and soon their little bundle of love…

There was the start of tiny cries from right beside the bed and right away, Steve was out of his arms and reaching for the crib. Eddie lit torches so that they could see better as Steve settled back into bed, Tristan in his arms. Steve shushed him softly and the small babe began to calm. Eddie believed it was a testament to Steve’s soft and loving parental touch that Tristan was so comfortable with him so quickly. Steve knew it was only because their own parents hardly ever held him.

------------------

Dear Steve, 

Did you really take the throne?! What about your parents? Are they dead?! Nancy and Robin won’t give any details and Nancy said she’s leaving with some soldiers but she still won’t tell us anything! This letter better get to you before anything cool happens. Mike says we should be allowed to go and I agree. And Robin said something about a baby? Did you have the baby already? Answer at your earliest convenience.

From,

Dustin

---------------------

The day of his parents’ trial, all Steve wanted to do was lie in bed and wait for the bells to toll and alert him that Eddie had done the deed. But things were fragile and the less blood on Eddie’s hands, the better. This had to be seen as a transition from father to son, albeit a bloody one. The common folk would be less likely to rebel in that case. 

The snow had just about melted and Steve put on bright green for the occasion. Eddie was dressed in all black with highlights of red. When Steve saw him, it took everything he had to not just pull him back into bed. 

The trial began and his parents were brought before them. They were wearing much more plain clothes. It had been weeks since they’d been arrested after all and without servants dressing in royal regalia was nigh impossible. Steve took in their appearance and couldn’t help but smile.

“You dare to smirk at us?”, Alric bit out, the chains around him rattling.

“You look like me. When I was imprisoned, I mean.” Steve felt Eddie tense next to him and kissed the back of his hand to soothe and once again remind his love that he held no ill will for how he had been treated when he first arrived.

Their crimes were listed and the list wasn’t long but it was severe. Attempted murder was one thing. To do it against a foreign king without any reason AND your own son. Add to that, the fact that Steve had yet to officially renounce his claim to the throne. Alric and Julianna had tried to kill their own child, the crown prince. Even as they tried to plead and explain it, those in attendance held little favor.

Steve was under no illusion that this meant they were all on his side. He was sure that if the murders had been successful, they would have applauded his mother and father and agreed to send troops stomping to Eddie’s border right away.

“Your worst fear was your bloodline ending and losing your power thanks to King Edward. Your soul may rest in peace, father”, Steve said as he stood up. “It shall be I that decides the fate of our dynasty.”

“Devil’s whore!”

“I should have cut you from my womb!”, his mother added. Days in the cold darkness had roughened whatever softness she had in her. “How can you do this to us?! Your own mother and father!”

Steve didn’t see any need in pointing out the irony in her statement. Everything had been laid out for everyone to see. They proceeded to the sentencing: death. Steve was only half sure his hand would have been steady enough to do the deed. But thankfully, their kingdom’s customs and the nature of this crime didn’t necessitate it. His parents were led to the guillotine. Tristan was safely tucked away in his nursery with Marlene, Jeff guarding them both, as well as a trusted entourage that had arrived with Nancy just days ago.

Steve held Eddie’s hand as they watched his parents march to the steps. His father knelt first, even now he was glaring at all he could see. The chop of the blade was swift for them both. His mother cried when it was her turn, but even then she hadn’t one word of kindness for her son.

He didn’t even realize he was waiting for that until they were both gone. 

Eddie was a rock at his side and Steve wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace; to cry for his unloving family and for what should have been. But he needed to present strength.

“Let this be known!”, he shouted to the crowd that had gathered. “I am not a prince that revels in violence. But I will not simply lie down and allow anyone to kill me or my future husband.”

Steve kept his face neutral until he and Eddie were alone again. Only then did he crumble into his arms. Eddie simply held him, rubbing his back soothingly.

“I’m going to have to tell him one day…”

“Tell who what?”, Eddie asked.

“My brother…that I killed our parents.”

“I do hope you include how they left you for dead and then tried to kill you themselves.” Eddie stroked his hair. 

Steve chuckled through his tears. “Leaving me with you was the best decision they ever made. If nothing else, I have them to thank for that.”

Eddie kissed his temple. “Don’t give them too much credit.”

“No, never.” Steve kissed Eddie’s chin. Then his cheek. Then both of his eyelids. “I think I know who should get the lion’s share.”

In the next few days, they would be returning home. Home was Eddie’s kingdom, now Steve’s. This castle, these lands, they had never been Steve’s home. But all in all, not too shabby a gift for Tristan’s 18th birthday.

Part 50

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-stevee

[callme-holly]

maybe some benny cross x pregnant!reader?

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: i love this... does anyone want a fic inspired bc i'd be down to write that fr.

You don't mean to blurt it out, but the moment you find out, you can't hide it from him and just sort of spit it at him halfway through a conversation. He goes dead silently, his whole body tensing up, and he just stares.

He won’t say anything at first. He doesn't know what to say. He just looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge whether you’re telling the truth or not. And the moment he realises you are, he’s terrified. 

He walks out immediately, not turning back when you call for him, not saying anything about when he’ll be back. He doesn’t answer your calls when you ask around and doesn’t come home at night.

He crashes elsewhere, probably some old motel, just to breathe and think for himself. It’s not that he doesn’t care; he does, but a baby is a lot of responsibility and he’s scared of screwing things up.

He thinks that by leaving, he’s giving you a better shot at a good life, not realising the extent of his damage until one of the guys drags him out. 

He’s gone for a couple of weeks before he returns, bike pulling up outside, walking in like he’d never left. He’s quiet and tentative, like he’s testing whether or not he’s welcome home. 

The moment he sees you, he’ll stop, standing in the doorway, sheepish and refusing to meet your gaze. “Wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Got scared and bolted.”

He knows you’re upset with him, and as an act of forgiveness, he’ll drop to his knees before you, hands on your stomach, looking up at you like you’re his whole world.

He doesn’t promise you perfection, but after that, he promises to be there. And that’s one thing he doesn’t break.

During the pregnancy he tries to act cool, but deep down he’s scared of messing it all up and dragging you down too. He has no clue what he’s doing, and when it comes to baby shopping, he lets you handle everything.

Benny gets so protective of you, more so than usual. The second you begin to show, he’s got his hands resting on your belly, constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable . 

He’s got his eyes on you at all times; he steps in if someone gets too close, walks on the outside of the sidewalk, and stops riding the bike so fast. He wants to be there for everything. 

There are still some nights where he’ll disappear for hours and you have no idea where he is. Sometimes there's that lingering fear that he’ll never come back, finally realising what he’s doing and has run for good. But he’ll always creep back in, slipping into bed beside you.

He’s open with his fears about failure, mumbling about how he “can’t do it”. It breaks your heart, and you shower him with just enough affection for him to be slightly reassured. 

Fights become a lot more frequent, due to both your heightened emotions and his constant lingering anxiety. He never means for it to get heated, and when it does, he steps away to cool down, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

His apologies are a lot softer now, filled with regret and a tenderness that’s newfound and almost strange. He really doesn’t want to mess up and he truly does try his best. 

Benny turns to fixing things around the house as a way to cool down instead of fighting. He still gets into scraps but he finds it much easier to do things he’s never cared for before. Turning the dingy spare room into a nursery becomes a new hobby he’s much more invested in than you’d ever thought. 

Some nights, when everything is quiet and the day seems to have dragged on, he’ll lie with his head on your legs, hand on your stomach, mumbling softly to the baby. He’ll talk about his day and tell crazy stories, all while enjoying the feel of your hands in his hair.

It doesn’t hit him properly until he feels the baby kick for the first time. Its a quiet night, the both of you wrapped up in a peace that seems to be becoming more frequent. He’s trailing a hand over your stomach when he feels it, and that’s when it really clicks. 

HIs whole demeanor softens and he just looks up at you, a moment of clarity sparking that maybe it is gonna be okay after all. 

masterlist here <3

[idontknowwhatimdoinglol]

I have a request if that’s okay, so this is a yandere platonic for blood of Zeus so how about the reader being the older sister of heron and Icarus and she meets seraphim in his human form and she looks at him and ask if she’s met him before?

ofc anon!

yandere heron x sister reader x yandere seraphim (familiar) --

Ever since you were little, your brother heron had been clingy with you. Though you did not share the same father, you shared the same mother, along with shared the pain of losing her when Seraphim attacked. Heron didn't let you fight with him for Olympus; he had Zeus help hide you in the mortal realm, far from the fight, to keep you safe. Afterwards, though you returned to Olympus and joined him there, along with joining him on his quest to retrieve his sword (which he was 100% against). After fighting off the kiris, you ended up with a few scratches, which were enough to make heron practically scream at you to return to Olympus before something worse happened to you, but before you could return, your group stumbled upon an injured seraphim whom you so graciously helped. You followed behind the group as they travelled to the Kerameikos to visit Electra's grave, staying near Seraphim as Heron went to find the adamantine in your mother's statue. seraphim groaned as he woke up, opening his eyes to see you wiping a wet cloth along his forehead. "who are you?" he grumbles, trying to sit up, but failing when you gently push him back down. "careful, you were badly injured" you say softly, laying him against a rock. He looks down at the bandages around his waist before looking back up at you in slight surprise. "You.." he starts, before pausing at the confused look you gave him. "You saved me", he says awkwardly, trying to play off what he was originally going to say. "I hardly did anything. my brother saved you with his powers" you smile a bit, moving to sit next to him. after a few minutes of silence you look over to him again tilting your head slightly. "have we met before? you look.. oddly familiar" you ask, leaning foward to look at him more. He quickly leans back, a slight panicked look on his face at the idea of you finding out who he was. "No, no, we haven't met," he says quickly, moving away from you in hopes you wouldn't recognize him. You nod a bit before sitting back down, silently calling yourself crazy for thinking that this random man was the demon who tried to tell you he was yours and heron's brother and convince you to join his side in the fight against the gods. "I'm y/n" you say, waiting for his name in return. "I'm Icarus," he says, using his human name, given to him by Ariana rather than the one he gave himself. "It's a pleasure," you say before standing up to greet heron as he walks over with a slightly jealous glare on his face. "I have the adamantine, let's go," heron says, annoyed, practically glaring down at seraphim, who glares right back. "Alright, I suppose," you say softly, before following behind your brother as he drags you away. Leaving Seraphim lying against the rock, glaring down heron from afar. He knew that heron would never join his side or let you do the same, but he would rather return to the underworld than let his younger twin take away his precious sister again.

[angeliteeyes]

Hmm~ I'm not sure if you write fir Kokomi sangonomiya, but if you do, how about we do something platonic for her. And give her a sibling, a fraternal twin so we can have them be GN. And in typical twin fashion, they're her opposite on the energy spectrum. They're literally just as smart, but they're high energy and impulsive to balance it out(Basically think Ibuki mioda). Unfortunately, they left Inazuma years ago because they wanted to explore(cause chaos). When they return, it's actually with the Travler during the Archon quest, so yaaay siblings reunite, and Watatsumi Island gets a massive moral boost, and Kokomi gets constant energy resupplies.

Hello! I do write for Kokomi :) I've written a few things for her actually already, just never a full-length fic

I added more detail as well as to why you actually left, since there's so much potential for emotional depth with this concept. Here u go <3

Platonic Kokomi x Twin Reader - Growing Pains

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

If you could have taken on the responsibility of being the reincarnation of Orobaxi instead, you would have in a heartbeat. Of course you would. If it meant saving Kokomi from the burden of becoming the Divine Priestess, any sacrifice would've been worth it, no questions asked.

Yet fate had other plans, both for her future and your own. Deep down, you knew running away from the truth—from her—wasn't the right thing for you to do. But you just couldn't bring yourself to stay tied down to a land that didn't even need you, eternally the throwaway sibling that couldn't ever live up to the accomplishments their sister could. And so, you ran. You explored the countless landscapes of Teyvat, never failing to dig deep and find the best places to visit beyond the basic, well-known attractions. Free from her shadow, you finally realized just how fun life could be; where you once sunk under the weight of your invisibility, you'd now learned to glow with your own unique light.

One regret lingered, though. Despite being glued to each other's sides for so painfully long, when the time came for you to head off and say goodbye to Kokomi, well... Now that you've had time to mature, you understand how cruel it was to leave her behind without a word, especially knowing how deeply she relied on you for comfort. Sure, you were hurting, but it's not like she chose this. After all, neither of you could've possibly imagined that from the moment you two were born, you had already become destined to separate and walk different paths.

That's why, when your keen ears had caught word that a certain blond traveler was about to head off to Inazuma, you didn't even think twice about the decision you made—the one you had to make.

It was finally time to return home.

-

Your companion looked back at your still form amidst the pastel scenery of Watatsumi Island. A look of confusion, or perhaps concern, coated their face as they called out to you. Admittedly, you could be just a tiny bit of a chatterbox, so your uncharacteristic silence must have caught their attention.

"Hey, are you okay?"

With a deep inhale, you breathed in the island's air.

"This..." Your lips trembled slightly. They watched and waited in anticipation for your next words. "This is..."

"...Totally awesome!! I wasn't sure if I'd ever even end up coming back here. I can't believe I never noticed just how pretty everything is—not to insult the rest of Teyvat, of course! But seriously, wow..." As you bent down to play with one of the Sango pearls lying around and rolled it back and forth, you let out a soft sigh. "I really did miss this place."

Unfortunately, with the current state of Inazuma, you two hardly had time to spare for sightseeing. Even now, you were cutting things far too close for your liking, if the sounds of battle cries were anything to go off of. Plenty of whispers about the chaotic clashes going on within your homeland had made their way to you already, but actually being here and seeing it firsthand was a whole other kind of mental blow. You bit your lip. Could Kokomi really have become the military leader of this land? Your Kokomi? The one that used to cling onto you with trembling hands as a child, endlessly hiding behind your back? The one that stuttered out every other word the moment an adult was around and forced you to speak for her? Even thinking about it felt ridiculous.

And yet, right up ahead stood the all-too-familiar sight of light, flowy pink hair rustling in the wind.

Before you could even think to stop yourself, the battlefield was split in half by a sharp, booming scream of overwhelming excitement. Your sister froze in place. At least, she did up until your body barreled into hers and nearly knocked the two of you down to the ground flat. You couldn't bring yourself to care, though. Not when you were finally back where you belong, by her side.

Breaking out of her stupor, her already-soft voice stretched agonizingly thin as she called out your name.

"Is it—is it really you?" Her cautious eyes met your own. As you two stared at one another, your eyes zoned in on the appearance of her own; not of their color or anything physical like that, but of the emotions welling beneath them. In a flash of realization, it occurred to you just how drastically her gaze had changed over your many years apart. Now, you could spot the newfound way that they stood firm in their focus, rather than darting away like they used to before. Even in this moment of utter confusion and panic, a stable confidence exuded from them all the same.

A giddy smile bloomed on your face. Perhaps, you considered, you weren't the only one that had changed drastically in your absence.

"It's me, Kokomi. I'm home."

In the wake of your reunion, the battlefield waxed and waned with various emotions and differing processing speeds. The entirety of the Watatsumi's soldiers laid their eyes upon you two—some with complete confusion, and others with images of a simpler time flashing before them. As you looked among the crowd, you realized with a start that your own memories were coming up to the surface of your mind as well. Many of these people were the very same that you'd seen so many times as a kid, albeit aged, as time liked to do. For a while, nobody knew how to act.

And then there were bubbles. Only a few, at first. Then some more. And then even more. Before long, the entirety of the space between the field's ground layer below and the damp air above was practically flooded with these strange little bubbles that you didn't recognize. Still, you could sense the energy overflowing inside them, the power they held, along with something else; somehow, they radiated with a palpable, transferable warmth unlike anything you'd ever felt before. Looking at the crowd of Kokomi's soldiers' faces, they clearly felt it too.

Panic overcame the enemy side as they soon came to the same realization you just had. Despite their best efforts, their strength couldn't hold a candle to the healing powers Kokomi could use to simply rewind their work. With a smirk, you cheerfully waved the retreating soldiers adieu as they ran off back to wherever they'd come from under their commander's orders, before letting out a heavy exhale. Watatsumi Island was officially safe at last. All thanks to the valiant efforts of your strong, resilient twin. You turned to her once again.

"That was awesome! I don't get what you did exactly, but it looked super duper cool. You've really grown a lot, huh?" Instinctually, your hands glided down to the set of two long hair strands that made their way across her back, clutching the ends of them in your fists and swooshing them up and down like jumping jack cords. The motion brought back memories to your minds of you bothering her with this exact same hair-bouncing movement as a child, as well as a familiar complaining whine from her throat.

"Don't mess up my hair! You know how long the bow takes to get right." She pouted at you, albeit a hardly convincing one considering all the giggles that poured out alongside it. "And I didn't do much, really. I only managed to heal everyone up so quickly because you were here supporting me. Speaking of... you're not leaving again, are you?"

You let go of her hair to squoosh and stretch her cheeks, warping her face into countless humorous expressions.

"Oh, don't get all gloomy on me now! I'm staying, okay? Come on, we should celebrate." Without giving her the chance to argue, you pulled her over to where the traveler and rest of the military were cheering for you both and making a ruckus (despite Gorou's panicked attempts to settle them down). Childish giggles escaped from both of your mouths as you raced hand in hand across the purple-tinted grassy hills of your shared home.

Perhaps you made the wrong decision to abandon Kokomi all those years ago. That possibility, even now, still lingered in your heart, a regret you might never shake. But maybe, just maybe, going on your separate paths was a necessary step in the journey of your entangled lives. And now that that section of your stories was complete, you might—for once—have the chance to be more than just a shadow looming behind your twin's greatness. This time, you could be a light source of your own, beaming energy and joy out and onto the one person who'd always chosen to stay by your side, time and time again.

And that's all that matters, isn't it?

[bettelaboure]

⊹Letters⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: themes of heartbreak, mental health struggles, emotional trauma, substance use, and a bittersweet, tear-jerking conclusion

⊹ Summary: emotional journey of reader and Seung-Hyun, whose once passionate relationship collapses under the weight of fame, a personal scandal, and Seung-Hyun’s mental health struggles

⊹ Author's note: that's one hell of a rollercoaster. buckle up🤍

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You were just another face in the classroom. A girl with average lines and average features, wearing a uniform that smelled like starch and borrowed ambition. The kind of role people forget even existed. You weren’t even credited.

But he saw you.

It started small—barely a nod when you passed each other in the hallway between takes. Then, a full glance. Then, lunch.

“Mind if I sit?”

The first time, his voice was a surprise—smooth and deeper than you remembered from interviews, disarming when paired with that lazy, crooked smile.

You blinked, almost said “Why?”, but your nod came faster. The table was too narrow. His knee touched yours under it.

He asked your name. Then he used it every time he saw you, like it meant something.

“Y/N, you ever get tired of sitting in that second row?” “It’s where they put me.” “You don’t look like you belong there.”

Your hands had tightened on your chopsticks.

The days blurred. His schedule was heavier—always running to rehearse, to change wardrobe, to be seen. But he kept returning, sitting beside you, even when he barely had ten minutes to eat.

On wrap day, you waited. For a goodbye. A text. Anything.

But no one called you. No one thanked you.

You watched the trailer on your cracked iPhone in a sublet with mold in the corners. You weren’t in a single frame.

They were right. You were nothing.

But you knew—he never thought that.

And you left, moved overseas. Booking small, later bigger roles in commercials or TV shows. Trying to leave everything behind, until you couldn’t. You missed Korea too much and your manager brought to much shit over your head. 

“Y/N, thing about the opportunities. Think about the spot light. They mightn’t have recognised you then, but now you are stronger.” He used to say.

And now, you are back.

The air is too cold in the studio. Typical. You hug your arms as the stylist pinches fabric at your waist, muttering something about natural curves and compression gear.

You spot him before he spots you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, laughing with a PA who looks like she’s about to melt. His hair is darker now. Sharper jawline. Broader shoulders. Same presence, like a thunderstorm caught in a designer hoodie.

Your throat tightens.

You turn away before he catches your stare, but it’s too late.

“This is Y/N,” the director says cheerily. “You two will play the couple. I expect real chemistry, real heat.”

“We’ve met,” he answers without missing a beat.

Your pulse stutters. You don’t look at him.

You just nod. “I’m not sure. Nice to meet you.”

His expression flickers. Just for a second. Then it smooths into something unreadable.

That day, you don’t speak beyond what’s written in the shot list. You smile when the camera’s on, rest your hand on his chest like it’s scripted—because it is.

But under your palm, his heart is beating fast.

Between takes, you're in the wardrobe, trying to fix a stubborn zipper, when you feel him behind you.

You freeze. The air changes. You see his reflection in the mirror, the way his jaw is clenched. The way his eyes are fixed on you like you’re an answer to a question he didn’t know he still had.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “We’re strangers now?”

You don’t turn around. “We were never anything else.”

The zipper jerks. You hiss. He’s there in an instant, his hand catching yours.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do this. Not here.”

He leans in close, his breath warm on your neck. “You really forgot everything?”

You lift your eyes to meet his in the mirror. “No. I just buried it better than you did.”

He doesn’t back away. Not even when the door creaks open and someone calls for him on set.

“You owe me,” he says, voice low. “One night. One real conversation. You disappeared.���

“So did you.”

But even as he leaves, your skin remembers every inch of him.

You don’t tell anyone where you’re going.

He sent the address in a text you didn’t respond to. But you showed up. You always do when it’s him.

The restaurant is quiet, lit by soft lamps and filled with low jazz. Not his usual scene, you think. Maybe that’s the point.

He stands when you walk in. His smile is cautious, but real.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

You sit across from him. The space between you feels like an open wound.

Dinner is slow. You talk about the industry. About mutual directors. How much has changed. How much hasn’t.

Then it happens.

“I looked for you,” he says, cutting through grilled mackerel like it’s nothing. “After the film. No social media. No credits. You disappeared.”

You sip your wine. “People like me don’t leave footprints.”

“People like you?” he leans forward. “You mean the ones who steal every scene they’re in without saying a word?”

You bite your lip.

He doesn’t stop there.

“They erased you from the movie. But I didn’t forget. I still have a photo from set. The one where you're laughing at something I said. You looked so—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracks.

He falls silent.

You don’t finish your food.

But you stay until closing.

The night smells like rain and gasoline. You both linger on the sidewalk like teenagers with nothing left to say but everything left to feel.

Your rides haven’t come yet.

He steps closer.

“I asked everyone about you. The makeup team. Extras. Nobody knew where you went.”

“I didn’t want to be found.”

“Why?”

You pause. Wind pushes your hair across your cheek, and you let it. It’s easier than facing him.

“Because I was tired of being treated like an accessory. A body. A set piece.”

“That’s not what you were to me.”

His voice is thick now, rough around the edges.

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought I’d see you again. I didn’t know it’d take five goddamn years.”

You turn. The streetlight pools behind him, casting his face in gold.

“You were the only person on that set who made me feel seen,” you whisper. “And it terrified me.”

He steps closer.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, almost breathless. “Don’t look at me like a stranger.”

You let him pull you in—just a fraction. Just enough that the heat of him fills your lungs again.

“Then don’t leave me like one.”

It started in halves. One dinner turned into two. A late night phone call that became a habit. Then a weekend where you never really left his place, your toothbrush leaning next to his, too domestic, too easy.

You both tried to be careful. Tried not to let it look like something real—because the spotlight hated real things.

But he’d kiss your forehead while you scrolled scripts in bed. You’d run your fingers through his hair while he mumbled lyrics into his phone’s recorder. You began building a language that didn’t need words.

Then, you moved in.

Not officially, not with boxes or contracts. Just little things. A coffee mug, your favorite lotion, a robe slung over his chair. Then more. Until home was wherever he was.

Sweet mornings became rituals. He made coffee exactly how you liked it, even when he had to leave before sunrise. You’d find sticky notes on the fridge with hearts and scribbled lyrics. On days off, you curled into his chest on the couch, laughing at old variety shows and stealing kisses between yawns.

When he came home late—sometimes at dawn, sometimes hours after you’d fallen asleep—he’d always stop in the doorway and just watch you. You’d wake to his hand brushing your hair back, soft kisses to your temple, the press of his forehead to yours like a silent promise: still here.

The rumors always came fast.

A new actress seen with him at a showcase. A kiss on screen that lingered too long. And for you—it was worse. The way they talked about your "chemistry" with other co-stars. The way tabloids pitted you against idols with perfect skin and public smiles.

“You looked good with him,” he said once, too quiet, one night after your drama premiere. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, half in shadow, the unopened soju bottle between you like a line neither of you wanted to cross.

You had laughed, short and brittle. "That's your takeaway from my first lead role?"

He pushed off the counter. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low.

“Don’t what?” you asked, not quite ready for the answer.

“Pretend like it doesn’t affect us.”

You met his eyes, and they were sharper than you'd seen in weeks. Not stage-hardened or camera-smooth. Just real. Hurt.

“I hate it too,” you whispered. “But it’s part of it.”

“Then let’s change it. Or fight for it. Or something. Because pretending it doesn’t matter—it’s tearing pieces off of us.”

And that night, in the small silence after his words, you kissed him like he was oxygen and you had been drowning. Not to fix it. But to feel him. To remind him.

Still, the cracks appeared.

They always do.

In silence at breakfast, when he’d read articles about your co-stars without looking up. In the way you smiled a little too wide at red carpets, because it was easier than explaining the ache in your ribs. In how sometimes, you both fell asleep with backs turned, not because you were angry—but because saying the right thing was too hard, and saying the wrong thing might break the fragile quiet.

But love stayed.

In forgiveness. In shared earbuds on long-haul flights when words failed you both. In comfort when the cameras turned off and your hands found each other like instinct. In how he waited three hours outside your shoot in the rain, hood up, shivering, just because your text said: "rough day." In how you showed up at his studio past midnight with kimchi stew and a sweatshirt that still smelled like him, because you knew he hadn't eaten, and he hated being alone when the lyrics wouldn’t come.

It was messy. And beautiful. And real.

And one night, when you caught him watching you in the mirror as you took off your makeup, red carpet glitter still clinging to your collarbone, you finally broke the silence.

“You’re it for me,” you said. Soft. Scared. Fierce. “Even when I hate everything else—when I hate the fans, and the makeup, and the lies, and the constant pretending—I never hate you. Not once.

I think about that night in the stairwell at the Commitment set, when we sat on the metal steps and you gave me half your sandwich because the staff forgot extras need to eat too. You asked me why I always wore those threadbare gloves with holes in the thumbs, and I told you they were my brother’s. You didn’t laugh. You just touched the frayed edge like it meant something. No one else ever noticed.

I think about the way you’d text me lyrics at 3 a.m., not asking for help, just… wanting to share them with me. You said I was your filter. That I made things sound like they were worth hearing.

I think about that morning after your showcase when you came home and collapsed on the floor instead of the bed, and I laid down next to you because neither of us had the energy to speak, but we needed the closeness like breath.

You know me. You know I hate peaches but I eat them when you cut them up. You know I pretend not to cry at dramas, but I do, and you always hand me tissues without saying a word. You know I lose sleep over every audition, and you never tell me I’m overreacting. You just sit beside me until the storm quiets.

And I know you. I know that you bite your lips when you’re nervous but pretend you don’t. That you hum to old Big Bang tracks when you think no one’s listening. That you always sleep facing the door when I’m not home, like you’re waiting for me.

I love how you love. Fierce. Whole. Scared but unwavering. You see the parts of me I try to bury and never look away. I love the way you say my name like it’s a vow. The way you kiss the spot behind my ear like it’s instinct. The way you never ask me to shrink myself to fit the shadows of your world.

I love you.

I love you in every tense. Past, when I didn’t believe I mattered. Present, now, when I see you and it feels like light. And future—yes, future—whatever we become, however this ends or grows, you are in it.

You’re it for me. You’ve always been.”

He crossed the room with purpose, slow but sure, as if each step burned through the layers of fear and silence you'd both worn like armor. The tension hung thick between you, electric, ready to break. When he reached you, he paused—not for breath, but for clarity—as if seeing you under this soft light, bare-faced and brave, carved something deep inside him.

His hands lifted with reverence, not haste. They trembled as they cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he was afraid you'd disappear. Your breath caught. His eyes locked on yours, not demanding, just present—heavy with everything he hadn’t said.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or wild. It was deliberate. A vow. A plea. A memory. A promise.

You felt it in every cell—that this wasn’t just lips on lips. It was his way of saying, I see you. I still choose you. Again and again.

And when you kissed him back, it wasn’t surrender. It was recognition.

You were home.

You didn’t sleep that night. You just held each other in the dark, hearts speaking a language louder than fame.

He’s sitting on the couch, guitar in his lap, no shirt, just sweatpants and bare skin. Light spills through the balcony like it’s been painted just for this moment—gold against the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach, the familiar freckle near his left shoulder you’ve kissed a hundred times.

He’s humming softly, plucking at strings with no real melody. Just the sound of him, raw and unguarded. You’re watching from the kitchen, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smells like cedarwood and his shampoo. Your feet are bare. Cereal box in hand. The spoon forgotten somewhere nearby.

He looks up. Sees you. Really sees you.

“You’re staring,” he says with that boyish smile, the one that made you fall in love.

“You’re beautiful,” you reply, soft but certain. It’s not a compliment. It’s a truth.

He grins wider, strums a lazy chord, one that echoes through the sunlit apartment like a sigh. “Marry me.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s so him. “That’s not how you ask.”

He sets the guitar down. Stands. Walks toward you with that slow, deliberate grace that still unravels you, all long limbs and quiet gravity.

“It’s how I feel,” he says again, voice lower now, fuller. He stops in front of you, brushing your hair back from your face with a reverence that almost hurts.

You blink. And for a second, the room tilts.

“You don’t believe in marriage,” you murmur. “You said it was a cage. That it ruined love.”

He nods, then leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “It is. For most people. But with you... it feels like flying. Like maybe love could finally be something I build instead of something I run from.”

Your hands find his chest, warm and steady. “Say it again,” you whisper.

“Marry me.”

Not a command. Not even a question. A prayer.

Tears sting your eyes. You bury your face in his neck, inhale the comfort of skin and sweat and music and safety.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And for the first time—not in your career, or on red carpets, or under studio lights—but here, in the golden silence of a shared life, you don’t feel like nothing.

You feel like his everything.

And he feels like yours.

The apartment felt like a tomb. The silence that had settled over the space was suffocating, a cold, haunting presence that refused to be ignored. The smell of his cologne lingered faintly in the air, but it was no longer comforting. It was a reminder. A cruel one.

You had always thought that if you lost him, you’d somehow feel the break coming. You’d know when it was happening, feel it in your bones. But you didn’t. It just… happened. Gradually at first. He pulled away with the excuse of his military service, then with the scandal that broke everything he had worked for. And then came the cold silence—days without calls, without texts, without the sound of his voice.

The first night he left was the hardest. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye, so you didn’t. You just held him that last time, memorizing the way his warmth felt against you, the rhythm of his breath, the way he pressed a kiss to your forehead like it was an unspoken promise.

But that promise slipped away with the first headline. The first accusation. You saw the words written in bold, his name smeared across gossip magazines like a stain, and your heart shattered a little with every passing minute. They painted him as a monster, a man who had everything and lost it all, and with him, they tried to take you too. They questioned your love, your loyalty, your very right to exist beside him. And as much as you tried to ignore it, tried to shut it out, the whispers and rumors were louder than your own heartbeat.

When his mom called, her voice tight with worry, you felt a flicker of hope. She said he wanted to see you, that he had asked for you specifically. And for a brief moment, you thought that maybe he was going to come back to you. That maybe this was all a mistake, and he’d still remember what you meant to him.

But when you arrived at the hospital, his cold silence crushed that hope like a house of cards. His mom escorted you in, but her eyes were already red from crying. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. You could feel it—the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, thick and unbearable.

The hospital room was a sterile, unforgiving space. The air smelled of antiseptic, and the pale white walls reflected nothing but the exhaustion on his face. Seung Hyun was sitting by the window, looking out, his back hunched as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.

For a moment, you stood frozen, trying to process the man before you. The man who had once been the light of your life, now a stranger in the room. His eyes were distant, as though he was trying to disappear into the cold glass. He didn’t turn when you walked in. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

But you weren’t going to give up on him. Not this easily.

You took a tentative step forward, your heart racing in your chest as you approached him. “Seung Hyun…” Your voice broke in the middle of his name, your throat tight with the effort to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened to consume you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. It was like he couldn’t hear you. Or didn’t want to.

You took another step. This time, you reached out, your hand brushing his shoulder. He flinched. The first real response you’d gotten from him since he’d left. And yet, it was as if it hurt him more to be touched than to be alone.

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered, voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on the window. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel the cold panic rising in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice so quiet you could barely hear it over the hum of the hospital machinery. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you said, desperation rising. “I’m not angry. I’m just… scared. I don’t understand. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you let me in?”

His voice cracked. “You don’t get it. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this… this love. I’ve ruined everything. And I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

You felt the sting of those words like a physical blow. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.” Your voice was shaking now, your chest tight with the force of the emotions you could no longer keep inside. “You’re everything to me. You’ve always been everything to me. How can you say you don’t deserve me when you’ve never once made me feel anything but loved?”

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever. His gaze was raw, filled with so much pain it made your heart ache.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered, his voice strained. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. To feel like you’re nothing. And I don’t want you to watch me destroy myself. I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The tears were welling in your eyes now, blurring your vision. “But I’m already here. I’ve been here. I never left you.”

And that was when he finally broke.

Seung Hyun stood up so suddenly, you barely had time to react. He moved away from you, walking toward the far corner of the room, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not the man you think I am.”

“I don’t care who you think you are,” you shouted, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care about the mistakes or the scandals or the lies. I care about you. I care about us. And I still love you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and aching, as if they had taken everything you had to say. He stood there, his back to you, shoulders shaking with the weight of his own grief.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t bear to see him like this, so broken, so lost. And yet, he wasn’t coming back to you. Not now. Not ever.

You stood there in the silence, your body shaking with sobs you couldn’t contain anymore. “I can’t do this,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t lose you.”

But you had already lost him.

And it was the hardest thing you’d ever had to face.

Later, when his mom took you home, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. The two of you didn’t speak, didn’t share words. The only thing that passed between you was a shared understanding of the heartbreak that weighed you both down.

The apartment was empty. His presence still lingered in the corners of the room, in the smell of his cologne, in the warmth of his favorite sweater you had folded and left in the closet. But it was empty, like you were empty. The place where you had built your life, where you had imagined a future, was gone.

You didn’t have the strength to stay in that place anymore. The thought of walking past the walls that had once held the laughter, the quiet moments, the love you had, made you sick. So you packed your bags, slowly, one item at a time, as if each piece you took was one more part of you that was being ripped away.

Your heart broke with every step. Every time your hands touched something that once belonged to him, you felt that fracture deepen.

When you walked out the door for the last time, it wasn’t just the door to the apartment that closed. It was the door to your future, the one you had believed in. The one where you and Seung Hyun were together.

But it was over. He was gone.

You couldn’t fix him. You couldn’t save him.

And it hurt more than you could ever have imagined.

The pain didn’t come in waves. It came in an endless, suffocating tide. And as you walked down the hallway, past the door that had once been home, you knew that you were leaving a piece of your soul behind.

But you had to. You had no choice.

And when you stepped out into the night, you didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you knew you might never leave.

It’s been weeks since you last saw him, since you visited him at the hospital, since he pushed you away—like he was doing what he thought was best for both of you. But you didn’t understand it then, and you don’t understand it now. All you know is that the silence between you feels like a never-ending void.

You tried calling, sending texts, leaving voicemails. But there was nothing—no response, not a single word. Nothing. Just silence. And you knew. You knew that silence was more than just the absence of sound. It was the space he’d created between you two, an invisible wall that seemed impossible to climb.

You found a new place. A small, quiet apartment, much smaller than what you shared with him, but it’s yours. And as much as it feels like a fresh start, it doesn’t feel like home. Not yet.

You didn’t know where he was—what he was doing—but you couldn’t stay where he had once been. You couldn’t pretend that the apartment was still the place where you were a part of his world. And even though you were miles away from that life, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the promise he’d made, the love he said he’d never let go of.

And still, nothing. No sign of him. Not a message, not a call.

Letter #1

May 10, 2018

Seung-Hyun,

I don’t know where to even begin. How do I write to you when it feels like you’re a ghost? How do I tell you everything that’s happened when I don’t even know where to start?

The truth is, I left. I left our apartment. It didn’t feel like our home anymore, not after everything that happened. After the hospital, after you pushed me away. I couldn’t stand being there. It hurt too much to see your things—the things that reminded me of what we were—and to know you weren’t coming back.

I found a new place. It’s small, quieter. I thought that maybe if I started over somewhere else, it would help. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t feel like a home without you. It’s just a place. A lonely place.

You told me to leave, Seung-Hyun. You told me you couldn’t do this anymore. And I wanted to understand, I really did. But I can’t. I still don’t get why you walked away like that. You were hurting, I get that now. I know you were going through something I couldn’t fix. But you never let me in, not even when I begged you to.

And now, I don’t know where you are, or if you’re even okay. I hear nothing. No word from you. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. And it hurts, more than I could ever put into words.

I just want to know that you’re okay. That you’re still out there. I want to believe that you’ll come back, that you’ll remember what we had. But maybe I’m just fooling myself. I don’t know anymore.

I’ll always be here, Seung-Hyun. Even if you don’t want me to be.

Y/N

Letter #6

March 20, 2019

Seung-Hyun,

It’s been a few years since I moved into this new apartment. The silence is deafening. I thought it would be easier, I thought maybe being away from the place we shared would give me some kind of peace. But it hasn’t. It’s just made everything worse.

I keep going over the last time I saw you. The look in your eyes when I walked into the hospital room, how distant you were. It felt like you were already gone, even before you said those words—"I can’t do this anymore." You wouldn’t look at me. You wouldn’t let me be there with you. And I think that’s what’s killing me the most. You shut me out when I needed to be there for you the most.

And now, I’ve shut myself out too. I can’t stay in that apartment. I couldn’t breathe there without you. It felt like the memories were choking me, pulling me back to a time when things were simple, when we were just happy.

I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what you’re doing. But I can’t help but feel like you’ve disappeared from my life for good. That what we had, what I believed in, doesn’t matter to you anymore.

I’m scared, Seung-Hyun. I’m scared that I’ll never hear from you again, that I’ll never get the answers I need. That I’ll never understand why you left, why you pushed me away when I wanted nothing more than to help you.

I’m trying. I’m really trying to move on, to let go of the hope that we’ll ever find our way back to each other. But I don’t think I can. Not yet.

I just want you to be okay. Please, take care of yourself. Please don’t shut the world out completely.

Y/N

Letter #13

June 1, 2020

Seung-Hyun,

You won’t believe, but I’m still waiting for you to call me, for you to send me a message, anything. But I know you won’t. You haven’t. I know this silence is intentional. I know you’re trying to push me away, to push everything away.

But I can’t do it. I can’t let go of you, not yet. I still see you in everything—when I walk into the coffee shop we used to visit, when I hear our song on the radio, when I think about the way you’d smile at me just before we kissed.

I don’t want to believe that everything we shared was a lie. I don’t want to believe that it was just a fleeting moment in time. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t still love you. I do. I always will.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why you pushed me away. I don’t know what I did wrong. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when I’m not. I’m broken, Seung-Hyun. I’m empty without you.

I just want you to come back. I want to see your face again, to hear your voice. I want us to figure this out, even if it takes time.

I don’t want to move on, Seung-Hyun. Not if it means giving up on us.

Please, come back.

Y/N

You don’t know if he’ll ever read these letters. You don’t know if he’ll even ever know that you still care. But as long as you keep writing, as long as you keep sending them to the old apartment, there’s a tiny, fragile part of you that believes he’ll come back. 

Letter #27

August 10, 2023

Seung-Hyun,

I’m writing this letter, and it’s different than the others. I’m not writing this out of sadness, or desperation, or out of longing to hear from you. This is my last letter to you.

I’ve learned so much these past years, and I want you to know that, even though we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives, I’ve healed. Or, at least, I’m in the process of it. It hasn’t been easy—hell, there were times I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get through the pain of losing you. But here I am, sitting with a sense of peace I never thought I’d have. It feels surreal, but it feels real.

I’ve been seeing a therapist, and I’ve learned more about myself than I ever thought I would. I didn’t know how much of me I was holding onto, waiting for you to come back, waiting for things to be the way they were. I didn’t know that I had been keeping myself in a state of limbo, not truly moving on because I was so afraid of saying goodbye. But my therapist told me that I’ve finally reached a place where I can say goodbye—and I’m ready.

I’ve made peace with everything, Seung-Hyun. I understand now that sometimes people just need to walk different paths, no matter how much it hurts. I needed to walk mine. And you needed to walk yours. And while that truth doesn’t erase the love I had for you, it does help me let go of the weight I’ve been carrying around.

You were my everything for so long, and for a while, I couldn’t imagine my life without you. But now, I can. I’m creating a new life, one that’s all my own. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. I’ve started picking up pieces of myself that I’d forgotten, pieces that got lost in the person I was with you. And I’m discovering who I am again, outside of the love we shared.

I’ve started a new job too, one that challenges me in ways I never thought I’d be capable of. And I’m starting to find joy in the little things again—the quiet mornings, the late-night walks, the sound of my own laughter.

But the truth is, there’s still a small part of me that will always remember you. Always love you. You were a huge part of my life, and that won’t ever change. You taught me so much about love and about who I am, even if we didn’t end the way we thought we would. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

I guess this is my way of saying goodbye—not just to you, but to everything we were. I’m not angry anymore, Seung-Hyun. I’m not sad. I’m just… letting go. I’m setting myself free, and I want you to do the same. I hope that, wherever you are, you’re finding peace, too. I hope you’re healing. I hope you’re becoming the person you were meant to be, just like I’m learning to become the person I’m meant to be.

Take care of yourself, Seung-Hyun. I’ll always wish you well, even if we never speak again. And though I will carry our memories with me, I’ll carry them in a way that’s lighter now—because I know that it’s okay to move on.

Goodbye.

Y/N

As you write the final words, a sense of quiet settles in your chest. You fold the letter carefully, slipping it into an envelope one last time, and as you seal it, you finally realize—you’re not looking for anything in return. You’re no longer waiting for him to read it, no longer clinging to the hope that he might come back.

You’ve let go. You’ve said goodbye, not just in the words you’ve written, but in your heart.

Seung-Hyun pushed open the door of the old apartment, the one he hadn’t set foot in since everything came crashing down. The space was different from what he remembered —dusty, untouched, silent. The air felt thick with the weight of years, of memories that had settled into the corners like cobwebs. He hadn’t wanted to come back. He had convinced himself that returning here, to this place, would be a kind of self-inflicted punishment. But now that he was standing in the doorway, he realized it wasn’t the apartment that held him captive.

It was the memories of you.

He didn’t know what he expected, walking into the apartment where so much had unfolded, where your love had bloomed and then withered. Maybe he had hoped for some kind of relief, some clarity to wash over him, like the turning of a page. But instead, he was met with the same heavy silence, the same haunting stillness that had followed him in every other room of his life. The space was too quiet, too empty, and yet it was filled with everything he had tried to forget.

The walls, once adorned with pictures of your time together—birthday dinners, lazy Sundays, random selfies and pictures from film sets—now felt bare. The frames were gone, the once-colorful walls now washed with the dull gray of neglect. Everything you had left behind felt like a lifetime ago, a distant, unreachable place. His fingers brushed against the old coffee table, worn from use, but it felt like he was touching a ghost.

He moved slowly through the apartment, the echoes of his footsteps louder than they should have been. His gaze fell on the small kitchen, where you’d once spent hours cooking together, laughing over spilled ingredients and burned toast. The thought of how you had once danced around this kitchen, your laughter bright, your spirit so alive—it hurt in a way he didn’t know how to explain.

The apartment was no longer yours. You had moved on. He had pushed you away, and you had left. You had to. It wasn’t just the scandal that broke them. It wasn’t just the fame or the distance or the expectations. It was his inability to face the truth. His fear. His brokenness.

He was still broken.

But something had shifted in him during the past months, something had changed. Maybe it was the therapy, maybe it was the time away from everything, or maybe it was the sheer weight of everything that had happened. But the man who had walked away from you was different now. Not fixed, not healed—but better. He knew that now.

As he wandered through the apartment, he noticed a stack of mail that had been left unopened on the counter. He hadn’t expected anything, but something caught his eye. Small, yellow envelopes with a familiar handwriting on them. Your handwriting.

His heart stopped.

There were several others. All addressed to him. Some had already yellowed with age, others still crisp and fresh. He hesitated, staring at them as if they were fragile, as if touching them would make them disappear. He had thought that if he kept avoiding you, if he kept pretending like he didn’t care, it would all go away. But it hadn’t gone away. It had only made the guilt worse.

He picked up the first letter and read the words that felt like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t know where to even begin. How do I write to you when it feels like you’re a ghost? How do I tell you everything that’s happened when I don’t even know where to start?"

His chest tightened. He put the letter down, his eyes blurry. That one simple sentence—"I still think about you every day"—was enough to crack him wide open.

The tears came quickly after that, and before he knew it, he was crying. Not for the man he used to be, but for the man he had become in your absence. He had shut you out, pushed you away, and in the process, had torn apart the only good thing he had ever had in his life.

He read every letter. All twenty-seven of them. Each one a painful reminder of what he had lost. Of what he had taken for granted. Of how much you had loved him, how much you had fought for him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. You had poured your heart out, over and over, each letter a piece of yourself you had given to him.

And now, he was finally hearing you.

When he had finished reading the last letter, he was a mess. His emotions were all tangled—regret, guilt, sorrow, but also something else. Something he hadn’t felt in years: peace.

You were moving on. You had healed. You had said goodbye, even if it had taken you time to get there.

And he?

He was still here, still holding onto the past, still holding onto the love he had never allowed himself to fully feel. He wasn’t sure what to do with all of it, but one thing was certain: he had to tell you. He had to let you know how much he had changed, how much he had grown, how much he had learned.

He had to say goodbye, too.

That’s when he grabbed the pen and began to write.

March 5, 2025

Y/N,

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came back. It’s been seven years since everything changed. Seven years of silence that felt like a lifetime, each day growing heavier than the last. But when I walked through the door of our old apartment today, I wasn’t expecting this.

I wasn’t expecting to find the mailbox full of your letters.

Twenty-seven letters. 

I sat down right there in the hallway, with the stack of envelopes in my hands. At first, I didn’t know what to feel. I almost didn’t want to open them. I thought, "What could they possibly say that could make me feel any less guilty?" But I couldn’t leave them unread. Not when you’d written every word with such care. With such honesty. With your heart laid bare.

I started reading.

It took me hours. The wine bottle beside me slowly emptied, and with each letter, I found myself feeling a little more. Regret. Sadness. Anger—at myself. But most of all, a sense of loss. Not just for what we were, but for the person I used to be. The person who thought he had everything figured out.

I didn’t have anything figured out.

I didn’t have you.

I don’t even know how to begin. How do you explain years of silence? How do you apologize for the hurt you caused without sounding like you’re trying to justify it? How do you say that you were broken, too, but never even tried to fix yourself until it was too late?

I didn’t deserve your letters. I didn’t deserve your patience. Your love. The fact that you spent all these years waiting for me to come back, while I was lost in a place where I couldn’t even recognize myself anymore.

I know it’s not enough to say "I'm sorry," but I need you to hear it. Because for the first time in years, I can actually say it and mean it. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry for how I treated you. For pushing you away when all you ever wanted was to be there for me. I’m sorry for not being the person you needed. I’m sorry for taking you for granted when you deserved so much more.

I know it’s hard to believe, but I am a better person now. I’ve taken the time to work on myself, to heal in ways I never thought I could. And that’s why I’m able to write this to you now—not out of guilt, but because I truly want you to know that I’m in a better place. Mentally, emotionally… everything. I’m not the man who left you behind. And I know that doesn’t change what happened, but it’s the truth.

When I look back at everything—the good times, the bad times, the love we shared—it’s clear to me now that I was never the person you needed me to be. You deserved someone who was whole. Someone who was ready. But instead, I was broken, and I broke us both in the process.

I’m sorry for that.

And now, as much as I wish I could ask for your forgiveness, I know I don’t have the right. But I hope, one day, when you look back on our time together, you’ll remember the good parts. The love. The laughter. The moments when we both felt like we were more than just two people in the same space. I hope you remember those times with warmth, and not just the hurt.

I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t expect a response. I don’t even expect you to forgive me. All I want is for you to know that I have always, and will always, care about you. I wish you nothing but happiness. And peace. You deserve everything good in this world, Y/N.

Maybe one day, our paths will cross again. But if they don’t, I want you to know that I’ll always carry the love we shared with me. I’ll never forget it. You’ll always have a place in my heart, even if we never speak again.

Goodbye. But this time, it’s different.

Take care of yourself. I hope you’re as happy as you deserve to be.

Seung-Hyun

This was his goodbye. The letter he had never thought he’d write, but knew he needed to.

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