#( this is about… so many people she knows )
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
luveline · 2 days ago
Note
Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?
(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)
ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k
One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 
“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 
Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 
You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 
“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”
“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 
When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 
Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 
“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 
“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 
“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 
“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”
“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 
“I can’t have narcotics.” 
You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 
“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 
You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 
“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 
His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.
“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 
“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 
He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 
“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 
“I work for the FBI.” 
“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 
“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 
“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 
He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 
“Are you an agent?” you ask. 
“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 
“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 
“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 
“So you’re the big gun.” 
“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 
“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 
He sighs. “I do, too.” 
“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 
“It’s okay.” 
You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 
“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 
You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 
Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 
You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 
“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 
“It’s okay.” 
“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 
“You’re a great nurse.” 
“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 
“Getting worse.” 
“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 
“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 
“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 
“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”
“Stressful.” 
“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 
“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 
“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 
“No, I don’t think so.” 
He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 
“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 
“I’m fine.” 
He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 
“Uh–”
“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 
He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 
“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 
He nods but doesn’t move. 
As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 
“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 
“Fine.” 
“You’re pink.” 
“What?” 
“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 
“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 
“You can ask for her number.” 
“No I can’t, she’s working.” 
“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 
You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?
965 notes · View notes
comatosebunny09 · 3 days ago
Text
backstage performance | sylus q.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
— cw: female!reader, dancer!reader, lap dance, pole dancing, thigh riding, pet names, smutty things, pretend the reader’s wearing an expensive-ass lace front wig, shower sex, explicit language, praise kink, voice kink, aftercare, mdni — wc: ~2k — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — tagging: @world-of-hearts because they always entertain my madness. — now playing: don't worry about it - clara la san
Tumblr media
One performance ends, freeing you up for another, more important gig. 
A smile rounds your lips as your audience erupts into a series of whoops and whistles. It’s almost deafening, their praise. 
The stage lights overwhelm your vision as people applaud you, some swiping at the stage to touch you. Everyone wants a chance at you—a taste of Lux’s main attraction. It’s flattering, but this isn’t the attention you seek tonight. It’s merely a preemptive strike for the grand finale.  
You duck backstage after wiping your pole clean. Sweep hair from your face, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. A member of the backstage crew appears behind you to drape your shoulders in a fur coat. You wave her off, giving her an omniscient look as you shrug away from it. 
Her smile is cute, bashfulness swelling her cheeks. She knows what’s amiss—or about to be—bringing you a bottle of water instead. You gratefully accept, the crisp liquid a welcomed reprieve, cooling your insides. You thank her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. 
You dip into one of the club’s many winding hallways, bathed in the red lighting cast from overhead, skin shining with body glitter. Your heels click against the floor, accompanied by the dull throb of music playing throughout Lux’s halls. 
You reach your destination, your heart racing as you push through the swinging door leading to a quiet, tucked-away room.
Despite how long you’ve done this, you always get the pre-dance jitters, specifically when putting on a show for him. So, you tamp down your inhibitions as he comes into sight, a shock of white hair arresting your vision through the crimson hue of the private room. 
He looks up when you near him to get to your new stage, that customary smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sits back in an easy slouch in the leather armchair, watching you with half-slit eyes and a muted smugness that sets your body alight.
You haul yourself onto the raised platform using the pole, an effortless display of your flexibility and strength. If at all possible, his smirk grows tenfold. He shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking when he grips the arms with long, slender fingers. He’s settled in for the long haul; your private shows never disappoint.
Whatever kind of day he’s had, you want to ease the tense set of his shoulders. Erase the lines forming between his brows despite the mask of nonchalance he dons. His negotiations must’ve gone south.
Music spills from the speakers in the form of soft crooning over a chill beat. It assuages your nerves a little, prompting you to begin your show. 
You grow more confident as the seconds pass. Warm up a little, grinding your ass against the pole, thighs spread wide whilst you simulate grinding on him. 
He watches you with quiet reverence, mouth slightly open. His gaze always drifts back to yours as you entice him with the salacious wind of your body. The attention makes your throat grow dry. You’ve danced for him many times before, yet it always feels like the first when he looks at you like that. Like you’re something to be devoured, bones licked clean.
You pull out all the stops once you mount the pole, sprinkling in your favorite tricks, guided by the music and the hungry wash of scarlet watching in your peripheral. You spin here, flourish your fingers there. Smooth your hands over the contours of your body, playing up your allure. 
At some point, you end up on the floor propped on your elbows, the stage glacial beneath your bum. You cross your ankles and flex your feet. Splay your legs wide and jiggle your thighs. Spin each leg in a rehearsed fashion before clapping your heels together, the sound commanding in the stilled space. 
From there, you maneuver yourself into a split, isolating your cheek muscles to twerk your ass. You couple it with a sultry look at the object of your desires, and he lifts a brow, clearly enjoying the show. 
You ease onto your knees, gyrating your hips whilst combing your fingers through your hair. You flatten against the floor onto your palms, crawling toward him with the finesse of a prowling feline. He sits up to meet you halfway, and his eyes track to your lips when you tug at the collar of his shirt, drawing your chests together. 
“How did your meeting go,” you ask in a vain attempt at small talk. His breath is hot, sifting through your lashes as he slowly exhales. It’s dizzying, being so close. Smelling him, feeling the heat radiating off his skin, studying the pucker of his lips.
His lips graze yours with the tease of a kiss. “Flawlessly.” You taste the double entendre.
“That well, huh?” He helps you dismount the stage with wide palms clasped around your waist, drawing you into his lap. The air is pinched from your lungs when you bounce on his thighs from the motion, his need for you hot and weighted against your inner thigh. 
“Sure,” he says, hands making several expeditions over your sides, stomach, and the small of your back. He doesn’t want to talk business when such a delicious spread is laid out before him. You can’t blame him.
You decide not to pursue the conversation, instead raking your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He groans something guttural and appreciative. It’s amusing watching the big, bad Boogeyman fall apart in your hands. Baring a side of himself he reserves only for you.
You try to get up to finish your performance, but he snatches you back onto his lap, a warning brewing in the gleam of his scarlet eyes. 
You chuckle, admiring the scowl-turned-pout that descends on his lips. “Will you ever let me finish a dance?”
“Someday,” he counters, lazily studying your features. Smiles. “For now, why don’t you take five? Or ten? Or perhaps, twenty…”
You roll your eyes, draping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. It’s a brief, sticky union. Quick pecks evolve into something more heated, more possessive whilst he moors you to his lap, pushing his tongue into your mouth. 
It’s a greedy exchange, his tongue seeking out yours, stealing your breath from your lungs sip by sip. It’s enough to make your head spin, the apex of your thighs throbbing with anticipation against the stitching of his trousers. 
Deft fingers tiptoe up your back, grabbing the zipper of your bodysuit. He pulls back momentarily to watch your expression as he sluggishly draws the zipper down. Quietly gives you an out in case you’re not in the mood for this. Always so considerate, even whilst in the throes of passion.
You say nothing, instead gathering his cheeks in your palms once he’s freed you of the tug of your costume. He bunches your bodysuit around your hips, wrapping virile arms around your middle to keep you fastened to him. He peels back to smooth his palms over the sides of your ribs, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He’s insatiable, like he’ll never see you again, emblazoning the feel of your body into his memories forever.
Reluctantly, he tears away from the hot suction of your mouth to nip at your neck. Your lips part with a sigh-turned-breathy laugh, and you crane your neck back to grant him more access. The worn pads of his thumbs ease over the swell of your tits, find your nipples. He ducks to lick one into his mouth, paying the same homage to the other until they’re ramrod stiff and sensitive.
Unconsciously, you grind against his thigh, the rough material of his slacks bumping against your clit just right, sending delightful shockwaves throughout your body.
“That’s it,” he croons, molding a hand around your ass to encourage you. Sighs hot and open-mouthed against your hinged open mouth. “Ride me. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
The low gravel of his voice spurs you on. You glide your sticky, clothed cunt over his quad, and he squeezes your ass in one hand whilst kneading your breast in the other, drawing your nipple back into his mouth. 
“Fuck me, baby,” he urges on a strained groan. “Take what you want from me. Use me, sweetheart.” 
You do as he pleads, clinging to him whilst you seek your pleasure through the sluggish grind of your hips. You pant in unison, his palms perched on your hips, encouraging you to ride his thigh faster. He sucks on your neck, breathing obscenities and praise against your skin, pushing you further towards that edge of that blissful void.
“Fuck me. Take me. So good. Such a pretty girl. Cum for me. Want you to. So, so badly.”
Your ragged breaths progress into loud, bitten-off moans of his name. Your hips stutter as the world slides into white. Your orgasm spills through you like a warm liquid pooling in the chasm of your belly, your nails scraping over the nape of his neck. He holds you as you shake and whimper. Paints the sweetest words against your slick neck, encouraging you to come down from the clouds.
You curl into him as the last vestiges of your peak ripple through you, willing your breaths to even out. He eases soothing hands over your body, your thighs. Slides gentle fingers under your chin, luring you into a kiss that’s sweet and coaxing.
He’s patient as you finally come down. Chuckles low in his throat, thinking you’re just the sweetest thing. Your cheeks prickle with warmth as realization slams into you. You peer into his eyes when his girth brushes against your swelling sex. His gaze is mirthful, knowing.
Your mouth trembles around words. He didn’t get his. He traps the question in your mouth with another kiss, the loud click of your mouths parting making you heady once more. 
“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of me later,” he rasps. Your belly swoops at the implications. At the tenderness. The fragility in his smile, the affection blooming in his gaze. “In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up.” He is, of course, referencing the sweat and glitter still clinging to your skin from your show before this one.
You nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder when he lifts you into his arms bridal style. Soundless, he walks you out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. You’re bare from the waist up, your nipples puckering beneath the cool rush of air as he maneuvers you through the hall. But you’re not all ashamed, knowing no one frequents this side of the club as much as you do.
He cradles you to him like you’re made of porcelain. Doesn’t set you down even when the elevator pings at the top floor, emptying the pair of you into his penthouse. 
A bout of exhaustion washes over you. Maybe you were more exhausted than you let on. He chuckles something fond, glancing at you as he carries you to his en suite bathroom.
He takes his time divesting you of your costume after he sets you on the brisk countertop. Slides your heels from your feet, holding your gaze with a predatory gleam whilst he kisses the notches of each ankle bone. The mirror is a welcomed, glacial reprieve against your back when you lean against it, watching him rid himself of his suit. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of him, hard and swollen red in the wake of your teasing.
He scoops you back into his arms when he’s done, carrying you beneath the warm spray of his shower. Only then does he reluctantly set you down, turning away to squirt some body wash onto a towel to clean you. He takes his time scrubbing away the sweat and glitter, touching you with such admiration, like you’re a deity worthy of praise.
Once you’re both thoroughly scrubbed, he’s sure to thank you for such a wonderful performance in the shape of his hot mouth and artful fingers moving between your thighs.
417 notes · View notes
ask-this-whole-new-world · 2 days ago
Text
FUN!
*King Dearil wasn't sure what to make of this place. Thanks to some...stuff involving gods angels, demons , and a very enthusiastic pale man in a suit with rainbow eyes, the king of the Galeforce house was busy setting up alliances. Some young maiden that showed him she was in fact a 'Valkyrie' whatever that was. He honestly preferred the term Sheild Maiden or Battle Angels but he's old fashioned. But as he kept walking to this kingdom to speak with the king he overheard the conversation between the king and his new hero. His hero was summoned by magic. Apperntly this young man was very blond with red eyes that held pain. Hm...maybe he was one of these..Champions? That miss Göll wanted to hire. But he heard his case. And then...*
*the line that doomed his kingdom.*
"What do you mean by that!? This is a man's world! The little girls you talk about are fantasy! Their brains are too small and feeble! Unlike men who use logic they use emotions and think of the women who've doomed men!"
"Like like this Pandora woman of Greece!"
*the king then heard the young knight yell back*
"SHE GAVE HUMANITY HOPE AND EVE GAVE HUMANS FREE WILL YOU SHRIVELED UP HUSK! AND WHY DO YOU ENSLAVE THESE MEN!"
*The king then started blabbing about barbarians and civilizing the savages. Honestly the king was ready to sock the man as while he wasn't an altruistic man he was a father who knew the wonderful women his daughters became and a man who saw his beautiful queen for the perfect goddess she is in his eyes.*
*only to be stopped by a loud punching sound. As the king fell the knight glared at him and sighed saying.*
"First time I struck a king willingly."
*baffled the older man walked into the room. He saw the other king. He was young yes but not younger then the knight he then saw the knight whos yellow armour looked worn and dirty like the boy had been in many battles. It was at this point the kings locked eyes.*
*one had the eyes of a soilder who'd wish to make his kingdom safe for his people.*
*the other? A vapid fool with the mind of a child who never grew up.*
*as the older blond patted the knights shoulder the king saw the level of power in him and the difference in ability but kept a calm head and said.*
"Dear boy. What is the meaning of this?"
*the knight then explained the outward disgust he had for the king and his ideals and how he was no better then a common bandit.*
*Dearil however saw a bloody warlord with none of the intelligence or cunning that would make one dangerous as the knight talked the king tried to speak up only for the older king to give zero chance to rebuke his claim as with a simple punch he went flying into his throne and tipped it over.*
*the Emperor of Shadows then looked over.*
"So. This is what the Zorzal El Caesar of the Saderan Empire is? A whining child who lives in his world of self importance?"
*the king of course made a threat and tried to get his guards into the room who were cut down by the knight who then turned and was ready to cut him down but...the king was already headed his way with his sword drawn.*
"I-i-i I am the Emperor! I am the ruler of this mighty and invincible empire do you know what that makes me!?"
*the king just said.*
"Insignificant."
*and with one mighty slash cut him nearly in two as he finished a noble he believes runs into the room and yelled.*
"SIRE SIRE WE HAVE LOCATED THE DEMIHUMAN TRATORRR---"
*his voice died immediately in his throat as he saw a knight and his king over bloody corpses with both blondes looking at each other and pointing their swords at him.*
*the duo spent a few minutes interrogating the nobles who they then slaughtered because of their acts getting a layout of the land making the king scratch his chin*
"This sister of his would do better in the seat of power."
*while talking a bunch of oddly dressed soilders barged in. They held weapons he had not seen and aimed them like they were crossbows while the knight looked at them like he maybe understood what they were. It was at this point a rather brave ginger with burning orange eyes walked towards ready to fight.*
"Who are you? And why the bloodshed?"
"I am Dearil Galefore of the Galefore empire. I had come due to me reaching out looking for allies. All I have seen are a bunch of pathetic fools who enslave others and treat women like their property. This young man is.."
*he was interrupted by the knight saying.*
"I am Oddd---Oersted. My name is Oersted."
*the king then held a hand out like he was waiting for soilder to talk who said.*
"Pico. Pico Newgrounds of the American armed forces. The people behind me are of the Japanese armed forces. I do not understand them but my general told me they are here for the enslaved people taken."
*the king nodded and walked over to Pico and held his hand out again putting his sword away the much younger soilder caught onto his intentions and held up his hand to show they are harmless and lowered his rifle and shook it.*
"I take it you did all this?"
*without a second thought Oersted lied and said.*
"It was self defense as the men before you chose to cowardly attack our unprotected backs."
*Pico sighed and said.*
"Sounds about right."
*the king sighs and not questioning this decided to strike up friendly conversation with the soilders while his own trained guards helped put wherever they could and set up chances for a alliance of sorts.*
*The king isn't sure why. But he was starting to feel a sense of Daja vu whenever he was with Mister Pico. He does hope this alliance lasts. After all. A king and his council are how a land and people stay happy strong and prospering.*
*after a month the combined forces of the JSDF the Tankmen and The Galefore empire worked hard to educate each other on the strengths and weaknesses of each other as they set out to make a united kingdom Pico barged into the room with a soilder by the name of Yōji Itami both happy as they completed a goal. They had fond the princess.*
*Princess Piña Co Lada (What kind of name is Pina? He won't judge. His name is Dear-il so he shouldn't cast stones.)*
*Pico laughed and held up his hand and yelled*
"LETS GET THIS QUEEN HER THRONE!"
the king has a large problem. The hero that was summoned thinks slavery is "a bad thing" and women "should have rights"
10K notes · View notes
luckykiwiii101 · 3 days ago
Text
ONE THING ABOUT BEING THE QUEEN OF DELUSIONS? IT GIVES YOU A LONG WAY TO FALL
p.s. this post isn’t pretty, it wasn’t worth my time, or effort.
Tumblr media
Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip girl here. Usually i’m here to help you fix your life, but @loaisacult, this one’s for you. And I can’t name any upper east siders more desperate than, well…you. It’s pitiful I know. But you can cry about it later, if you haven’t ran out of tears already, that is.
I don’t mean to start a fight, but there’s a weak link in every chain, and it just happens to be you.
I know you express your belief in the law of assumption being a cult. The funny thing is, when people don’t like something, they usually walk away, unless it bothers them that much. And the even funnier thing is, you complain about bloggers “preaching” the law of assumption, and getting others to follow. But what are you doing? Preaching your ideologies, in hopes that others will follow you too. Oh what’s that word again…hypocritical was it?
And oh sweetie, no one cares about your irrelevant opinions enough to affirm “@loaisacult doesn’t exist, @loaisacult doesn’t exist…” Talk about a weak argument. I hope law isn’t your major. But you know what is major? Your idiocy.
Calling people on this app suicidal? Pathetic. Although I can’t tell you that isn’t true. Because to some extent, it is. And i’d agree with you if you weren’t so ignorant. But I guess changing self in terms other than just loa isn’t your cup of tea. Bloggers are not meant to be personal therapists for people in the loacommunity. And yes there are and were previously some bloggers who would get suicidal asks from anons and just respond to them to persist. But why are you generalising EVERYONE in the community? Your point is immediately invalid. So because there were some immoral bloggers who would act that way automatically means that the whole entire practise of the law of assumption is a CULT? Hello? Do you hear yourself?
Let’s use your “logic” here. Say gossip girl makes a post telling her followers to worship satan. Therefore the whole entire loa community must ALL be satanists! Now how ridiculous is that…
Yes there are liars, everywhere. Oh i’m sorry, did that come as a surprise to you? You didn’t think the world was rainbows and sunshine did you? Well unless you assume it is. But at the same time, there are honest people too. Yet you like to pick and choose what to focus on. Look me in my virtual eyes and tell me that Lady gaga isn’t one of the most famous people on the planet. Oh wait..you can’t! News flash, she manifested that. And so did many of your other favourites. Yet you choose to focus on liars, because that’s what you want to believe. Of course a close minded, one sided argument is your way to go. Disregard everything else in the process why don’t you.
“It's ironic how some boast about manifesting luxury items like Lamborghinis, which could easily be rented, yet they fail to manifest meaningful change for their followers who are in abusive situations.” - l.o.s.e.r
B-b-but didn’t you say that you used to be a big blogger? So why didn’t you attempt to do the same? (As if! it would only work if they assumed so). But honestly, you don’t sound like someone who is educated on the law, you sound like those desperate anons in bloggers inboxes asking bloggers to manifest for them. Because why is that the point you used? To manifest for followers? Were you…one of those…followers? Talk about holding a grudge. No wonder why you’re so mad. If I had a dime for how many times you got rejected i’d be a millionaire.
“Want to prove to your followers who are spiraling about the American election rather than post persist hehehee how about you manifest for them….. change the election revise life’s an illusion while you’re crying about having your rights taken away lol but you can’t.” - l.o.s.e.r
Run upper east siders, we’ve got an idiot on our hands. Making a point on something completely false. If you really understood the law, you’d know that you can’t manipulate somebody else’s reality, unless they assume you can. But it’s not to my surprise that you didn’t know that, of all people. Last time I checked, it’s YOUR imagination, and nobody else’s. So WHY would YOUR 3D reflect THEIR imagination? And you claim to be a blogger educated on the law…quite a “big” one too. I cant name any “big” bloggers who’ve misinformed the law THAT bad. Talk about liars now…
At this point, it’s PAINFULLY obvious that you were one of those anons begging bloggers to manifest for you. Because you’re SO mad that bloggers don’t do that for people. They can’t really because it depends on your assumption. I’m not even making an invalid point here. It’s just so obvious. “Want to prove to your followers.” “how about you manifest for them” 😭 I’m literally in tears because of how funny this is. I’m sorry that no blogger has proven it to you or manifested “for you”, and you’ve carried that hatred with you and projected it onto the whole loa community. And the only reason you continue to believe that the law of assumption is real (rightfully so) is because you know that there’s way too much proof of it to even attempt to dismiss it without looking like a fool. And maybe a fraction of that belief comes from your hope, because without the law, everything you’d ever hoped for would be out the window.
In short, you make points about “why don’t you manifest for your followers 🥺” Well, I don’t know if you knew this but…there’s this concept called free will. And just because someone chooses to not do something, doesn’t mean they can’t. Is common sense just not part of the package for you? It seems the point flies right over your head faster than you can catch it, and the only thing that doesn’t land, are your “points”.
But if you still don’t understand me, let’s use a little bit of your so -called logic here.
‘Loa is real manifesting is real shifting is real but most people in this community lie and are culty 99.999% of the stories here are lies the people doing that shit don’t even post abt it probably think they’re in some dream most of the success here are creative writing and living in the end.” - l.o.s.e.r
From YOUR logic, couldn’t I just ask you to manifest that the liars don’t exist and that you no longer view the law of assumption as a cult? So why haven’t you…? You’ll ask anyone questions but yourself. And if they think it was a dream…then how did they send their success stories to bloggers? Did I miss an update because last time I checked, you can’t do that in a dream. See, your points are fuelled by complete hatred, not logic. You truly don’t believe what you’re telling yourself and others. Embarrassing.
And don’t get me started on how statistically IMPOSSIBLE that is. Do I even have to explain why? I promise you, thousands of people are NOT lying for the pure fun of it. That’s just not how the human mind works. Wouldn’t they rather shit on loa just like you rather than posting success stories hoping it’ll happen?I didn’t know talking out of the wrong hole was in fashion these days. But then again, not everyone has style. And if there’s one thing money can’t buy, it’s class. Was that a moth? Must’ve flewn right out of your wallet.
Now don’t get me wrong, i’m not bothered to read your whole blog and all the nonsense you cry about and debunk every little thing you say. Because trust me, common sense does the job for me.
Have fun continuing to “preach” your delusional idea of the law being a cult to yourself and your little followers. Like sheep. One after the other.
Don’t even think about trying to respond to me, as if anything you say makes sense.
P.S. I’ll delete this post later, I don’t like having drama on my blog. This is my first and last time addressing you. I just don’t want people in this community, including my lovely upper east siders to listen to idiots like you telling them that all the success stories they’ve read are fake, when that is so obviously not true. Only someone who hasn’t consciously the experienced the law for themselves would doubt others so badly, and you used to be a “big” blogger you say…The fucking audacity. But then again, it’s hard to believe in something you haven’t experienced for yourself (is it?), but at-least don’t get caught in a lie. Disrespectfully, shut your mouth and don’t open it again.
- gossip girl
333 notes · View notes
dissapointu · 12 hours ago
Note
how about the arcane characters seeing their crush fight someone for the first time (and winning)? and like, they just didn't know how strong reader truly is?
OH SNAP. YOU’RE OUT HERE THROWING HANDS AND TAKING NAMES?? The Arcane crew would LOSE IT seeing you handle business for the first time—especially since they had no idea you were this strong. They’d be standing there like, “Wait… when did you become a total badass??”
Jinx
Jinx would be cheering you on like a maniac.
• The moment she sees you throwing punches, she’s SCREAMING. “GET ‘EM! GET ‘EM! THAT’S MY CRUSH!”
• She’s doing the chaotic Jinx laugh the whole time, completely hyped up by your energy.
• When you win, she’s sprinting up to you, grabbing your face, and grinning like, “That was AMAZING! You’re, like, a total beast! Why didn’t you TELL me??”
• Lowkey? She wants to see it again. “We should start a fight club or something. You’d crush it!”
Vi
Vi is SHOOK but also a little turned on, let’s be real.
• She’s watching you handle the fight, and her jaw just DROPS. “Damn, I didn’t know you had it in you…”
• She’s impressed as hell, crossing her arms and nodding as you take down your opponent like a pro.
• When you win, she saunters up to you all casual but can’t hide the smirk. “Not bad. You’ve been holding out on me, huh?”
• You’d catch her sneaking little proud glances at you for the rest of the day. “That’s my kinda person.”
Sevika
Sevika’s eyebrows are practically in her HAIRLINE watching you fight.
• She didn’t think you had it in you, so she’s just standing there, arms crossed, staring like, “Well, damn. Look at you go.”
• When you win, she’s all smug, leaning back and grinning. “Didn’t know you were such a badass. Guess I’ll have to start watching my back, huh?”
• She wouldn’t admit it, but seeing you fight earns you a TON of respect in her book. She’s definitely bringing it up later. “You know, not many people can throw a punch like that. I’m impressed.”
Silco
Silco is stunned but trying to act like he’s not.
• He’s watching the fight with a raised eyebrow, sipping his drink like, “Interesting.” But internally? He’s like, “Where have they been hiding this?”
• When you win, he calmly walks up to you, gives you an approving nod, and says something cryptic like, “You’re full of surprises. I admire that.”
• He’s definitely making mental notes about how you might be a bigger asset than he realized. But also? He’s secretly impressed by how you can handle yourself.
Vander
Vander is proud AND worried all at once.
• He’s watching you fight, hands on his hips, muttering stuff like, “Didn’t think they had that in ‘em… but damn, they’re good.”
• When you win, he walks up to you with the classic dad voice: “You alright? Didn’t know you could handle yourself like that. You really showed ‘em, though.”
• He’s proud as hell but makes you promise not to take unnecessary risks. “I know you’re strong, but don’t go looking for trouble, yeah?”
Ekko
Ekko is blown away and immediately HYPED.
• He’s watching you fight like, “Ohhh snap! Look at them GO!” He’s bouncing on his heels, ready to jump in if you need backup, but realizing… you don’t.
• When you win, he’s practically tackling you in excitement. “That was AMAZING! Since when were you such a badass??”
• He’s 100% bragging about you to the Firelights later. “My crush? Absolute legend. You should’ve seen them.”
Jayce
Jayce is equal parts surprised and impressed.
• He’s standing there with wide eyes, muttering, “Wait, when did they learn how to do THAT?”
• When you win, he’s immediately running over, grinning like a golden retriever. “That was insane! You’re incredible—how come you never told me you could fight like that?”
• He’s hyping you up for DAYS afterward. “No, seriously, did you see how they took that guy down? Absolute powerhouse.”
Viktor
Viktor is completely blindsided.
• He’s watching the fight like, “Wait… what is happening right now?” He’s genuinely shocked because he didn’t think you were the type to throw hands.
• When you win, he’s just staring at you in awe. “You… you didn’t even break a sweat. That was incredible.”
• He’d definitely be curious about how you learned to fight and want to hear all the details. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Caitlyn
Caitlyn is lowkey AMAZED but trying to stay professional about it.
• She’s watching you fight, hands clasped behind her back, muttering under her breath like, “Impressive… very impressive.”
• When you win, she gives you a warm smile and says something like, “I always knew you were capable, but I didn’t realize you were THIS capable. Well done.”
• She’s super proud of you but probably a little worried you’ll get hurt next time. “Just… be careful, alright?”
Mel Medarda
Mel is intrigued and very, VERY impressed.
• She’s watching the fight with a small smile, sipping her wine like, “How fascinating.”
• When you win, she gracefully approaches you and says something smooth like, “You’ve been holding out on me. That was quite the performance.”
• She’s 100% filing this information away for later, already thinking about how your strength could come in handy.
Ambessa Medarda
Ambessa is IMPRESSED beyond belief.
• She’s watching you fight with a smirk, nodding to herself like, “They’ve got potential.”
• When you win, she strides up to you and claps a hand on your shoulder. “You fight with skill—and heart. I respect that.”
• She’d probably want to spar with you later just to test your limits. “Let’s see what else you’re capable of.”
Heimerdinger
Heimerdinger is both shocked and fascinated.
• He’s watching the fight with wide eyes, clutching his little staff like, “Oh dear, oh dear… they’re actually quite formidable!”
• When you win, he’s rushing over to check on you. “My word! That was… extraordinary. Are you alright?”
• He’d definitely want to know more about your skills. “Your technique is quite remarkable. Have you considered joining a combat academy?”
Salo
Salo is quietly impressed but not super showy about it.
• He’s watching you fight with a raised eyebrow, muttering under his breath like, “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”
• When you win, he gives you a subtle nod and says something lowkey like, “Not bad. You’re tougher than you look.”
• He’s definitely rethinking everything he thought he knew about you.
Scar
Scar is losing his mind in the BEST way.
• He’s hyping you up the whole time, yelling stuff like, “GET ‘EM! That’s my crush right there!”
• When you win, he’s immediately running over, laughing and clapping you on the back. “That was EPIC! You’re my hero!”
• He’s bragging about you to literally everyone. “Yeah, my crush just took someone down like a pro. No big deal.”
Maddie Nolen
Maddie is floored but super proud.
• She’s watching you fight with wide eyes, quietly whispering, “Wow… they’re amazing.”
• When you win, she’s blushing and smiling as she walks over to you. “That was incredible. Are you always this strong?”
• She’d definitely admire you even more after seeing you hold your own like that.
Lest
Lest is completely captivated.
• She’s watching you fight with a mix of awe and concern, muttering to herself like, “They’re… really strong. I had no idea.”
• When you win, she’s rushing over to make sure you’re okay, brushing some imaginary dust off your shoulder. “That was amazing, but are you hurt? You’re incredible.”
• She’d probably be in awe of you for DAYS afterward. *“I can’t believe you did that. You’re amazing”
Tumblr media
278 notes · View notes
loulovingho · 13 hours ago
Text
tags: violence (gay bashing), homophobic slurs, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, healing, heading toward getting back together, happy-enough ending
(ao3 link or read below)
Like Fine China
“Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay? You hear me? Try to keep your eyes open.”
He recognized that voice. The last time he'd heard it was just a few weeks ago, at the hospital. Who was it for though? Why was he at the hospital that time?
His brain felt like a jumbled mess. His body felt even worse.
He just wanted to sleep.
“Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?”
Athena! That's who was speaking to him.
He opened his mouth, cracked one eye open. God, it hurt!
“I- I'm,” the words felt foreign as they escaped him. His voice didn't sound like his own. His mouth was dry, and held a bad taste.
Whiskey and... and metal.
Blood.
“Tommy, paramedics are on their way, okay? I just need you to stay with me until they get here.”
It was dark, but something was shining bright in his face.
“Flash... Flashlight,” he managed to get out, squeezing his eye back shut.
“Eyes- Eye open, Tommy. I'll get the flashlight out of your face, but I need to know you're with me.”
Wait. Had she said paramedics? They couldn't. He couldn't let them- let him see.
“No, no, no,” he mumbled out, shaking his head a couple times until a sharp pain shot through it. “No, h- he can't. I don't-”
“They're not on shift, Tommy.”
He tried to push himself up, away from where she hovered over him. He didn't manage to get very far before she placed a hand on his chest.
“Tommy, you cannot get up. I need you to stay still, and stay conscious. Those two things are your only jobs. You hear me?”
“I can't,” his words were so garbled. He coughed up the blood that'd been dripping down his throat.
I can't let him see.”
“Listen to me, Tommy!” Athena exclaimed, getting right in Tommy's face. He could barely see her, but he could feel her breath on his face. “They're not coming. Buck isn't coming; it'll be someone else.”
In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens. He didn't feel relief. Didn't feel much of anything at all. He was fading, fast. It took all his energy to force out one last sentence before he lost consciousness. “Don't... Don't tell him.”
*****
He just wanted to go out for a drink. Something a little stronger than craft beer.
It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Evan- no, Buck. He was Buck now.
It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Buck and the ache in his chest felt the same way it did the second he walked out of the loft.
He'd thought he was saving himself from future heartbreak, and maybe he was, but it didn't quite make it hurt any less.
Georgie's wasn't exactly a gay bar, but Georgie was gay and the bar itself became a sort of unofficial hang out for older people in the lgbtq+ community. No loud music and everyone left each other alone. A perfect place to decompress while still allowing yourself to be free.
After a couple of whiskey sours, and yeah, a pitcher of craft beer, Tommy was ready to go.
He waited outside, near the alleyway, for his Uber. He found himself going to his messages, hovering over Evan's name. He hadn't had the heart to change it to Buck yet.
He'd been wanting to text him since the breakup. Talk about it some more. Actually give a reason for why it- why he- fell apart so fast. How Buck's words triggered some terrible memories for him. How he suddenly realized there was no way he could be everything he thought Buck needed. Everything Buck deserved. Not to mention they hadn't even exchanged I love you's. And it was insane to think all of Tommy's things could fit in Buck's loft. Buck's things could fit in his house so much easier!
He clicked on Evan's name, started to type something out, erased it, started again, erased it again.
He was usually so aware of his surroundings. His time in the military did that to him. It did a lot of things to him actually, many of which he wasn't very thankful for. However, he prided himself on not being oblivious.
Tonight he was oblivious.
He didn't expect five men to jump him at once. He was a strong guy. Had taken on three men about fifteen years earlier. Did it with ease too.
But not five men. Not when one had a bat, and one had brass knuckles, and one was at least 6'5 and three hundred pounds. Not when they dragged him to the ground and into the alley before he had a chance to react. Screaming slurs at him as they took turns using his body as a punching bag.
He tried to fight. At one point, he was sure he kicked one of the guy's in the face. Heard him yell something like, “The fag broke my tooth!”
It only made things worse.
He wasn't sure when he first lost consciousness, but he knew they were still on top of him. Still laughing as they hit and kicked. He heard the sounds of someone spitting at some point. Felt wet on his face.
Then there was nothing.
Until someone stepped out from somewhere, and maybe they heard him groan? Maybe it was his Uber driver wondering where he was? Maybe it was an employee taking out the trash? He wasn't sure. He could barely hear someone telling him they were calling the police. There was a ringing in his ears, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Someone said something about wheezing, barely breathing. He wondered what that was about.
Then there was Athena. Then nothing again.
*****
The next time Tommy opened his eyes, he was in a dimly lit hospital room. He was confused. Could barely see out of one eye and everything was blurry out of the other.
His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and maybe some tiny humans hitting his brain with hammers.
“Are you... awake awake or not really awake?”
The sound of a man's voice startled him. He couldn't hardly move, but he was able to focus his eyes across the room at the figure in the corner.
“Ed- Eddie?”
God, his voice sounded weird. Why did it sound like that? Like he'd spent the last 30 years smoking a pack a day.
“Yeah, I'm here.”
He sounded hesitant. Maybe they'd had this conversation before? If they had, Tommy certainly didn't remember it.
“Wha- Why?”
Eddie stepped closer. “You're in the hospital, Man.”
Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. No duh.
He settled for clearing his throat, which turned into a burning sensation running down his chest. “Why're you... here?” he tried. Hoped Eddie understood that much.
“Tommy-”
“I t- told Athena-” he had to pause to take a breath. “Told her not to tell.”
“Actually, you told Athena not to tell him. And she assumed, correctly, I'm sure, that him was Buck. So she called me instead.”
Tommy closed his eyes. “Why?”
“Why'd she call me? Oh, maybe because you don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact and you were nearly beat to death so she figured you might need someone to be here when you woke up.”
Tommy's jaw clenched at Eddie's harsh words.
Nearly beat to death.
He was nearly beat to death.
Eddie either noticed Tommy's heart rate going up on the monitor, or his eyes filling with tears, because he was right beside his bed in two strides. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I- I'm kinda pissed, Man.”
“S'okay,” Tommy replied, swallowing hard. “I deserve it.”
Eddie looked taken aback. “No, I'm not- Tommy, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at this,” he said, gesturing over Tommy's body. “I've never seen...” Eddie's voice trailed off and, through Tommy's own blurry vision, he could see that Eddie was close to crying.
“What'd they do to me?” Tommy asked, barely able to take in all his injuries. His entire body hurt, no part any worse or less than the other. He could feel something on every limb, but he couldn't quite move his head around enough to see what it was.
Eddie took a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes with his fingers, sniffling before getting started. “You've got bruising on about seventy-five percent of your body. You had surgery for a busted kneecap on your right knee. Your left arm has a fracture, and your right one has thirty stitches, I think. They broke a few ribs, so it's gonna hurt like hell when you take a deep breath or cough. Um, you had some internal bleeding, but they got that under control pretty fast. You've got a fracture in your cheek, which may cause some extra pain when you talk. You've got a few broken fingers too, and lost a couple fingernails during your- when you were defending yourself.”
“Hm,” Tommy hummed once Eddie was done. “S'that all?”
Eddie shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I'm sure I missed a couple things, actually, jackass.”
Tommy let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan. “Thanks for coming, Eddie,” he said, trying and failing at moving himself into a slightly more comfortable position. “You don't have to stay though. I'll be fine.”
Eddie stared at him incredulously. “You're kidding me.”
Tommy shifted his eyes back in Eddie's direction. “No, I- I'll be okay. I've got it. Just,” he paused to take a breath, “don't let Buck know, please.”
Eddie raised a finger toward Tommy. “Well, see, about that. You only told Athena not to tell him before, and-”
“You didn't.”
“-and see he was already at my place when I got the call, so-”
“Please tell me you didn't.”
“I have one with cream and one with sugar and- Oh my God, you're awake!” The sound of Buck's voice had Tommy's head twisting toward the door so quickly that a pain shot from the bottom of his back all the way to the top of his head. “Ow!” he yelped, clenching his teeth and tossing his head against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Oh my God. Has the nurse come in yet? Have they checked his vitals? Eddie, you said he'd be out for a while! Tommy, do you feel any nausea? Do you remember who we are? The nurses said you might have-”
“Buck!” Eddie exclaimed. “Stop. He's okay.” He glanced over at Tommy, “I did forget to mention the head trauma.”
Tommy groaned, giving him a glare.
Eddie walked over to Buck and took the drink carrier from his hands. “I'll go find a nurse, you stay with him.”
Tommy wanted to yell out to Eddie to please not go, and also screw you, and maybe throw a couple hand gestures in there too. He stayed silent instead.
Buck looked Tommy up and down, hesitating slightly before walking up to the side of the bed. “So, you're-”
“I want to see myself,” Tommy blurted.
“Oh, um, I... Tommy, I don't. It might be better to wait.”
Tommy managed to move his head enough to look up at Buck. He could see the fear- no, the panic- in Buck's eyes.
“I wanna see," he repeated.
“Tommy-”
“Buck!” It took a lot of strength to get his name out so forcefully, and he didn't quite mean it to sound as angry as it did, but this wasn't Buck's decision. It was his. And he wanted to see what he looked like.
Buck pulled his phone from his back pocket, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled up the camera.
Slowly, he lifted the phone up to Tommy's face.
The second it registered that he was looking at himself, Tommy sucked in a breath. He grimaced as pain radiated through his chest but, when Buck went to move the camera away he stopped him. “No,” he said. “Just. Just wait.”
He knew his eyes were swollen by how out of focus his vision was, but he had no idea just how bad they looked. The right was worse than the left, but both were an angry mixture of black, purple, and green. The bruise on the left side of his face ran down his cheek to his jaw, circling underneath his chin like a half moon and fading into his facial hair. There were marks on his neck. Looked like someone's hand. He could understand Eddie's hesitancy on mentioning that. He didn't remember anyone gripping him there, which was probably for the best.
His forehead had more bruises, and cuts too. There was dried blood at his hairline, some stitched up cuts. His curly hair was nearly matted to his head, his scalp a brutal crimson.
“I tried to wash the blood out of your hair with a washcloth,” Buck explained anxiously, “but you have some lacerations on your scalp and I didn't want to bother them until they healed a little more.”
It was all so overwhelming. There was a whirring sound in his ears that made him feel dizzy. His eyes burned as they filled with tears that he didn't have the strength to wipe away.
“Okay,” he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat. “Can you- You can go, please. I don't... You can go.”
“Tommy-”
“Ev- Buck, I'm awake, I'm fine, I don't need anyone here.” He stared straight ahead, unable to look Buck in the eyes. “Please.”
“No.”
Tommy really didn't feel like dealing with stubborn Evan right now. “I don't-”
“I don't really care, Tommy. I'm not leaving you here. I've been at this damn hospital for three days now and I'm staying until you go home. I don't care what-”
He was cut off by the sound of footsteps behind him.
“Got the nurse,” Eddie said, an awkward smile on his face. The nurse, to her credit, ignored all the tension in the room.
“Let me get some hand sanitizer and gloves and I'll be right with you, Mr. Kinard.”
Buck sighed. He stepped even closer to Tommy. “I'm gonna go into the hall long enough for the nurse to check you out,” he said, maneuvering himself until he was halfway leaning over the bed, his arm on the other side of Tommy to prop himself up as he forced him to make eye contact. “I will be back in a few minutes. You have people who care about you, Tommy, whether you like it or not.”
With that said, Buck stood back up and left the room.
*****
Tommy spent a few more days in the hospital before he was released. There were only two times that Buck left long enough to get a shower and get a little rest in a real bed. Both of those times, he made sure Eddie was there the entire time.
Athena had come in to get his statement. Asked him all sorts of questions, most of which Tommy couldn't answer. He hadn't really gotten a good look at them. Only had very basic descriptions. He remembered the slurs they had hurled at him, knew they attacked because he was gay. He couldn't really figure out how they knew though. Besides being outside of that bar, it wasn't like Tommy ever did anything that screamed gay. Not that it mattered.
She'd been honest with him. There were no cameras at that part of the street, or in the alleyway. No one got a good description of the attackers, and the person who called the police only saw their shadows as they disappeared into the night. She'd do everything she could, but it wasn't likely they'd find these men. At least, not until they did this again.
Bobby stopped by once with some homemade chicken noodle soup. Buck had to feed him every bite, which made Tommy feel like he was about to cry the entire time, but he managed half a bowl before he had to stop. It was a million times better than anything the hospital had been feeding him, and he was glad to know Bobby had put some in his freezer to give Tommy when he got home.
Chim and Maddie came one evening. He'd been asleep when they got there, woke up some time during their visit, but he kept his eyes shut until they left.
Honestly, every time someone walked through the doors he felt more and more like running out of the hospital and finding a hole to fall into. Then, if he were lucky, someone would just shovel some dirt over him and let him rest.
These weren't his people. They were Buck's people. They didn't need to be there for him. They needed to hate him. They needed to laugh at his bruises and tell him he deserved every last one. They needed to yell at him for breaking Buck's heart to try and save his own.
That'd be a lot easier than this.
Thankfully, Hen and Karen didn't come by. They did send flowers though, and a card that explained both kids had strep throat and they didn't want to risk bringing that to the hospital. They'd come by Tommy's place once he was home.
He and Buck didn't talk about anything that needed to be talked about. All the unsent messages that had swirled through Tommy's mind didn't matter right now. It was like an unspoken rule between the two of them. Right now was not the time to try and fix whatever happened between them. Right now was about Tommy healing.
*****
As soon as they got Tommy home, Buck left Eddie with him so he could go to the pharmacy and pick up his medications. When he got back, Eddie headed out to go home and rest, promising to come back later with a variety of foods that would be easy on Tommy to eat.
The silence felt more... silent at Tommy's house. It was different now that they were at home instead of a hospital with people coming in and out at all times.
Tommy needed to do something, say something, to break the silence.
“I wasn't on a date,” he muttered out as Buck organized his pain meds on his nightstand.
Buck paused briefly before getting right back to it. “Didn't think you were.��
Tommy nodded. “Okay. I just, I don't know, didn't want you to think that.”
“You go to Georgie's when your brain is working overtime and you need it to quiet down.”
Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “I didn't know I ever told you that.”
“You didn't,” Buck replied, handing Tommy his pills and a glass of water. “I just know you.”
Tommy swallowed the pills, wincing slightly. His throat still felt scratchy even a week later. “I don't know how they knew,” he said as Buck took the water from him and set it on his nightstand.
“Who knew what?”
“Those guys that-” he stopped. “I don't know how they knew I was gay.”
“A lot of queer people hang out at Georgie's,” Buck answered. “They probably took a guess.”
The thought of it made Tommy's stomach lurch. “I've spent most of my life trying to make sure people couldn't guess.”
Buck watched him for a moment quizzically. “Tommy, you're not... You don't blame yourself for this, do you? You know this wasn't your fault, right?”
Tommy avoided eye contact with Buck. He felt so small right now. “I know I didn't do anything to provoke them.”
“That doesn't really answer my question.”
“I just... I don't know what I could have done differently. I know I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I... I should probably go to a different bar, maybe. I don't know.”
“You can't be serious right now.”
“This is everything I feared my entire life, Buck,” Tommy admitted and, God, he wished he could shut up right now. The pain pills were starting to make him a little loose lipped, mixed with him truly being alone with Buck for the first time since they broke up, mixed with an undeniable fear every time he thought about that night, seemed to make it impossible to close his mouth. “I did everything to make sure nothing like this would ever happen to me and it still did. I keep thinking about it and wondering how it could have been different. How I could have been different.”
“Tommy, can you look at me?”
Slowly, Tommy looked up at Buck, his eyes shining with tears.
“This was not your fault. There's nothing you could or should have done differently. You cannot let those five men shove you back into a closet.”
“I-” Tommy cleared his throat. “They're not. It's just... a lot right now.”
“I get that, I- I do. You look tired. Why don't you rest for a bit, okay? I'll be here when you wake up.”
“Buck, you don't-”
“If you tell me I don't need to stay I will force feed you bone broth when you wake up.”
Tommy shivered. “Ugh! I hate bone broth.”
“I know you do.” Buck gently pulled a pillow out from under Tommy, allowing him to lie back easier. “Close your eyes, get some rest. I'm here when you need me.”
*****
They were bound to fight sometime. Tommy had honestly expected it to happen sooner. Buck had been staying with him for three weeks now, only gone when he was working a shift. Bobby had let him work part time for now, with Carla caring for him when Buck was gone.
They'd managed to get past the initial awkwardness. Buck rambled about any and every subject he could think of. They'd watch movies together on the couch, with Tommy falling asleep halfway through due to his pain meds.
Buck would get Tommy tucked in bed, then set himself up on Tommy's floor in case he was needed during the night. Tommy had tried to insist he use the spare room, but Buck wouldn't hear of it. He knew Tommy wouldn't call for him if he needed him through the night.
Then Tommy tried to suggest he sleep in the bed. But that was a no go because, “I kick, Tommy, you know this. Do you really want another knee surgery?”
They'd been focused on Tommy getting better. And they'd been ignoring the many, many elephants in the room.
So, a fight was expected.
What wasn't expected was for the fight to start because Tommy needed to pee.
Buck had seemed a bit more on edge today, but Tommy chalked that up to a shift that ran longer than expected.
Tommy had grabbed his crutches, which he'd just been able to start using to go short distances. He still didn't quite trust himself to use them at night, but he was working toward relying on them more and relying on people less.
When he stood, Buck immediately stood with him.
“I'm fine, Buck. I just need to go to the bathroom.”
“I'll help you there.”
“I'm really fine. I can get there by myself.”
Tommy was sure he had kept his tone neutral. He definitely didn't want an argument tonight. But, before he could even make it two steps, he heard Buck scoff. “Not surprised.”
And maybe it was the full bladder making him extra bitchy, but Tommy couldn't help turning around and asking, “What's that mean?”
Buck shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing.”
“Obviously it's not nothing. If it were nothing you wouldn't have said anything in the first place. What doesn't surprise you?”
“Just you, ya know, pushing people away. It's what you do.”
“Ha!” Tommy laughed out. “If I'm pushing people away then I really suck at it because you haven't left my house in three weeks. I just need to pee.”
“I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about me telling you that I loved you and you breaking up with me.”
How in the hell did they end up here?
“You didn't tell me you loved me, Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, unbelievably confused. The sudden change in tone caused Buck to take a step back.
He was only thrown off for a second, quick with a retort. “Of course I did!”
“No, you absolutely did not! You asked me to move in with you, but you did not tell me you loved me.”
“Wait. You asked him to move in with you?” Eddie's voice had them glaring in his direction. Both had forgotten he was even there in the first place. He raised his hands. “Sorry.”
“Well, I- it was obviously implied,” Buck argued. “I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't love you.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?! You were making it sound like I was some gay hero that sewed the first pride flag! I don't even go to pride events, Evan! All the colors are far too bright and the glitter never leaves you.”
“Glitter is really annoying,” Eddie agreed.
Tommy pointed a crutch at him. “Thank you.”
“I was not trying to make you out to be some gay hero, Tommy! I was telling you that I was comfortable with you. I was telling you I wanted to spend all my time with you. I wanted us to be together!”
“You didn't even think it through, Evan!” Tommy motioned around the room. “I own a home. It comes with two bedrooms that have doors, a garage, a back yard, and two and a half bathrooms. You asked me to move into your loft.”
Eddie shook his head. “Oh, Buck.”
Buck's eyes shot over to him. “You're still here why?”
Eddie stood from his spot on the couch, grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I'm going. Later.”
They both stayed silent until they heard the door open and close.
Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “This is our first fight, isn't it?”
Tommy nodded. “It is.”
“Took us long enough.”
Tommy managed a small smile. “Probably should have fought you that night, honestly.”
“I think I would have felt better if you did.”
“Me too.” Tommy took a deep breath. “I actually really do have to pee,” he said, shifting from one crutch to the other. “Can we pause this until I'm done?”
Buck nodded. “I'll be here.”
They didn't actually fight anymore after that. It was time for Tommy to take his meds, which made him tired, and Buck was tired himself from his shift. Tommy laid in bed, Buck snoring on the floor beside him, thinking it all over. All the things he still felt like he needed to say. The unfinished business they had between them.
The fight wasn't much, but it was something.
It was enough.
For now.
*****
“Are you sure you're good on your own?” Buck asked as Tommy limped behind him toward the door.
“I'm sure. I can successfully do everything on my own now with minimal to no pain.”
Buck turned back to him quickly, eyes wide. “But there's still pain?”
Tommy smiled. “I'm fine, Evan.”
Buck didn't look so sure. “Okay, I... Okay.” Instinctively, he moved forward to wrap Tommy in a hug. He stopped himself before he got too close, but Tommy responded by opening his arms.
Buck's posture relaxed as he gently wrapped his arms around Tommy, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "I was so worried about you," he whispered in the space between them.
"I know."
“You'll call the number I gave you?” he asked.
“I already did yesterday,” Tommy admitted. “When you went out to pick up dinner. My first session is next Monday.”
“Good. That's... That's good.”
“Thank you, Evan. For everything you've done for me. You didn't have to do that.”
Reluctantly, Buck pulled himself away from Tommy.
“Did you realize you've been calling me Evan since our fight a couple weeks ago?” he asked, lips upturning into a smile.
“Oh, um,” Tommy shifted on his feet, taking the pressure off his bad knee. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Don't be sorry. I hate when you call me Buck.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I'll always- I wanna be Evan, to you.”
Tommy nodded, staring into Evan's eyes. “Okay. That's. I'd like that too.”
Buck continued toward the door, stopping again as soon as his hand touched the handle. He looked back. “Hey, Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you think about texting me... hit send, okay?”
Tommy had never mentioned that before. But he'd caught Buck's near-texts to him too, so it didn't quite catch him off guard. “I'm kinda a mess, Evan. I'm not as comfortable as you think I am. I'm not... I'm still figuring things out.”
“That's okay. I am too. Text me anyway.”
“Even if I'm asking you out for a coffee? So we can talk? Really talk?”
“Date and time, I'll be there.” Buck smiled softly at him as he opened the door to leave. “I'll get your order right this time.”
239 notes · View notes
rothpie · 2 days ago
Text
❝FIDELITY❞ |part8
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank
Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: slut shaming(?)
previous - next
Could you really call yourself an adult now?
I mean, honestly, is there some magical age that makes you a certified grown-up?
If it’s all about age, then nope—you weren’t an adult. Maybe a “young adult” at best, but even then, the life you were living? Let’s just say it was… a bit different.
When everything started happening so quickly, keeping up felt impossible. And let’s face it, that was normal. If you managed to juggle everything with calm composure, you’d probably qualify as Wonder Woman. Life came with its ups and downs, but throw pregnancy symptoms into the mix, and things got extra tricky.
You liked to share what you wanted with others. Talking about your plans openly was just how you were. It wasn’t about bragging; you just enjoyed sharing your happiness. But every single time—without fail—whatever you talked about? It never happened.
That Venice trip you’d been set on for the summer? Canceled.
The dream university? Rejected. That car you were this close to buying? Nope, didn’t happen.
It was like clockwork. Every time.
And the thing was, you never learned. Not really. You’d repeat the same mistake again and again. Life’s law, right? Someday you’d figure it out… though that day clearly wasn’t anytime soon.
Pregnancy, though, wasn’t exactly something you could go shouting about to everyone. That was off the table. But moving?
If you weren’t pregnant, there’s no way you’d have kept quiet. You’d have made sure the entire island knew. And naturally, that would’ve meant it wouldn’t happen.
This time, though, you zipped it. The only person who knew was JJ—and, well, he didn’t really count. Or, okay, maybe he did. Of course, he was important, but not the kind of person to stand in your way. On the contrary, he had your back. He even offered to help you with the whole moving process.
Things happened so fast, you could hardly believe it.
Your dad came home from his work trip, you visited the mainland, met with a realtor friend of his, checked out potential homes—it was like someone had hit the fast-forward button.
You couldn’t decide on anything. You were even okay with a cute little apartment. The list of occupants was simple: you and your daughter. You didn’t need much more.
Your mom, however, had her opinions. She didn’t want a mansion either, but she was firm about the house having enough rooms. One for you, one for your daughter, and a guest room—because naturally, grandma duties. And a yard, because she wanted to watch her grandchild play outside.
So apartments were out. Houses it was. After seeing what felt like a million empty ones, you were ready to scream.
But finally, you found it. The perfect house. The yard alone sold it. You could already picture the memories you’d make there with your daughter. Maybe a swing or a hammock… some comfy furniture on the porch.
You never imagined you’d get so close to your dream so quickly.
It had the three rooms your mom insisted on, was two stories, and honestly, it was beautiful. You loved it. But the idea of living there alone was terrifying.
Still, the deal was sealed.
It didn’t take long—two weeks, tops. When your mom insisted on hiring an interior designer, you didn’t argue much. Secretly, you liked the idea. And once your belongings were packed, it was all done.
All that was left was you.
There weren’t many people to say goodbye to on the island, which was, honestly, fine. Who were you supposed to bid farewell to? Rafe? His family, who didn’t even know you were pregnant? Your friends, who’d probably broadcast the news to the world? No thanks.
Except for JJ.
You’d have been a total ass not to acknowledge his help. Even if his support wasn’t entirely physical, his presence had been a huge emotional lift.
So saying goodbye wasn’t hard.
Ignoring the support he’d given you would’ve been dumb. When you decided to give him a nice surfboard as a thank-you gift, you didn’t overthink it. You just thought about who JJ was—someone who loved the ocean and surfing. Beyond that? You didn’t know much. So you kept it simple. Spoiler alert: he liked it.
You hesitated, thinking a gift might make things unnecessarily sentimental, but he deserved it. Nobody else in his position would’ve treated you as kindly. Even Kooks barely treated each other well. Expecting a Pogue to go out of their way for you? Yeah, no.
But JJ had.
You weren’t super close, but during one of your conversations, he’d mentioned how much he liked the rare nights when his shift ended early. He worked at a pub. In your head, you’d given him two weeks before he got fired—or kicked out after starting a fight. You were that sure of it.
A week ago, knowing the end of his evening shift, you parked near the pub, sitting on your car hood to wait for him. The plan? Give him the surfboard. Maybe even give him a ride home if he needed one.
Fifteen minutes passed. He hadn’t come out.
You started questioning everything—maybe you’d gotten the wrong day? Or maybe you’d messed up the time?
Waiting around for nothing felt miserable. You should’ve paid better attention when he’d been talking about his schedule.
Not that the gift had been planned or anything. The idea had hit you on a whim. You just wanted to do something before you left. After all, there weren’t many people to say goodbye to. And texting JJ a quick see ya felt way too impersonal.
“What are you doing here?”
You snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes shooting up from your phone. JJ stood a few steps away, mid-turn before he stopped and faced you fully. His eyes scanned the car before landing on you.
Quickly, you shoved your phone into your pocket. “Making sure you didn’t pick another fight.” Sliding off the hood, you smirked.
JJ rolled his eyes, flashing you a sarcastic smile. “Ha-ha. How funny.”
Unlike him, your grin was genuine. Why should he have all the fun pissing people off? It was your turn.
Unlike him, your lips curled into a genuine smile. Was it always going to be him getting under your skin for his own amusement? No, this time, it was your turn.
You heard him say your name, his tone serious. “No, really. What are you doing here?”
Keeping surprises wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you couldn’t resist messing with him a little. After all, this was the first time in days you’d left the house—and only in your baggiest clothes. Might as well enjoy it.
“Just hanging out.”
He frowned, his eyes scanning the area before gesturing around. “Here? Outside the pub?”
The confusion on his face was nearly comical—borderline annoyed, maybe?
You mirrored his glance at the surroundings, raising your eyebrows. It wasn’t much to look at. Just… a place. “What’s wrong with here?”
JJ let out a frustrated sigh, and for a moment, you couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to annoy him. He genuinely looked upset. “Are you serious right now? You—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw as he stepped closer. Lowering his voice, he added, “You can’t drink. You’re not even supposed to be hanging around.”
So, he thought you’d come here to drink? That’s why he was so worked up?
It was kind of… cute. But poking the bear was way more fun.
You let out a dramatic hum as you crossed your arms. “Not allowed? Says who?” You tried not to laugh at the look he shot you, a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like you’d lost your mind.
“Me. You’re not drinking. Not here, not anywhere. Have you lost it?”
Your lips pulled into a grin, and despite his attempt to scold you, his irritation only made it funnier. Especially since you hadn’t even done what he was accusing you of.
The second JJ caught onto what you were doing, his annoyed expression melted away. As your laughter echoed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. Now, can you just tell me what you’re actually doing here?”
You clutched your stomach, your laughter dying down into a lingering smile. Sure, he wasn’t amused, but you were, and that’s all that mattered.
“I’ve got something for you.”
JJ’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened, intrigued. “Yeah?”
You stepped away from the car’s front, glancing back to see him still rooted in place. You gave him a quick head nod to follow. With a sigh, he finally moved. “If this is a gun for self-defense, just so you know, I’m not really clear on the rules here,” he joked with a wink.
You snorted, shaking your head. “Please. If I gave you a gun, you’d be arrested in, like, two seconds.”
He laughed, but you could tell he was curious now. Opening the back door, you reached inside. “It’s a thank-you gift. Kind of.”The surprise on his face was priceless. He clearly wasn’t expecting this. Honestly, neither were you until the idea struck.
JJ tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Thank you? For what? For telling you not to pick fights?”
You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t be serious. “No, JJ. For helping me out.”
He smiled, but it was that classic, goofy grin of his. Any trace of his earlier irritation had completely vanished. He didn’t even glance into the car. “Oh, I get it. Like a ‘without JJ, my life would’ve fallen apart’ kind of thank you? Go on, feed my ego. I live for this.”
For a split second, you considered slamming the door and driving off. Instead, you laughed. Sure, there was some truth to what he said, but no way were you letting him win.
Taking a deep breath, you opened the door wider and stepped back. “Nope. It’s just a small gesture. Don’t read too much into it.”
JJ walked over and held the door open, his eyes going wide when he spotted the surfboard wedged into the backseat. His fingers ran over the smooth edges and the blue-and-white design. “You got this for me?” he asked, his voice softer now as he inspected it.
You couldn’t suppress your grin. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of random, but I figured you could use your own board for a change. For everything you’ve done—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It meant a lot.”
JJ’s smile was different this time. It wasn’t cocky or teasing. It was genuine. “If I don’t take this, I feel like you’d be really annoying about it,” he muttered, pulling the board from the car.
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t want to hear me talk about how I poured my heart into its design,” you teased.
He froze, eyes narrowing. “Wait—you designed it?”
You smirked, holding his gaze. “No. But it’s nice that you believed it for a second.”
JJ laughed, shaking his head as he leaned the board against the car. For once, he wasn’t mocking or making jokes. Instead, he looked at you with something softer, something you couldn’t quite place. “This is… perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. I just wanted to.”
He hesitated, glancing at the board before meeting your eyes again. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? That’s how it felt. Deep down, you’d even envied the way he was with his friends. He didn’t know you. In fact, he hated your group. But if he treated you like this—who knew how he treated his friends?
You weren’t used to people doing things for you without expecting something in return. Sure, you had a hunch JJ liked money. Not just you—everyone on the island knew that. But still, the way he talked to you, made time for you… it mattered. It broke the prejudice you had against him.
It wasn’t anything grand. He didn’t buy you houses or cars. He didn’t shower you with jewelry. But he talked to you like no one else did. He made you feel—like you were someone. Like someone whose decisions shouldn’t be dictated by anyone else’s words.
And that? That was worth more than jewelry. More than anything money could buy. It was something most people—Rafe included—didn’t have.
From the moment he heard, he didn’t tell anyone. What friend would do that? Ruthie? Sophie? Who?
JJ did.
And he wasn’t even your friend.
That’s why it mattered. He was just being himself, and you needed that.
“It felt like that.” JJ was holding the surfboard, his eyes catching yours. A strange silence fell between you. Neither of you had expected such a gesture—not just surfing, but the support he’d given you.
You hadn’t expected his support; that was his gesture to you. And he hadn’t expected a surfboard from you; that was your gesture to him.
JJ lifted the board to examine it, the usual smirk still on his face. He was clearly trying to ease the tension hanging between you. “So, I have my own board now, huh? I don’t have to give this one back, do I? Because when it comes to stuff like that, you’re pretty stubborn.”
“No, it’s yours,” you said, smiling. You were grateful for his teasing—it cut through the awkwardness. You could’ve stayed silent for hours. “But if I catch you getting into another fight, I’ll beat you with that board.”
JJ laughed, shaking his head. His gaze flicked between the board and you. He was ridiculously excited about the surfboard but trying hard not to show it. “Fair deal. But just so we’re clear, every cool move I pull off with this board? I’m crediting you. ‘Thanks to Princess for this wave,’ that kind of thing. You’re my sponsor now.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny his antics made you laugh. He was fun to be around. You were glad the whole “status” nonsense between you two seemed to be fading. It wasn’t just you—he had his own assumptions about you too. But it felt like you’d both moved past that. “Okay. Sponsorship’s over. Go find your wave.”
JJ carefully propped the board against the wall, his expression softening. “Jokes aside, thanks. I mean it. This means a lot. Just don’t tell anyone I said that—gotta protect my image.” He smiled, dimples showing as he ran a hand through his hair.
You smiled back, nodding quickly. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe.”
As you both grinned, JJ’s eyes flicked from you to the surfboard. Following his gaze, your eyes drifted to his hands, gently tracing the board like it was fragile.
“I’m leaving the island tomorrow.” The words tumbled out, and you saw his hands freeze. His gaze landed on you, but you kept your focus on the board, pretending to admire its design. It really was a beautiful surfboard. “So—I wanted to say thank you.”
His blue eyes pierced through you as if that was even possible. JJ didn’t say anything to make the moment heavier, just nodded. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Realizing the air had gotten heavier, you shifted your tone to something more casual. “I could drive you home if you want.”
You weren’t the kind of person to offer, but making him carry a surfboard all the way home felt cruel.
JJ opened his mouth to respond, but a car horn blared from down the street. Both of you turned toward the sound. Outside the car, John B and Kiara were leaning against it, with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah visible through the windows. Pope waved at JJ from where he hung halfway out of the window.
When Sarah’s eyes met yours, you instinctively tugged at your shirt. There wasn’t anything visible, but still—you felt uneasy. “Wow,” you said, feigning amusement. “Your entourage is here.”
JJ hesitated, looking momentarily torn. Finally, he sighed, a guilty smile creeping onto his face. His gaze dropped to your hand still fidgeting with your shirt. For a split second, it seemed like he wanted to grab your hand, to stop you.
“Nothing’s showing,” he said, his eyes lingering on your waist. You knew that, but the idea of anyone finding out still terrified you. Especially someone from Rafe’s family. He didn’t want them to know, and neither did you. That’s why you felt the need to be extra cautious around Sarah and Wheezie.
“I know. It’s just—” You stopped, shutting your eyes briefly before opening them again. It was paranoia, but understandable. “Relax. No one knows, I swear.” His hand almost reached out to your arm, but he stopped, remembering his friends were watching from the car.
“Go,” you said, shrugging. You composed yourself. “Looks like you’ve got a ride after all.” You smiled.
JJ paused for a beat, then flashed a crooked smile. He hated the awkwardness lingering between you. “If this board isn’t as good as you said, you’re getting an earful. I’ll call you.” He walked backward, teasing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.
As you walked toward your front door, you noticed his movements slow. He stopped, turned, and looked back at you. It was like he’d remembered something he’d forgotten to do. Placing the surfboard down gently, his eyes briefly darted away from yours.
Then he walked up to you and stopped right in front of you. After a brief, silent pause, you felt his arms wrap around you. Was he… hugging you? Seriously? The gesture caught both of you off guard. You’d never imagined this kind of closeness. But then again, you hadn’t imagined buying him a surfboard either. So, it didn’t feel wrong. If buying him a gift made you feel this close, then it wasn’t strange that he’d feel close enough to hug you.
You returned the gesture, wrapping your arms around him. His grip was firm, and the scent of salt and ocean filled your senses. How did he always smell so much like the sea?
The hug was short, but both of you felt the strangeness of it. Once again—you felt like you’d crossed a line. Broken some unspoken rule.
JJ shrugged as he pulled back. “Yeah, that’s it. See you, uh… whatever.”
You took a deep breath, watching him stand there. You hated goodbyes. You were going to miss this island, and now—
“Yeah… goodbye.” You pushed your hair behind your shoulders, trying to steady your voice. You didn’t understand why you felt like you were losing a friend. Like you were going to… miss him?
Stop. Don’t even think about it.
JJ nodded, picking up the surfboard as he walked toward the car. You watched him for a moment before turning to the front door and stepping into your car. Through the windshield, you caught a glimpse of Kiara muttering something to Sarah. Whatever she was saying, you couldn’t hear.
When JJ got into the car, he paused, lowering his head for a brief moment before looking outside again.
He mouthed something to the group. Not to you, but to the friends in the car. “Just shut up.”
When he gave you a quick nod, you returned it before starting your car. Watching them drive off, you felt a strange mix of relief and melancholy. You’d thanked JJ, and that was all you wanted. It was done.
Except for the quiet ache of losing a friend.
You’d left only a few clothes back at the house on the island. The furniture and everything else stayed in your room. Your parents insisted the room remain untouched—they wanted you to know there was still a home for you there. They even promised not to change a thing.
The first few months were bound to be hard; you knew that. Living alone was going to take some getting used to. But you hoped it’d all be worth it when you finally held your baby.
Now, you were sitting on the couch in your new place, sipping a green smoothie. You’d have given anything for a coffee, but pregnancy meant sacrifices. A little caffeine might not hurt, but you didn’t want to risk it. The smoothie was healthy, though it tasted awful.
It had only been six days since the move. You’d allowed yourself time to explore the area, taking walks around the quiet streets. Your parents had offered to stay with you for a few days, but you politely declined. You wanted to settle in on your own. Leaning on their warmth and presence only to have it ripped away later would have made the loneliness worse. You couldn’t let that happen.
Morning sickness had eased enough for a few walks, so you’d wandered the calm streets near your house. Quiet, orderly, nothing like Outer Banks. You couldn’t help but compare the two. Everything here was different. The people, the lifestyle—it all felt so structured and tame. But a part of you missed the chaos of the island. The freedom. The absurdity of going to the store in a bikini without anyone batting an eye. That tight-knit community where everyone knew each other’s names.
You’d visited the local park a few times. It was rarely crowded, and you hadn’t met anyone yet. By the time you arrived, most of the adults and kids were just beginning to trickle in.
So, here you were: your own place. Did that make you an adult?
How did adults even make friends? Scratch that—how did anyone past a certain age make friends? As a kid, it was easy. Just ask someone to play with you, and that was it. Middle school? Same thing.
But now? You didn’t know a soul here. What were you supposed to do? Walk up to someone and introduce yourself?
Terrifying thought.
Still, maybe worth trying, right?
-
Socializing wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
Your eyes scanned the park’s scenery. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze, and birds chirped in the branches above. A group of kids played in a sandbox, their laughter mingling with the faint sounds of distant traffic.
You clasped your hands over your stomach, exhaling deeply. “Maybe this is good for me,” you thought.
But the whole idea still felt horrifying. Sitting at home would’ve been worse, though. At least you were out, breathing fresh air.
Introducing yourself to someone, though? Out of the question. No anxiety attacks, but your chest tightened just thinking about it. No, you’d just sit and enjoy the park for a bit. That would be enough.
Your gaze dropped to the book in your lap: Healthy Nutrition and Development During Pregnancy. You fiddled with the corner of its cover. Would someone else find this funny? Carrying a guidebook instead of a novel wasn’t something even you would’ve expected a few months ago. But here you were, on the verge of a whole new chapter. Screw what anyone thought—you were preparing for your future.
Suddenly, the bench shifted slightly as someone sat down beside you. The movement snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced up to find a middle-aged woman with an energetic demeanor. Her dyed-blond hair revealed a hint of gray at the roots, and a steaming coffee cup rested in her hands.
“Ugh, I hope I can finish this before it goes cold,” she muttered to herself before calling out to the playground. “Tati! No running, sweetheart!”
She waved toward the child before turning back to you with a wide smile.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she chirped.
You gave her a polite smile, nodding. “It is,” you replied, subtly shifting your book closer to your lap. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hands, narrowing slightly as if trying to make out the title. “Is that a… guidebook?” she finally asked.
You tilted your head slightly. “Yes,” you said simply, hoping that’d be enough to end the conversation.
“A pregnancy guide?” she pressed, her curiosity accompanied by a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How sweet! Helping out a sister or expecting a niece?—Oh, where are my manners? I’m Viola.”
Her question caught you off guard. You hesitated briefly before giving your name. “Uh, no. It’s for me,” you said with a small smile.
Her expression shifted instantly. Her eyes widened, her grin turning stiff and awkward. “For you? Oh…”
You nodded, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. She had seemed friendly at first, but the subtle judgment on her face now was impossible to ignore.
“How far along?” she asked, as if the question was perfectly natural.
“Sixteen weeks,” you mumbled, pretending to smooth the book’s pages. The weight of her gaze made your skin crawl.
“Ah, so young,” she murmured, taking a long sip from her coffee. When she lowered the cup, her eyes lingered on you, as though dissecting every detail. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Twenty,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but feeling the words land heavier than you intended. You watched her eyebrows knit together as she took a sharp breath.
“Twenty? You look barely old enough to drive!” she exclaimed, clearly not trying to be subtle. Then, almost conspiratorially, “But… you must be married, right?”
Your hands instinctively moved to rest on your stomach, but you hesitated to respond. The silence must have been answer enough because her eyes flicked from your belly back to your face.
“Oh,” she said knowingly, her smile tightening further. “So… is the father still in the picture?”
What was this, an interrogation?
You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Was it the tone of her voice? Or the audacity of her questions? Whatever it was, it stung. “That’s not something I need to discuss with you,” you said firmly, fighting to keep the frustration out of your voice.
Viola shrugged, but her scrutinizing look didn’t waver. “Fair enough. But raising a baby at your age, and without… well, you know. It’s going to be tough. Don’t you think this was a bit… impulsive?”
Her words hit like a cold wind. You tightened your grip on your stomach and tilted your head slightly. “That’s none of your business,” you said, your voice harder now.
Viola didn’t back down. “Yes, maybe you’re right. But people talk, sweetheart. And usually, they judge the ones they think made the wrong decisions…” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, they judge.”
That was all you needed to hear. You tucked your book under your arm like you were putting it in a bag, got up, and said, “I think it’s time for me to leave,” your tone colder than even you expected.
Viola raised a hand as if trying to smooth things over. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said, but the look in her eyes betrayed the opposite. “I’m just saying this for your own good.”
You could shove your “thoughts” up your ass.
Turning on your heel, you walked toward the park’s exit. The sound of her coffee cup being placed on the bench and her murmuring words echoed behind you. A fresh start sounded nice, you thought. But a new beginning wasn’t a guarantee of escaping old judgments.
There was no way you were going out to socialize again anytime soon. You hated that woman. With every fiber of your being. The way she judged you with that smug little brain of hers—it made your blood boil. You had no memory of how you even made it back home.
You made yourself some hot cocoa, hoping it would calm your nerves. Honestly, lying flat in the grass wouldn’t have been enough to shake off the anger at this point.
Even though you tried to distract yourself—knowing full well that stress wasn’t good for the baby—it wasn’t working. The incident replayed in your mind on a loop. You were certain you’d shiver every time you walked past that park again.
Who did she think she was, anyway? How could someone pass judgment on a stranger like that? The sheer audacity—it was baffling.
The sound of your phone notification pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over, you reached for the phone resting on the couch.
Tumblr media
You waited for a reply, but when nothing came, you set the phone down again. At least one of you was having a good day. Even though you felt like you were on the verge of exploding, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.
The sudden ring of your phone startled you. You looked over, eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. JJ Maybank was calling you. Right now.
Pressing the phone to your ear, you grabbed the half-full cocoa mug from the table with your other hand. You weren’t going to drink it anymore. You were too annoyed to even think about washing it, but you figured you could at least move it somewhere out of sight. JJ’s voice came through the speaker, and despite everything, a small smile crept onto your face. For all his antics, he was a decent guy.
Heading toward the kitchen, you heard the cheerfulness in his voice as he began, “Used it this morning.” He was talking about the surfboard, excitement practically dripping from his words.
Frowning slightly, you placed the mug on the counter. This morning? Shouldn’t he have been at work? “This morning? Weren’t you supposed to be at work?”
There was a brief pause before JJ let out a muffled laugh. “Got fired,” he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Honestly, with him, it kind of was. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.
You weren’t surprised—of course, you weren’t. With the phone still pressed to your ear, you wandered over to the window and glanced outside. “Figured,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.
JJ didn’t miss a beat, his tone now teasingly accusatory. “Wait a second. Did you bet on me?”
Smiling, you shook your head even though he couldn’t see it, your attention momentarily caught by a cat wandering down the street. JJ cleared his throat, bringing you back. “No, but I wish I had,” you said.
His response came in the form of a dramatic groan. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve heard all week. You’re better than this.”
You turned around and walked toward the kitchen, your tone a little sharper now. “Get used to it.”
JJ responded immediately, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. “Never,” he shot back. Then, after a brief pause, his tone softened, but he added a teasing edge. “Pregnancy hormones have turned you into a completely different person. And it’s only been six days.”
The way he always knew how to push your buttons—and somehow make you smile instead of snap—was maddening. You found yourself tapping the corner of the table with your fingers, a habit you didn’t even notice until it happened. “I take pride in that,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips.
JJ came back stronger, more confident this time. “Hey, do you think it’s the hormones, or is it because you haven’t seen my handsome face for six whole days?” There was that familiar cocky tone, but you could tell he was trying to make you laugh. “I’d bet everything it’s because you haven’t seen my handsome face.”
“Even your surfboard?” you teased, your voice lifting just enough to show you were fully invested in the banter now. You moved toward the living room and dropped onto the couch, your gaze briefly flitting to the TV. But your attention was fully locked on JJ.
“Not a chance,” he replied instantly, almost defensive. “The board’s off-limits. Too precious.”
You chuckled, grabbing the nearby blanket and pulling it over your lap. “Then you’ve lost everything except the surfboard,” you said, shaking your head in mock disapproval. JJ’s laugh echoed through the phone, rich and warm, before he quipped, “You’ve been extra rude lately,” his voice carrying a mix of mock hurt and teasing amusement.
You didn’t just roll your eyes—you sank deeper into the couch, grabbing a pillow to prop yourself up. Of course, he’d called just to mess with you. Was he bored? Had he decided you were the best target for entertainment? “I’ve always been like this,” you replied with a shrug he couldn’t see.
“Nope,” JJ shot back instantly, his tone softer but still certain. A brief silence followed, filled only by the sound of your own breathing, before he spoke again. This time, his voice was a little more sincere. “So… how’s it going? Living alone and all?”
You didn’t hate that he asked. Actually, it felt nice to talk to someone. As an adult—or whatever weird in-between phase you were in—socializing wasn’t exactly easy. It hadn’t been easy on the island either, but at least that had been your choice. This wasn’t.
You took a deep breath, realizing the question was harder to answer than you’d expected. “It sucks,” you admitted finally, the honesty not surprising you in the slightest.
“Why?” JJ’s voice was softer now, laced with just enough concern to feel genuine but not suffocating. It was like he always knew how to navigate these moments without overstepping. And honestly, it was strange—good strange.
You tried to sort through the chaos in your head. “I don’t know,” you said with a faint sigh. “I haven’t really connected with anyone. I don’t know anyone here.”
JJ, ever the problem-solver in his own weird way, jumped in with his trademark ease. “Then make friends with the stray cats,” he said, that classic carefree tone of his bringing a smile to your face despite everything.
“I already have you,” you teased back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t possibly betray you.”
His laugh from the other end of the line was contagious. “Not funny.” 
Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, you hesitated before mumbling, “Are you okay? How are you?” Somehow, over the phone, it felt easier to ask—less intimidating than it would’ve been face-to-face.
“I’m amazing,” JJ said, his voice taking on a flat, almost robotic tone that screamed deflection.
“Your ego is exhausting,” you retorted, matching his sarcasm. Why couldn’t he just answer the question for once? Did everything have to be a game? “Seriously. How are you? After… you know, that day.”
JJ exhaled deeply, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I don’t live with my dad anymore.”
You sat up straighter, grabbing the remote to lower the TV’s volume. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Packed up my stuff and left.”
It wasn’t exactly shocking. In fact, you were relieved he’d done it. Knowing he’d been living with someone who hurt him was unbearable. But still, you couldn’t stop your brow from furrowing. You couldn’t shake the worry. “Are you staying with John B?”
JJ’s silence was unexpected. You listened to the sound of his breathing, the faintest hitch before he finally answered. “Kind of?”
“What does that mean?” Your voice sharpened with concern. Why was he dancing around the answer when he could just tell you?
JJ sighed again, his tone shifting as though he’d stepped further away from the phone. “They don’t know I left yet. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
He hadn’t told his closest friends? Why? They weren’t the type to judge him. You didn’t know them well, but you were sure of that much. It didn’t make sense.
Even as your worry grew, you knew pressing him wasn’t the right move. “So where are you staying?” you asked cautiously.
JJ’s tone hardened. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” There it was—his three-year-old tantrum mode. Did he really think people didn’t have the right to worry about him? Idiot.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling your patience wearing thin. “As your friend, I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety, JJ. Just tell me where you’re staying.”
His tone shifted again, this time lighter, more teasing. “Friend, huh? That’s nice. Kook and Pogue forever.”
“Shut it,” you snapped, your irritation clear. All you wanted was to know he was safe. “Just tell me already.”
JJ paused, then let out a soft laugh—the kind you knew was covering up something deeper. Even a toddler could tell. “I stayed with them for a few days. Been figuring it out since.”
You frowned. That wasn’t a solution. “You need to tell them,” you said gently.
He responded with the same stubbornness you’d come to expect, but his tone hinted at a smirk. “This is my problem, princess.” Then, as if to shift the mood, he added, “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone. Cute, right? Now, tell me about your day.”
Despite the worry gnawing at you, you relaxed just a little. He wouldn’t be joking around like this if things were terrible… right?
You hoped so cause—JJ is your friend.
251 notes · View notes
wonderjanga · 22 hours ago
Text
YJ meets C.C.
This is the Young Justice edition of my JL meets C.C. post from a super long time ago.
So basically, like their adult counterparts, the YJ went back in time too. Marvel explicitly warned them multiple times not to goof off too much in the mysterious laboratory, but no, someone happened to goof off too much which caused a time machine to somehow activate and here they were now. They were kinda just wandering around trying to find out where they were. They’re just thankful they were in civilian clothes when the accident happened.
M’gann: *bumps into C.C.*
Marilyn: “Watch where you’re going, bitch.”
And that was how the YJ met a teenage C.C. and Marilyn. Both of which were kinda assholes in high school, think mean girls, but somehow they became the sweetest people ever when they became adults. Here were a collection of incidents between them all.
Other YJ: “You go!” *push Connor forward*
Conner: *begrudgingly walks over to where C.C., Marilyn, and a couple other kids are sitting for lunch* “Uh… hi.”
C.C.: “Hi?” *looks Conner up and down* “Can we help you?”
Conner: “Uhhhhhh…”
C.C.: *stares for a solid few seconds* “Are you autistic?”
Conner: “No?”
C.C.: “You seem like it.”
*silence*
C.C.: *grins* “You know, you should totally sit with us.”
And that was how Conner got accepted into the group. Was it for being autistic or was it for a different reason? He doesn’t know.
or
C.C.: “Hey, you.” *jogs over*
Kaldur: “Yes?”
C.C.: “You’re gonna join the swim team, right?”
Kaldur: “I don’t plan to.”
C.C.: “But don’t you have gills, fish boy?”
Kaldur: “Fish boy?”
C.C.: “I’m not even gonna ask if your mom fucked a fish, I just really want you to join. So just think about it, okay?”
Kaldur: *rethinking everything he thought he knew about Cap*
C.C.: “Oh and by the way if you don’t join, I will tell everybody about the gills. Just in case that wasn’t clear.”
As for why he wanted Kaldur to join the swim team? C.C. was on it. Because I say so.
or
C.C.: *sleeping in class*
Marilyn: *drawing on her boyfriend’s hand*
Kid Flash: *notices and tries to wake him up* “Dude, you’re gonna miss this.”
C.C.: *slaps his hand away* “Fuck off, ginger. I have straight A’s in this class.” *goes right back to sleep*
or
Robin and Artemis: *talking while walking*
C.C. and Marilyn: *walking while talking, Marilyn trips Artemis*
Artemis: *falls* “What the hell?”
Marilyn: “My bad.” *smiles*
Artemis: “Your bad? You did that on purpose.”
Marilyn: “No I didn’t.” (She absolutely did)
Artemis: “Yes you did.”
C.C.: “No, she didn’t.” (Again, she did) “Honestly, even if she did, you deserve it for being so annoying about an accident.”
Robin: “That’s not sound reasoning at all…”
When they all got back, they all saw the Cap in a new light. They also all had so many questions?? Like is he still dating that Marilyn chick? Cap isn’t an asshole anymore, so what happened to make him change? Does he actually think some of the things he said about them??
Also, during their short time together C.C., actually did like Conner, he was the like one person out of the YJ C.C. and Marilyn actually liked and weren’t being assholes to.
184 notes · View notes
nevermindmorpheus · 3 days ago
Text
So I just want to notice a few things about this article and suggest we all take a moment to do a fact check.
First, it’s weird that only the advocate leading a rally on Jess and Dahlia’s behalf is quoted.
Second, there does not in fact seem to be a light rail stop at Hennepin and 5th street. (a bus stop, yes).
Third, the details are odd—Jess and Dahlia were beaten to unconsciousness on the street and yet the only news is this story in the Independent, and then a few stories using that article to regurgitate that information.
Fourth, while there is a quote from a legitimate group in Minneapolis (Sequeerity) it’s not actually about the attacks, but about whether their services and classes have been in demand. Which I am sure is true, but it’s a red flag there is no link to the actual event that supposedly kicked off the interview.
When I search “trans women attacked minneapolis” it pulls these up along with a story from the Star Tribune (Minneapolis’s award winning local paper) about a trans woman attacked by two men in a light rail station—in March of 2023
Now, this story treats the violence with the level of care I would expect for something this vicious, you can see the multiple sources, how the details are laid out etc. (Also in this incident, and the police are called and her attackers were charged.)
Now what I kind of suspected here in the case of the 2024 story that uses some of those details but none of the context that makes sense, was that this story is either AI written or in the worst case, written to stoke fear in trans folks hoping to find safety. Things feel very dangerous in the US right now and a story like this can make even places of refuge seem unsafe. The reality of course is that no place is perfect, but Minneapolis is still a much better option for safety for trans folks than many others.
Now, things that would make me trust this story is if we could find journalism where anyone has covered either:
a) the actual attack occurring Nov 2024, citing a full police report, speaking to either Jess or Dahlia, or a bystander who saw the incident. Or even you know, the time of day exactly, and gets the actual physical location correct.
EDIT! There is coverage here that does that and clarifies the location of the light rail station and resolves the factual issues that raised my questions in the first article: https://bringmethenews.com/minnesota-news/rally-held-after-transgender-women-attacked-near-minneapolis-light-rail-station
https://bringmethenews.com/minnesota-news/rally-held-after-transgender-women-attacked-near-minneapolis-light-rail-station
b) a story covering the rally that happened in support of Jess and Dahlia. Where was it? How many people were there? Are they asking for anything?
EDIT: the above linked story does that!
At this point I can find neither and so I urge everyone to be careful and critical when encountering news that is hitting all of your emotional buttons. No one’s fears are unfounded here (this did happen in 2023!) but we owe it to each other to only spread stories like this that are based on solid evidence ♥️
EDIT: Thanks to some other folks doing searching as well, the step of fact checking which is find other coverage has succeeded. I was wrong! I do want to emphasis that it is still important to go through the process of noticing these things and making sure what you’re looking at is real, because there were enough errors in the Independent story that made the reporting not feel right. The “bring me the news” piece, as well as the instagram posts it’s linked to clarify the rally, the large public support including government officials, and reports the correct details of location and when the cops showed up (late, at the hospital. nice look there guys).
I’ve gotten a lot of hate for wondering if this was correctly reported and being wrong on the internet, and I do want to say that I looked into this because it made me upset, and then concerned, that the violence against transwomen was being used to stoke our fear (which is what I felt about the Independent article). I included the sections about what would indicate this was real because I knew there was a real possibility I had missed something, and wanted to highlight how you know when to change your mind.
so the tldr: The first shared article has a lot of factorial errors that means you should look more. Even if you don’t see evidence at first doesn’t mean you won’t get it later! The truth is that this violence did happen, but also that there was a huge outpouring of local support. Please take care of each other, and be kind!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
This is where we are. Anti-trans pogroms have begun and the community is living in fear. Things are so bad that some of us are unable to live anymore.
Where is the left? Where are our allies?
#TDoR2024
6K notes · View notes
lady-griffin · 16 hours ago
Text
Jinx's Hallucinations + Ekko
Before Act III drops, I wanted to talk about an aspect of Timebomb that I'm quite fascinated by -
Ekko isn’t a trigger for Jinx’s hallucinations.
He has even stopped her hallucinations – not intentionally or anything, but more than once Ekko's presence seems to have a nullifying impact on Jinx.
Which is odd, right?
One would assume due to their history Ekko would be just as triggering to Jinx as anyone else, if not more so, and yet the opposite seems to be true.
Tumblr media
In Jinx's first reunion with Vi, she quickly becomes overwhelmed and has an episode due to a whole combination of factors, but notably because her hallucinations of Mylo and Claggor start attacking her, largely because she's starting to breakdown and is getting overwhelmed (a self-perpetuating cycle).
Jinx can't even begin to calm herself down, in fact she yells at everyone to shut up, because she needs to think.
Then she hears Ekko’s hoverboard and suddenly the hallucinations are completely gone.
Tumblr media
Jinx isn’t sure if what she heard was real or not.
Which is a great detail, since it indicates Jinx is aware that the voices she hears aren’t “real," meaning she knows other people can’t hear them too. So, it's rather telling (at least for me) that she asks Vi to confirm if she too heard the hoverboard sound.
It's also impressive Jinx was able to instantly recognize the sound of Ekko's hoverboard, despite her being in the midst of a mental breakdown and unable to think properly.
It’s almost like Jinx’s brain went into fight mode or something, because seemingly all the hallucinations stopped at once because there’s now a much bigger threat Jinx needs to be on guard for – Ekko is heading her way.
Tumblr media
I really can't emphasize how much I love that.
While not traditionally romantic, in any sense, this shows the amount of respect Jinx has towards Ekko and the threat he poses to her. He’s someone she actually has to take seriously when fighting.
Which is a bit unique for Jinx.
Throughout S1 we saw Jinx being far more scared of her hallucinations then actual real, physical threats, but in this moment it’s like her brain recognized Ekko as being the far greater threat than her hallucinations.
Which he is - but that’s also true for many of the other things Jinx faces and isn’t scared of.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Jinx does “glitch out” while fighting Ekko and the Firelights in “When These Walls Come Tumbling Down,” - but it’s more of an asset than a problem, as she easily dodges the Gorilla Mask Firelight (at least I think it’s a gorilla).
Tumblr media
Then when Ekko disappears, Jinx's psychoses come rushing back; obviously, this has less to do with Ekko himself and everything to do with him taking Vi, but nonetheless, it's still a slight repetition of the pattern that keeps happening between them.
In "The Boy Savior," during Jinx's bridge fight with Ekko, she once again specifically doesn't experience any hallucinations; even though she was just experiencing them not too long ago.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Mylo was this 'demon' on her back that while she could initially argue against, the more upset she became, the bigger his presence was.
Tumblr media
She saw Caitlyn as this devil figure, laughing and mocking her and her psychoses even blocked Vi almost entirely from her sight; whether literally or symbolically, Jinx clearly wasn’t fully aware she was shooting at Vi, despite her obviously seeing Vi and then shooting in her direction.
Tumblr media
Then Ekko bursts onto the scene and suddenly no more hallucinations. Which is just...
I honestly don’t know what this is. I really don’t.
To be clear, I absolutely love this whole thing despite not knowing what it is exactly, because honestly, I'm just fascinated by this dynamic, because for whatever reason, Jinx isn't triggered by Ekko nor does she hallucinate him.
In S2, Jinx’s hallucinations have significantly decreased, but in “Paint the Town Blue," she's suddenly bombarded with pretty much everyone’s voices because she’s beyond upset and panicking about Isha being taken by the enforcers.
She sees pretty much everyone - Silco, Vi, Mylo, Claggor, Sevika, and Isha.
Tumblr media
Jinx seeing Vi, Sevika, and Isha shows us that she can/does hallucinate people who she knows are alive.
In addition, Isha being one of her hallucinations shows us that Jinx doesn’t need to have negative or even complicated feelings towards someone for them to become a part of her psychoses, as Jinx largely thinks/feels positively towards Isha.
Though it should be noted, the hallucination of Isha isn’t acting aggressive towards Jinx, not like the others are.
Finally, Ekko or Vander are the only two she doesn't hallucinate, but we know Jinx has hallucinated Vander in the past, making Ekko the odd one out when it comes to Jinx's hallucinations once again.
Which for the millionth is absolutely fascinating to me.
Because why?
Why doesn't Ekko trigger Jinx? Why isn't he one of her hallucinations? How come he's the only one we've seen having the ability to stop Jinx's hallucinations altogether (even if it's completely unintentional)?
For whatever reason, Jinx’s mind has seemingly categorized Ekko as being different than everyone else and while it’s obviously not this big thing the show brings your attention to, it’s also clearly there, albeit subtly.
And yeah...
I don’t really have much more to say, I just wanted to talk about this interesting aspect of Timebomb before we get to the last and final arc of Arcane.
260 notes · View notes
nimnia · 1 day ago
Text
𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘
Tumblr media
pairing ── kim minji x female reader
summary ── in which she realizes how much of a lovesick fool she has become, and how needy she became because of you.
contains ── wholesome, non idol au, potter job, confession, whipped minji, reader flirt, soft make out, emotional, slight possessiveness
taglist ── @flyingcigarettes
[masterlist]
── ── ꒰ 𓎻 ꒱ ── ──
"oh."
minji mutters as she freezes by the door frame, eyes landing on you standing by the table filled with different types of fresh pottery, obviously made by you. you just place down your current one and turn to see minji blinking as she watches you.
you blink back before looking away, feigning indifference as you walk away to your seat. you sat down and wet your hands with fresh water that you prepared after finishing the last pot you made.
"morning." you greet simply, not sparing her a glance as you grab a good amount of clay before cupping your hand to gather water and pour it onto the dry clay.
minji felt awkward, walking over to the clean area where your bags are resting. she gently places down her bag, removing the headphones around her neck before shoving them into her bag.
she glances at you while removing her jacket, eyes soft as you gently move your hands onto the wet clay, forming them into your desired shape.
she averts away as she hangs her jacket before heading to another table to get her apron. as she wears them and tying the tie on her back, she brushes her wavy hair over her shoulder and rolls up her sleeves.
she walks over to the other seat next to you, sitting down as she presses her feet onto the pedal to check for speed and capability. Satisfied with the perfect result, she glances over at you once again, staring at you for a good minute before clearing her throat as she looks away with flushed cheeks.
"so..." she mumbles, tapping the clean bat as she thinks over what she should converse on. her heart was racing, and loud. she found it hard not to look at you, "uhm.. how many pots have you made so far?"
well, she tries at least. a rather good way to start the day with you, in a way not to annoy you unlike before.
your hands never stopped as you replied, "six of them." minji felt her heart flutter, cursing at herself for being so flustered around you for no particular reason.
she cleared her throat again awkwardly, "right, that's nice." she responded, eyes wandering over her set before noticed something important.
"oh.. i forgot the water." minji mutters under her breath as she takes the bowl and stands up, walking to the sink, unaware of your eyes landing on her back.
taking her time to rinse the bowl and gather water in it, and might as well wash her hands clean, she breathes to calm her nerves. she doesn't know exactly why she felt nervous around you today. she would've understood that she was a bit late today but it felt different.
it has been a year since minji had been hired into her auntie's pottery shop as a potter. the new young adult has been wanting to pay her college tuition with ease, and thankfully, her kind auntie offered her this job with a good salary that could afford her tuition and even her needs.
when she first met you, it was only you that had been working aside from her auntie. after losing some of her auntie's workers due to some personal issues or whatever, you were, basically, the only one that stayed.
minji was grateful to you for staying with her auntie, even if she doesn't know the full story of what happened. and it was obvious that her auntie doted and adored you quite a lot, when it came to minji's thoughts that you were a good person, based on her auntie's endless conversation about you.
when she tries to get to know you, however, you are a bit cold and indifferent towards her, barely sparing her any glances or sometimes take a long time to reply to her questions or talks.
although minji doesn't really mind, she felt a bit sad about being treated like this. but, as she assumed, maybe you don't like people much, aside from her auntie.
it was a long process and effort, but as time went on within a year, she was able to make long conversation with you, though it was just about the pottery, yet she doesn't really care.
it was nice to hear your voice and chat with you.
you were still like that— cold and maybe awkward, but certainly matured and collected— but you have your rare times when you suddenly become a bit clingy or a talker.
it was endearing, in minji's part.
almost adorable.
"minji?" your voice suddenly interrupts her thoughts, snapping her out and turning to you to see you staring at her with a stain of clay over your chin. minji blinks twice, and her face burns flusteredly.
she didn't notice that she had finished gathering water and washing her hands and had sat down on her chair, staring at the bat blankly until she was called by you.
she pressed the back of her wrist against her lips, looking away to hide her red face from you. "m-my bad.. sorry." she apologizes softly as she breathes to calm her nerves against her skin.
her ears turn red when she hears you hum in response, "are you going to start or what?" you say as you stop pressing your feet on the pedal, at the same time the bat stops spinning as well.
minji cleared her throat, nodding sheepishly with a pursed smile. "yeah, i'm starting." she responded, breathing to cool down her burning face and ears. her heart never stopped racing, just to be around your presence was enough to do something with her heart.
as she begins to do her business, you are staring at her with half-lidded eyes, calm in your eyes. it was obvious that minji noticed your gaze, just her eyes wandering around nervously and her hands trembling against the wet clay, she made a small mistake by her thumb pressing down too deep.
"ah-" minji sputters, blinking at the mess she had made. she clicked her tongue in embarrassment, muttering a quiet apology under her breath as she pressed down the whole clay to start over again.
it has been almost an hour before minji finally finishes with a smile. a large pot perfect for large-sized plants with a good amount of space inside the body, minji was satisfied with her work but was embarrassed to see that she took almost 30 minutes just to finish this.
"that looks nice," you suddenly said, making her look up from her work to you standing near the sink, facing her way. but minji's eyes widened to see your white polo's two bottoms were open, instantly looking away from your... uh, pretty cleavage.
her heart raced again, her thoughts were quick to turn into a storm. "c-could you cover up, please..?" she stutters as she is still looking away, heart jumping to hear you walking. she doesn't know if you're walking towards her or away.
"sorry, the clay stained my collar so i cleaned it a bit," you said calmly, wiping your wet hands with your apron, sighing as you blow away the stubborn fringes over your eyes.
minji bit her lower lips, aware of her own ears burning. "r-right.. alright," she mumbled, turning to her work instead before noticing her hair was covered with clay.
"ugh.." she grimaces, about to wipe it away when she notices her hands were completely covered with the same clay. slowly, she glances up to you through her eyelashes, already making eye-contact with you.
her cheeks turn rosy, "um.. could you.." she bit her tongue, unable to keep her trembling voice. but when she hears your footsteps approaching, you walk towards her way with your hand holding a hair tie.
she blinked when the thought, '.. did she prepare that already?' it popped into her mind, and again, her heart raced even more. the thought of you preparing the hair tie already before she says anything was so..
fuck.
she looks down on her lap, ears booming with her heart beating furiously and flushed face as you stop behind her. she couldn't see your face, and she doesn't want to, for the sake of her dignity of maintaining her cool side.
obviously, she was failing quick.
then her shoulder quivered when your fingers gently pressed around her skull, gathering her hair together and basically pressing your stomach on her back. the warmth of your body was quick to spread around minji— and exaggeratedly, around minji's soul and mind.
her breath was turning shaky, eyes clouded as she subconsciously leans back onto your stomach, finding your overall presence and everything so comforting.
behind her, you smile warmly as you gently tie her hair into a pony tail, brushing out her light fringes over her forehead with your fingers. then, you gently take out her side bangs in front of her ears and twirl them almost in a flirty way.
and you just know that minji saw it, just the way her shoulder jumps and her head bowing down with her ears reddening like an apple.
you pull away from her back, but your finger lingers lightly on her neck, your smile softening when minji presses her legs together. "...there, all done," you muttered behind her, eyes glued on her back.
minji felt her sweat dropping, her legs shaking and her ears burning. she was getting crazy and it was because of you. she was getting insane and it was because of you. really— you're turning her into a fool. a lovesick fool.
and she's not even gonna complain!
"t..thanks," minji mumbled, trying to keep her voice normal and her heart calm, but she was failing miserably. her voice cracked in-between, breathing became heavy and her hearing was just filled with her beating heart.
it was so ridiculous.
"mhm," you hum in response, your smile vanishes as you walk away, tending to your drying pots, leaving minji in her overstimulated state. inside her head was full of cursing towards herself, for being so weird around you.
'aah.. shit, i want to confess. i want to say how i feel to her-' she sobbed internally, biting onto her lower lips to stop her eyes from tearing up in frustration. she doesn't know why she's holding back.
maybe it's because of the rejection that you'll give her? or maybe because of fear that you'll think of her as a weird person who likes women? but she only likes you!
no— she loves you. she wants to tell you her feelings. she wants to say that she has never liked a woman but you, she wants to say that you are her first love, she wants to say everything to you.
but it was so difficult, the fear of getting rejected by you would feel so much worse than having a physical injury.
but minji was determined. she will confess. it has been a year ever since her feelings grew so much bigger than she had initially expected, and it was time to release her feelings to you.
she could only pray that you wouldn't hate her after..
─────
minji waited for the day to finish, eyes staring at the sun setting down, replacing with the awaiting white moon. it has been a long day, time consumed just making new different types of pots and bowls, all used for human resources.
although it was fun in most parts, it's tiring mentally and physically. constant thinking on how to detail out the creation, how to shape it perfectly, how to size it, how to make a function on it and others.
however, it's a good part. it's a good thing, really. minji has become more creative and more observant than she has ever wondered of herself. with countless ideas for the clay to be created into a new type of creation, it was certainly satisfying to make it just with your hands and mind.
minji doesn't regret taking this job.
footsteps caught her attention, making her turn to see you standing beside her by the window. with your hands on your side and your tired eyes staring at the beautiful moon, the light shines through the glass and makes your features even more beautiful.
finding herself staring at you like an idiot, she shakes her head to shake away the flustered redness on her face. then she hears a soft inhale next to her, causing her to look at you.
she blinks slowly, eyebrows subconsciously furrowing as she watches you. "is something wrong?" minji asks softly, her voice mixed with curiosity and concern. you were careful to turn to her, eyes meeting each other and it felt like the world was moving too slowly.
minji couldn't turn away from your glistening eyes.
"minji," you begin quietly, barely above a whisper but enough for the same aged girl to hear it clearly. the room was silent, except with the oven humming lowly with the pots warming inside the machine.
she hums in response, eyes turning solemn at the sight of the hidden emotion inside your beautiful eyes. what made you look so sad? she wanted to ask, but in fear of being turned away because she was stepping into your line, she stopped herself.
but what you said next stopped her whole world, eyes staring into her eyes and your voice only entering her ears.
"i like you," you mumble, a small melancholy smile forming on your face. your voice sounded so weak, small and vulnerable. you sounded so afraid, fearful yet longing at the same time. yearning for something.
"i like you, minji." you repeat softly, breathing slowly. "so much so, i could barely try to calm my heart from racing like a maniac." your soft smile quivered, the tone in your voice struck something in minji's chest.
your eyes were soft, and yet your voice held something different. full of warmth and cold— the confidence and the fright. those words are things minji has been wanting to hear in a year, words that she has been longing to hear from you, from your lips.
and the moment she finally got it, tears fell onto her cheeks and her eyes never stopped looking into your eyes.
you didn't move, smiling at her like she was the only one in this world, the only person you have ever seen in your entire life. the feeling of your cold hand slowly and shyly intertwining with hers fluttered her heart and stomach with butterflies.
too much butterflies.
"...say something," her teary eyes widened slightly at the sight of your eyes wavering, the fear and nerves were so visible. it clenched her heart into something. her mouth moved, but she couldn't release any words nor sounds.
her lower lips twitched, teary eyes turning clouded before she pulls you into her arms and buries her face onto your neck, embracing you so tight and securely— almost as if she doesn't want anything to take you away from her.
a soft choke from you was enough for her to tighten her grip around you, heart thumping hard against her chest as you embraced her back. burying your face on her shoulder, hands clawing her back and bodies pressed together felt so whole.
the smell of the clay on you was so entrancing, she oddly felt so welcomed and accepted in a way she doesn't understand how a single weird smell was making her feel.
"...i like you too," minji muttered against your neck.
she could hear your heart beating the same rate as hers, rapid and loud. it sounds like you share and hold the same feelings as hers, the same emotions as hers. it felt so surreal.
"i like you a lot— i... i love you, y/n." her words came out shaky, affection, fear, nerves and love in her voice was so loud to you. her arms around you tightened more, her face pressed up to your neck even more and she has you against the wall.
your heart thumped, the sight of feminine tall body hovering over yours. you felt small yet safe in her arms, warm like a home and warm blanket around you.
the world felt cold, but in her arms, it felt so warm.
you breathe softly, eyes closed as you take in her warm embrace and the feelings she was trying to express with her whole body and her words. the wall against your back felt rough, but her body was soft and fit with yours.
your hands clawed onto her back, nose against her hair and her scent was masking over you. it felt so good, it felt so overwhelming. it felt so safe.
"i love you, i love you." minji chants as she pressed her lips against your neck, hands gripping onto your shoulder and waist possessively yet securely. she wants you in her arms, only you.
you gently push her away, softly smiling at her crying face. you cup her cheeks, and brushes your lips with hers. "i love you too, minji," you mumbled back, eyes soft and half-lidded with an overwhelming love in your eyes.
her heart beats so loud in her ears. your eyes that were once so cold and indifferent had turned softer than a cloud, and truer than the truth. you're more than sincere, and that genuine was making her fall in love with you even more.
how could a lovely person like you ever exist?
where have you been all her life?
you pressed your lips on her lips, softly rubbing your thumbs against her wet cheeks as she melts onto your lovely lips. her ever-so-tight grip around you loosened, finally gripping you with gentleness and affection.
the soft movement of both your lips paces up, lips finding and craving for each other. minji, who felt more impatient than ever, sticks out her tongue and slid them between your lips.
your breath hitched before parting your lips, allowing her to slide her tongue in and explore the warmth. tongues dancing gracefully with each other, head tilting to each side, teeth softly clanking onto each other and bodies even more pressed with each other.
you and minji were just so into each other, the world had completely stopped spinning.
she pressed you against the wall more, chasing your lips greedily and melts into you like melted butter. you tasted so nice, good and wonderful. you smell so good, beautiful and enchanting.
everything about you captures her whole attention, and she would gladly kneel down onto your feet and worship you
those hands that were carving and shaping the clay so gently had turned needy and clawing onto her back, desperate to pull her closer and devour her mouth like a hungry maniac.
the soft moans you erupt sent down hot shivers down her spine, causing her to grow possessive and desperate to claim you as her own. but you're still you— you who would share thousands of parts of you with her, you who would gladly give yourself to her.
for her to love you unconditionally, you would do that.
and unbeknownst to you, minji would do it more than that.
── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──
178 notes · View notes
paxtito · 18 hours ago
Text
secret door
pairings: jenna x fem!reader
word count: 4936
warnings: smut 18+, fingering, kissing- that’s about it
summary: you’re not famous so attending your first event (mexico beetlejuice, beetlejuice premiere) with jenna was nerve racking
a/n: so, so bad at summaries. this is for the anon who wanted more jenna content and the other anon who wanted smuttt— twas not originally gonna be smutty but — everything i touch turns to smut — #poetic
MASTERLIST
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The hotel suite buzzes with activity. Jenna sits at the vanity, her makeup artist carefully blending a soft shimmer onto her eyelids. She’s wearing a silk robe, her deep teal leather dress hanging nearby, waiting to transform her into the star of the night.
Her stylist, Enrique, circles the room, picking at details, double-checking accessories, and adjusting the angle of her shoes laid out by the full-length mirror. Meanwhile, you’re standing by the suite’s other mirror as a tailor pins the last adjustments to your suit.
You glance at Jenna through the reflection, watching as she talks with her team, that familiar mix of excitement and focus lighting up her expression. She catches your gaze and smiles softly, the kind of smile that feels like it’s meant just for you, even with all these people around.
“How’s the suit looking?” Jenna asks, her voice cutting through the gentle hum of conversation.
You turn to face her, straightening your jacket. The tailor steps back, allowing you to move freely. “It’s coming together,” you reply, running a hand down the lapel. The suit is sharp—deep teal with subtle leather accents along the cuffs and collar, designed to complement Jenna’s dress without competing with it.
Enrique claps his hands dramatically. “It’s more than coming together,” he exclaims. “You look fantastic.”
Jenna tilts her head, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. “He’s right,” she says, her lips curving into a grin. “You look incredible.”
You feel a blush creeping up your neck and try to brush it off with a playful smirk. “Not bad for a first-timer, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” Jenna replies, her voice warm.
Her makeup artist steps back, admiring her work. “Done! You’re all set, Jenna.”
Jenna stands, tying the belt of her robe before walking over to you. Up close, she’s even more breathtaking—her hair styled to perfection, her makeup subtle yet striking. She places a hand on your chest, right over your heart, and looks up at you.
“Are you ready for this?” she asks softly.
You exhale, the weight of the evening settling over you. You’re not famous, not used to the flashing cameras and crowded red carpets. But then Jenna’s fingers curl slightly into the fabric of your suit, grounding you.
“As long as I’m with you,” you say, meeting her gaze, “I’m ready for anything.”
Her smile widens, and she leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Good. Because you’re going to blow them away.”
Enrique claps his hands again, pulling both of you back to the moment. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get you dressed, Jenna! The car’s going to be here soon.”
Jenna winks at you before turning to Enrique. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!”
As she steps into her dress, you take a moment to compose yourself. Tonight isn’t just about her—it’s about the two of you, stepping into the spotlight together for the first time. And as nervous as you are, you can’t help but feel a swell of pride knowing you’ll be by her side.
A few minutes later, when Jenna emerges in her dress, the room falls quiet for a beat. She looks stunning, the deep teal leather hugging her figure perfectly, the details nodding subtly to the Beetlejuice theme.
“Wow,” you murmur, unable to stop the word from slipping out.
Jenna grins, brushing her fingers against your arm as she passes. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, though there’s a sparkle in her eyes that tells you she means it.
As the two of you head out, hand in hand, you can’t help but think that no matter how many cameras flash or how loud the crowd gets, the only thing that really matters is the way she looks at you—like you’re the only person in the world.
The car ride to the premiere is a blur of laughter and nervous energy. Jenna keeps brushing her fingers against your thigh, a small gesture that sends shivers up your spine. She tells you stories from the set of Beetlejuice, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she recounts the behind-the-scenes antics.
When the car pulls up to the red carpet, you feel your heart rate kick up a notch. This is it—the big moment. Jenna squeezes your hand, her skin warm against yours.
“Remember, breathe,” she says, her voice low and soothing. “And if it gets too overwhelming, just find me in the crowd. I’ll be looking for you.”
You nod, drawing strength from her calm presence. As the car door opens, the flashes of cameras and the shouts of fans hit you like a wave. Jenna steps out first, her dress swishing around her legs as she takes in the scene. She turns back to you, her hand extended.
“Come on,” she says, her smile wide and infectious. “Let’s do this.”
You take her hand, letting her pull you out of the car. The world seems to spin for a moment, a kaleidoscope of colors and noise. Jenna keeps hold of your hand as she leads you towards the mass of reporters and photographers.
She stops every few feet, posing for photos and answering questions with ease. You hover slightly behind her, trying not to be trampled by the flood of people. Every so often, Jenna glances back at you, her eyes checking in, making sure you’re still there.
When it’s your turn to pose together, she wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The cameras go wild, the flashes nearly blinding. Jenna leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “You’re doing great.”
Her words settle something inside you, and you stand a little taller, a little prouder. As the night goes on, you find yourself relaxing into the role of being by her side. When Jenna introduces you to her co-stars and friends, she does so with a casual intimacy that makes you feel like you belong.
After what feels like hours, the red carpet portion of the evening finally winds down. Jenna leads you into the theater, her hand still clasped tightly in yours. The cool darkness of the space is a welcome reprieve from the hot glare of the lights outside.
As you take your seats, Jenna leans over, her breath warm against your ear. “Thanks for being here tonight,” she says softly. “It means a lot to me.���
You turn to face her, taking in the way the dim light plays across her features. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.
The movie starts, and for the next two hours, you find yourself lost in the world of Beetlejuice. Jenna’s performance is captivating, her ability to blend comedy and depth leaving you awestruck. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smile playing on her lips.
When the credits roll, the audience erupts into applause. Jenna stands, pulling you up with her. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling back to take in the standing ovation.
As the crowd begins to disperse, Jenna tugs at your hand. “Come on,” she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jenna leads you through the quiet door, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the theater. You find yourself in a small courtyard, the walls draped with lush greenery and the air heavy with the scent of jasmine.
She turns to face you, her eyes searching yours. “I needed a moment away from all that,” she says, gesturing vaguely back towards the main event. “Just the two of us.”
You nod, understanding all too well the pressure of being constantly in the public eye. “I get it,” you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “It’s nice to breathe.”
Jenna leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opens them again, there’s a new intensity in her gaze. “Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s nice to breathe with you.”
She takes a step closer, her body almost pressing against yours. Your heart races at the proximity, at the way her eyes drop to your lips for the briefest of moments.
Jenna's eyes meet yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You answer by leaning in, closing the distance until your lips are a mere breath apart. She exhales, her breath mingling with your own, and then you're kissing, soft and slow at first, then deeper, more urgent.
Her hands come up to cup your face, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. You respond by wrapping your arms around her waist, molding her body against yours. The kiss goes on for a long moment, the rest of the world fading away until it's just the two of you, lost in each other.
Finally, Jenna pulls back, her chest heaving. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and half-lidded. "Wow," she breathes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That was..."
"Incredible," you finish for her, your voice rough. "You're incredible."
She ducks her head, a blush staining her cheeks. "I'm not the only one," she murmurs, her fingers toying with the lapel of your suit. "You look pretty amazing yourself."
You grin, pulling her back into your arms. "I guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"
"The best," she agrees, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. "Now, what do you say we explore this beautiful city? I hear the food here is to die for."
You grin at Jenna's suggestion, your eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively. "Food sounds amazing," you agree, "but first, I think we need to change out of these fancy clothes. I'm not sure I can eat a taco in a leather suit without looking ridiculous."
Jenna laughs, the sound bright and melodic in the quiet courtyard. "Good point," she says, smoothing down the front of her dress. "Though I have to say, you wear it well."
You wink at her, enjoying the way her cheeks flush at the compliment. "Thanks, but I think I'd rather be in something more comfortable. Plus, I don't want to risk getting any salsa on this thing. Enrique would have a heart attack."
"True," Jenna agrees, glancing down at her own outfit. "I'm not sure I can handle the stares if we waltz into a taqueria looking like this."
You take her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. "Then let's find somewhere to change. I'm sure there's a shop nearby where we can pick up something a little more casual."
"Ooh, shopping!" Jenna exclaims, her eyes lighting up. "Now you're speaking my language. Lead the way, miss fashionista."
You laugh, pulling her along as you exit the courtyard. The cool night air feels good on your skin, and you can't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of exploring the city with Jenna by your side.
As you walk, you keep up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out interesting shops and restaurants as you pass. Jenna listens attentively, asking questions and sharing her own thoughts. It's easy to forget, in moments like these, that she's a famous actress. Right now, she's just Jenna—your Jenna—and that's all that matters.
As you and Jenna walk down the street, you suddenly freeze, your eyes widening in horror. "Did you see that?" you gasp, your hand tightening around Jenna's.
She follows your gaze, her brow furrowing in confusion. "See what?"
You point a shaky finger at a dark shape scurrying along the sidewalk. "That! That rat!"
Jenna squints, then bursts out laughing. "Y/N, that's not a rat. It's just a sock."
You blink, realizing she's right. The "rat" is indeed just a stray piece of fabric, fluttering in the breeze. You feel your face flush with embarrassment.
"Oh," you say lamely, trying to regain your composure. "Right. A sock. Not a rat."
Jenna grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're cute when you're scared," she teases, bumping her shoulder against yours.
You roll your eyes, but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks," you reply dryly. "I think."
As you continue walking, you can't help but marvel at the way Jenna makes you feel—safe, cherished, and loved, even when you're being silly. With her by your side, you feel like you can face anything, even the threat of a sock-turned-rat.
After your close call with the sock-rat, you and Jenna make your way to a nearby clothing store. The shop is small but cozy, with racks of colorful clothes and friendly staff. You head to the changing rooms, each grabbing a few items to try on.
Inside the dressing room, you peel off the leather suit, feeling a sense of relief as the tight material slides off your skin. You opt for a pair of simple black sweatpants and a gray hoodie, the soft fabric a welcome change from the structured lines of your suit.
As you emerge from the changing room, you spot Jenna across the store, her arms laden with clothes. She's wearing a pair of ripped jeans and an oversized pink hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks adorable, and you can't help but grin at the sight of her.
You make your way over to her, your own arms full of potential purchases. "Find anything good?" you ask, setting your clothes down on a nearby bench.
Jenna nods, holding up a pair of red sneakers. "These are perfect," she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "They'll go great with the jeans."
You help her try on a few more outfits, offering your opinion on each one. She does the same for you, her eyes roaming appreciatively over your body as you model hoodies and sweatshirts.
Finally, with bags full of new clothes, you pay for your purchases and step out into the night. The air feels fresh and cool, and you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the rest of the evening.
As you walk hand in hand, you glance over at Jenna, a smile playing on your lips. "Ready to find some food?" you ask, your stomach grumbling at the thought.
Jenna grins back at you, her eyes sparkling in the streetlights. "Lead the way," she says, giving your hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for whatever you have in mind."
You and Jenna wander through the bustling streets of Mexico City, the night air filled with the tantalizing aromas of street food and the lively chatter of locals. After a bit of exploration, you stumble upon a cozy little taqueria tucked away in a side alley. The smell of sizzling meat and warm tortillas draws you in like a magnet.
"This looks perfect," Jenna says, her eyes lighting up as she takes in the colorful decor and the inviting atmosphere.
You nod in agreement, your mouth watering at the thought of authentic Mexican cuisine. "Definitely. Let's check it out."
As you enter the restaurant, the hostess greets you with a warm smile. She leads you to a small table in the corner, the candlelight casting a soft glow over the checkered tablecloth. You settle into your seats, the menus already making your stomach rumble.
"Everything looks so good," Jenna sighs, her finger tracing the options. "I don't know what to choose."
You grin, leaning back in your chair. "Well, we could always share a few dishes. That way we get to try more things."
Jenna's eyes light up. "Ooh, I like the way you think. How about we start with some guacamole and chips, then maybe some tacos al pastor and enchiladas?"
"Sounds perfect," you agree, flagging down the waiter to place your order.
As you wait for the food to arrive, you and Jenna chat about the movie premiere, the different outfits you tried on, and your plans for the rest of your time in Mexico City. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional brush of hands across the table.
After a long evening of exploring Mexico City and indulging in delicious food, you and Jenna arrive back at your hotel room, exhausted but happy. You can barely keep your eyes open as you stumble through the door, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the plush sofa.
Jenna flops down next to you, her head landing on your shoulder. "That was amazing," she mumbles, her words slightly slurred with fatigue. "But I think I might have eaten too many tacos."
You chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You and me both," you agree, rubbing your stomach. "I thought I was going to burst."
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. You both startle, your heads snapping up in surprise. The knock comes again, more insistent this time.
"Jenna? Y/N?" a voice calls from the other side. "Are you guys in there?"
You recognize the voice immediately—it's Enrique, Jenna's stylist. You exchange a glance with Jenna, your eyes wide with panic. You had completely forgotten that Enrique was expecting you back earlier.
"Uh, yeah, we're here!" you call out, your voice slightly strained. "Just give us a minute!"
You scramble off the couch, hastily straightening your clothes and running a hand through your hair. Jenna does the same, her movements slightly clumsy with exhaustion.
When you open the door, Enrique is standing there with a look of concern on his face. "Where have you two been?" he demands, his eyes narrowing. "You disappeared for hours! We were worried sick!"
You and Jenna exchange another glance, then burst into laughter, the events of the day catching up to you in a wave of hysteria.
"Sorry, sorry," Jenna gasps out between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "We got lost in the city and ended up on a taco crawl. We didn't mean to worry you!"
Enrique's stern expression softens, and he can't help but join in your laughter. "You two are impossible," he sighs, shaking his head.
As Enrique steps into the room, his eyes widen in surprise. "Wait a minute," he exclaims, his gaze flicking between you and Jenna. "What are you two wearing?"
You glance down at your outfit—a simple hoodie and sweatpants, a far cry from the designer leather suit Enrique had so painstakingly selected for you. Jenna looks similarly casual in her ripped jeans and oversized hoodie.
"Oh, uh, we went shopping," Jenna explains, a sheepish grin on her face. "We wanted something a little more comfortable for exploring the city."
Enrique's eyes narrow, his gaze sweeping over your casual attire with a critical eye. "Shopping?" he repeats, his tone a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "You two went shopping while you were supposed to be at the afterparty?"
You and Jenna exchange a guilty glance, suddenly feeling like naughty schoolchildren caught in the act. "Well," you begin, trying to find the right words, "we thought it would be nice to have something a little more practical for our time here in Mexico City. And we didn't want to get the fancy clothes dirty or ripped."
Enrique sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I understand the practicality, but you should have at least let me know. I was starting to think you two had run off and eloped or something."
Jenna lets out a snort of laughter, quickly covering her mouth to stifle the sound. "Eloped? In Mexico City? On the same day as the premiere?" She shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "If we were going to do that, we would have at least planned it better."
Enrique rolls his eyes, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Very funny," he says dryly. "Just promise me you'll let me know next time you decide to go on a spontaneous shopping spree, okay?"
"We promise," you assure him, holding up your hands in a gesture of surrender. "No more disappearing acts without warning."
Enrique nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. "Alright then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make. I need to do damage control after your little stunt." He gives you both a mock glare before turning to leave.
As soon as he's gone, you and Jenna collapse onto the couch once again, dissolving into a fit of giggles. The exhaustion of the day catches up to you, and before you know it, you're fast asleep, your heads resting on each other's shoulders.
The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel room. You blink awake slowly, your eyes adjusting to the light. For a moment, you're disoriented, unsure of where you are. Then the memories of the previous night come flooding back—the premiere, the shopping trip, the delicious tacos.
You turn your head to the side, your gaze landing on Jenna. She's still fast asleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in the early morning light. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her, and you can't help but smile.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, you shift closer, your bodies pressing together under the soft sheets. Jenna stirs slightly, her arm draping across your waist as she mumbles something unintelligible.
You let your fingers trace the curve of her cheek, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. In moments like these, it's hard to believe that she's a famous actress, that thousands of people adore her. To you, she's simply Jenna—your Jenna—the girl who makes your heart race and your soul sing.
As if sensing your thoughts, Jenna begins to stir. Her eyes flutter open, her gaze hazy with sleep. When she sees you watching her, a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Morning," she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.
"Good morning," you reply softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well?"
Jenna stretches languidly, a soft yawn escaping her lips. "Like a baby," she says, her voice still groggy. "You?"
"Pretty good," you reply, your fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her cheek. "Though I might have gotten used to this view."
Jenna's cheeks flush a soft pink, and she ducks her head shyly. "Flatterer," she teases, but you can see the pleased smile tugging at her lips.
You lean in, your forehead resting against hers. "I'm not flattering," you murmur. "I'm just stating facts."
Jenna's eyes sparkle with mirth, and she closes the distance between you, pressing her lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You melt into it, your arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.
The kiss deepens, growing more urgent as the morning haze lifts. Jenna's hands slip under your shirt, her touch sending shivers down your spine. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the feel of her body against yours, the taste of her lips.
After a long moment, you both pull back, breathless and smiling. Jenna's hair is mussed, her lips swollen, and you've never seen anything more beautiful.
"Wow," she breathes, her eyes dark with desire. "Good morning indeed."
You grin, your heart feeling full to bursting. "Breakfast?" you suggest, though your gaze lingers on her lips.
Jenna laughs, a sound of pure joy. "Food can wait," she says, pulling you back in for another kiss. "I'd rather savor this moment a little longer."
You lose yourself in Jenna's kiss, the rest of the world fading away until it's just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms. Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, her tongue teasing the seam of your mouth until you part your lips to let her in.
A small moan escapes you as Jenna deepens the kiss, her hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your sleep shirts, the curves of her hips pressing into your own.
Dimly, you register the sound of a phone buzzing somewhere in the room, a reminder of the outside world waiting beyond the closed door. But you push it aside, too lost in Jenna's embrace to care.
After a long moment, you both surfaced for air, your chests heaving. Jenna's eyes are dark, her pupils blown wide with desire. "I want you," she whispers, her voice low and husky. "I want you so badly."
Your heart races at her words, at the raw need in her voice. "I want you too," you breathe, your hands sliding down to cup her face. "So much."
Jenna takes your hand in hers, guiding it slowly down her body. Her skin is warm and soft beneath your fingertips, and you can feel the rapid beating of her heart as you trail your hand lower, over the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist.
She lets out a soft gasp as your hand skims over the hem of her sleep shirt, dipping just beneath the fabric to brush against the smooth skin of her stomach. Her grip on your hand tightens, urging you higher, until your palm is cupping the weight of her breast.
You can feel her nipple hardening against your touch, the sensitive bud straining against the thin cotton of her shirt. Jenna arches into your hand, a soft moan escaping her lips as you knead her flesh.
"Please," she whimpers, her hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate motion. "Touch me, Y/N. Make me feel good."
Your own desire is a hot, pulsing need between your legs, but you force yourself to focus on Jenna, on bringing her pleasure. With a gentle tug, you pull her shirt up over her head, exposing the creamy expanse of her skin to your hungry gaze.
"You're so beautiful," you murmur, your hands skimming over the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this."
Jenna shivers under your touch, her skin pebbling with goosebumps as your hands explore every inch of her bare flesh. She reaches for you, tugging impatiently at the hem of your own sleep shirt, desperate to feel your skin against hers.
You comply eagerly, lifting your arms so she can pull the shirt over your head. As soon as it's gone, Jenna's hands are on you, tracing the contours of your chest, your stomach, your sides. She leans in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the center of your chest, until she reaches the valley between your breasts.
You gasp at the sensation, your head falling back as Jenna's lips and tongue work their magic on your sensitive skin. Her hands slide lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts to cup your ass, pulling you harder against her.
The ache between your legs is growing, your clit throbbing with need, but you focus on the feel of Jenna's body against yours, the way she makes you feel cherished and desired. You slide your hand between your bodies, palming Jenna's breast, thumbing over her nipple until it's hard and straining.
Jenna moans into your skin, her hips bucking against your hand. "I need you," she pants, her voice rough with want. "Please, Y/N. I need to feel you."
Your own need is a pulsing heat, your panties damp with arousal. With trembling fingers, you slip your hand into Jenna's shorts, groaning at the wet heat of her. She's soaked, her folds swollen and slick with desire.
"Fuck," you breathe, circling her clit with your thumb. "You're so wet for me."
You slide your fingers through Jenna's slick folds, teasing her entrance with the tips of your fingers. She's so wet, so ready for you, and the knowledge sends a thrill of desire straight to your core.
Slowly, carefully, you push one finger inside her, groaning at the tight heat of her walls. Jenna bites her lip, her hips rolling in a slow grind against your hand as you work her open. Her inner muscles flutter around your digit, drawing you deeper.
"More," she whispers, her eyes dark and pleading. "Please, Y/N. I need more."
You add a second finger, curling them just so, brushing against that spot deep inside that makes her see stars. Jenna's breath hitches, a small moan escaping her lips as you stroke her most sensitive places.
You kiss her deeply, swallowing her whimpers as you finger her faster, harder, pushing her towards the edge. Her hips move in time with your hand, her thighs trembling with the force of her arousal.
"That's it," you murmur against her lips. "Let go for me, Jenna. Come for me."
Jenna shudders, her walls clenching around your fingers as she comes with a soft cry. Her orgasm washes over her in waves, her body shuddering and twitching as she rides out the pleasure.
You hold her close, your fingers gentling their movements as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her neck and collarbone. When she finally stills, you withdraw your hand, bringing your fingers to your mouth to taste her essence.
Jenna watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, her lips parted and her chest heaving. "That was... incredible," she breathes, reaching out to tangle her fingers in your hair. "But I'm not done with you yet."
With a wicked grin, she pushes you onto your back, settling between your thighs. "Your turn," she purrs, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "And I plan to take my time."
168 notes · View notes
potato-skins · 2 hours ago
Text
I thought the Chinese would have a kinship/relationship term for this (it can get very complicated) and I was right (context: am Chinese)
So assuming you're a woman married to a man, your brother-in-law's wife is your 大嫂 or 小婶 (da sao or xiao shen, depending on whether the BIL is older or younger than your brother) vs your sister-in-law (i.e. your husband's sister) is your 大姑 or 小姑 (da gu or xiao gu, depending on whether she's older or younger than your husband)
Assuming your BIL's wife's brother is older than her, he is your 外兄弟眷兄 (wai xiong di juan xiong, very broadly: extended family's [外兄弟] older brother [眷兄] with words that mark them as having many degrees of separation from you). Admittedly I had to use a relative calculator from here because I'm a banana (affectionate, derogatory) with limited Chinese ability (much to the disappointment of my family and teachers) but it sounds about right
And his daughter is your 外兄弟眷侄女 (wai xiong di juan zhi ni, very broadly: niece [眷侄女] from far-extended family [外兄弟])
(These terms are just relationship though, you wouldn't say "外兄弟眷侄女 can you pass the rice"; you'd probably just call them by their name)
Incidental to this cos I was playing with calculators: while the system is extensive with markers to indicate sex, age, maternal/paternal lineage, and more, it starts to lose nuance past the second degree (i.e. past your BIL's wife). Probably it was unlikely you'd ever meet these people for long enough to need to know what to call them
Also: all the calculators gave the equivalent of a "divide by zero" error when I tried gay relationships lol
I am searching for a term that may not exist:
I have a husband
He has a brother, who is my brother-in-law
My brother-in-law has a wife. Now colloquially, she is my sister in law, but is there a distinction to indicate she is also my husband's sister-in-law and not his sister? Is she my sister-in-law-in-law? My sister twice removed?
This is not actually the term I'm after but it'll help.
My brother-in-law's wife has siblings. Who are they in relation to me? I see my sister-in-law-in-law's brother more than I see her, but is there a way to explain that he's family?
Now, the real term I'm after: my sister-in-law-in-law's brother has a daughter. Is she my niece? Second cousin some degree removed??
Like, kinship trees vary wildly by culture, but I feel like there might be terms for these by-marriage relatives from inheritance law or something?
5K notes · View notes
rootedinrevisions · 1 day ago
Text
No Nut November...or Not
Tumblr media
SUMMARY: When a harmless bar conversation turns into a bet about who can last the longest during No Nut November, the stakes are set. They both assume they can outlast the other without breaking a sweat. What they don’t anticipate is you–their mischievous partner–who takes it as a personal challenge to make the month as impossible as humanly possible. Because why should they get to have all the fun?
A/N: Thank you so much to the Nonny who sent in this request! This one is a little more outside my comfort zone than what I normally write, but I think it turned out okay. Please let me know how you feel about it!
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT. (Lingerie, Spanking, Slight Dom, Unprotected Sex (be responsible people), P in V (reverse cowgirl), Voyeurism/Exhibitionism (not sure if this counts in a poly relationship but including it in case)
WORD COUNT: 6.1k
TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS
If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.
Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played
Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi
Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob
Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)
The Hard Deck was alive with its usual hum of chatter and laughter, the jukebox belting out an old rock anthem. You leaned back in your chair, nursing a cold beer as you watched Jake and Bradley settle into their usual rhythm.
Jake smirked, his signature cocky grin firmly in place as he tipped his bottle toward Bradley. “Face it, Bradshaw, you just can’t handle the pressure. That’s why I’m better at pretty much everything.”
Bradley rolled his eyes, though the twitch of his jaw betrayed his annoyance. “You keep telling yourself that, Bagman. Last time I checked, you couldn’t keep up with me in the air…let alone other places.”
His gaze then shifted to you and he shot you a wink. You hid your smile behind your bottle, enjoying the way their bickering played out like clockwork. It was endearing in its own way, how the two of them always seemed to push each other just to prove who could come out on top.
“Alright, alright,” you interjected, setting your drink down and tilting your head at them. “What’s it going to be this time? Another darts match? Arm wrestling in the middle of Penny’s bar?”
“Don’t even think about it boys,” she interjects from behind the bar causing your lips to curve into a smirk.
Jake turned to you with a gleam in his eye, his grin widening. “Nah, that would be too easy, sweetheart. I’m thinking something better. Something that requires real willpower.”
Bradley scoffed, but there was a flicker of curiosity on his face. “What are you thinking, Hangman?”
Jake leaned forward, bracing one elbow on the table. “No Nut November.”
The words hung in the air for a beat before you burst out laughing, nearly spilling your beer. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m dead serious.” Jake looked over at Bradley, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Think you’ve got the guts to keep it together for a whole month, Bradshaw? Or are you gonna fold like you always do?”
Bradley narrowed his eyes, his lips curving into a slow, confident smile. “You’re on. But don’t come crying to me when you lose after, what, three days?”
“Three days?” Jake repeated mock outrage in his tone. “I’ve got steel discipline, Bradshaw. You’re the one who’s always got his head in the clouds.”
“Oh, this is good,” you said, shaking your head in amusement. You could already tell where this was headed, and it was going to be entertaining, to say the least
“What’s the wager?” Bradley asked, his eyes not leaving Jake.
“The usual,” Jake said with a shrug. “Loser has to do whatever the winner says. No complaints, no excuses.”
Bradley nodded, extending his hand across the table. “Deal.”
They shook on it, their grips firm and their gazes locked in mutual defiance. You snipped your beer, biting back a grin as an idea began to form in your mind.
If they were really going to go through with this, you might as well make it interesting. After all, wasn’t it your duty as their partner to keep them on their toes?
“I hope you two are ready,” you said, your voice deceptively sweet as you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Because I’m not about to make this easy for either of you.”
Jake arched a brow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
Bradley’s eyes flicked to yours, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flashing across his face. But neither of them had the chance to respond before you stood, finishing the last of your drink and setting the bottle down with a soft clink.
“Good luck, boys,” you said, giving them a wink before walking away.
Behind you, you could hear Jake muttering, “What the hell does that mean?”
The next evening, the glow of the Hard Deck’s neon lights and the buzz of competitive banter were a distant memory. In their place was the soft hum of music drifting from the living room speaker and the warmth of home-cooked comfort filling the air.
Jake and Bradley’s off-base apartment had always been a haven of sorts—a space where the three of you could unwind, trading the chaos of your days for shared laughter and easy companionship, and a lot of physicality. Tonight was no different.
You stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and a grin tugging at your lips as you recalled the way Jake and Bradley had shaken on their bet the night before, each so sure of their resolve. It was all in good fun, of course, but watching them try to outlast each other was going to be a source of endless entertainment. Especially if you had anything to say about it.
The smell of garlic and herbs filled the cozy apartment kitchen as you stirred a simmering pot on the stove. Bradley leaned beside you, chopping vegetables with steady precision, while Jake stood at the counter, tossing together a salad. It was a rare quiet evening for the three of you, the kind of domestic tranquility that felt all the more special amidst the chaos of naval schedules.
You glanced at Bradley out of the corner of your eye. He was focused on his task, the rhythmic thwack of the knife against the cutting board filling the space between the three of you.
Setting the spoon aside, you turned toward him, brushing your hand lightly along the small of his back as you reached for the bowl beside him. “Thanks for helping out,” you said, your voice casual but laced with a subtle warmth.
“No problem,” Bradley replied, his tone as calm as ever. He didn’t look up from the cutting board, his focus unbroken.
Undeterred, you let your fingers linger a moment longer than necessary before pulling away, casually brushing against his forearm as you leaned over to grab a kitchen towel. Still no reaction—though you noticed the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
From across the kitchen, Jake chuckled softly. You looked over your shoulder to find him watching with a smug grin, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Really? Is that all you’ve got?”
Game on.
Turning back to Bradley, you stepped closer, reaching for the bowl of chopped veggies just as he finished. 
“Let me get that,” you said, letting your fingers trail along his wrist as you took the bowl from him. This time, there was the faintest flicker of something in his expression, but he quickly masked it, his lips curving into an almost imperceptible smirk.
“Thanks,” you said sweetly, placing the bowl on the counter and brushing past Jake on your way to the fridge.
You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t say a word, his hands continuing to toss the salad with deliberate nonchalance. Smiling to yourself, you opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of wine, taking your time as you returned to the counter.
Jake didn’t react when you sidled up beside him, leaning slightly against his arm as you reached for a corkscrew. But when your fingers brushed his wrist—lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin—his hands faltered, sending a stray piece of lettuce tumbling onto the floor.
“Oops,” you murmured, hiding your grin as you grabbed the corkscrew and stepped back. You almost painfully slow, bent down to pick up the lettuce, making sure the skirt you were wearing slid up giving Jake just the tiniest glimpse of the frilly lace of your underwear peeking out at him.
Jake shot you a look, his smirk slipping for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. 
“Careful there, darlin’,” he said, his voice smooth but with a slight edge as his hand moved to your hip.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Bradley glancing over, his smirk now firmly in place. “What’s wrong, Seresin? You’re not getting distracted, are you?”
Jake’s jaw tightened just enough for you to notice, and you bit back a laugh, turning your attention back to the wine. 
“Oh, don’t tease him, Bradshaw,” you said innocently, pouring three glasses with careful precision. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead focusing intently on his salad as if it were the most important task in the world.
You smiled to yourself, setting the glasses on the counter. This was going to be even more fun than you thought.
Dinner was ready not long after, and the three of you settled at the small dining table tucked against the window. The kitchen lights cast a soft glow over the scene, the faint hum of music still playing in the background. Plates were filled with the fruits of your collective labor: roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables, and a fresh salad that Jake had insisted was “restaurant-quality.”
You took the first bite, savoring the flavors as they hit your tongue. But instead of keeping the reaction to yourself, you let out a quiet, almost breathy moan, closing your eyes as though the simple taste of the meal was enough to send you to heaven.
When you opened your eyes, you caught both Jake and Bradley staring, their forks paused midair. Their gazes flicked to each other in a brief, wordless exchange before they simultaneously looked down at their plates, the muscles in their jaws tensing as they focused a little too intently on their food.
Suppressing a grin, you stabbed another piece of chicken with your fork, dragging it slowly through the sauce before taking another bite, this time pulling the utensil from your lips with an exaggerated slowness. You made sure the movement was subtle enough to seem natural—just enough to plant the idea without making it obvious.
The effect was immediate. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake shift in his seat, adjusting his posture in a way that suggested he was trying to ignore you. Across from him, Bradley chewed with deliberate focus, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightness in his jaw.
“Everything okay?” you asked innocently, looking between the two of them.
“Fine,” Jake said quickly, his tone light but clipped. He took a long drink of water, his eyes trained firmly on his plate as if it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries.
“Yeah, fine,” Bradley echoed, though his voice carried a hint of strain as he reached for the salad bowl, pretending to busy himself with serving more.
You leaned back in your chair, letting the silence settle for a moment before leaning forward again, your fingers brushing against the edge of your fork. There was a bit of sauce clinging to the tip, and instead of reaching for a napkin, you raised the utensil to your lips, your tongue darting out to catch the stray droplet.
It wasn’t dramatic—barely more than a flick—but the tension in the room crackled like static electricity. Jake’s fork clattered against his plate, and Bradley muttered something under his breath, though neither of them said anything directly.
Satisfied, you straightened in your chair and continued eating, keeping your movements deliberately slow and casual. You were playing the long game, after all, and the night was still young.
The evening stretched on, the kind of Saturday night that carried the promise of an easygoing, relaxed vibe. But the air between the three of you had changed. Every glance, every subtle movement felt charged, as if all the teasing from dinner was quietly simmering beneath the surface, waiting for something to tip it over the edge.
As the game time drew near, you decided to take a break, excusing yourself with a casual, “I’ll be right back. Gonna get comfy for the game.”
Jake barely looked up, his attention already focused on the TV screen as he pulled up the Longhorns' game schedule. Bradley nodded absently, taking another sip of his beer.
You made your way toward Jake’s bedroom. His closet door creaked open, and you moved quickly, your fingers brushing past the shirts hanging neatly in a row until you found it—the burnt orange jersey. You had no intention of wearing it the traditional way, though.
Next, you turned your attention to the bottom drawer of Jake’s dresser. The one that, over time, had become a place for a few of your things—your stuff from nights spent at their place, the clothes you didn’t mind leaving behind. You sifted through the familiar pile, your fingers grazing the fabric until you found what you were looking for. The lacy black thong with the satin bow on the back, a gift from Bradley on your birthday last year.
A smile tugged at your lips as you stripped out of your clothes, quickly slipping into the thong and then pulling the jersey over your head. The fabric settled comfortably against your skin, the oversized fit doing little to hide the outline of what you were really wearing underneath.
When you emerged from the bedroom, your eyes met the living room where the guys were settling in. Jake was already lounging on the couch, the TV lighting up his face as he focused on pulling up the game. Bradley was standing near the fridge, mid-drink when he saw you. His hand froze, the bottle of beer almost slipping from his grip. His eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he took in the sight of you in nothing but the jersey.
Jake’s gaze flickered over to you, eyes widening for just a moment before he cleared his throat, his focus shifting back to the screen as though it was the most important thing in the world. But you could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened against the remote as if it were somehow anchoring him.
Bradley, on the other hand, had a harder time hiding it. His eyes followed you across the room, the surprise quickly turning into something unreadable, but not before his lips parted as though he might say something—until he caught himself. Instead, he looked down at his beer, taking a long swig to steady himself.
You smirked, casually flopping down on the couch beside Jake, making sure to let the fabric of the jersey shift just enough to give him a better view of what you were wearing—or, more accurately, not wearing underneath.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
Jake’s hand settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cool air from the open window. You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder, and wrapped your arms around his arm for good measure, leaning in close to him.
As you shifted your position, tilting your knees slightly, you felt the jersey ride up a bit higher, just enough for the lacy black thong to peek out from beneath the fabric. It was a calculated move, knowing full well that Bradley would notice.
Sure enough, when he finally settled back onto the couch on the other side of you, his gaze flickered down. His hand, perhaps on autopilot, reached out, brushing against your nearly bare skin, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. Bradley’s fingers squeezed the flesh there, just a little too long, a little too possessively, before he quickly pulled his hand away, his eyes darting up to meet yours.
You tilted your head back into Jake’s side, letting out a soft, content sigh, and allowed yourself to sink into his warmth. The move was deliberate, a subtle taunt that made Bradley’s jaw clench and his nostrils flare. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes off you, and you reveled in the power you held over the two men tonight.
“Enjoying the game?” Jake asked, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to break the spell you’d cast. His fingers tightened on your thigh, pressing just enough to remind you of his presence.
“Mmm,” you replied, letting the sound linger in the air, your breath warm against his neck.
Jake leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You know, you’re really playing a dangerous game, don’t you think?”
You looked up at him, your expression innocent, the tease in your eyes impossible to hide. “Maybe,” you replied coyly, “but I think it’s one you’ll both enjoy losing.”
The game continued, but the real action was unfolding right in front of Jake and Bradley. You could feel their eyes on you—the weight of their attention was undeniable. Jake’s hand had barely moved from your thigh, and Bradley’s fingers lingered there, giving you little indication that he had any intention of stopping. They were both wound tight, and you were enjoying every minute of it.
As the Longhorns scored a touchdown, the roar from the crowd on the TV mixed with your own excited gasp. Without thinking, you jumped to your feet, the burst of energy sending you bouncing up and down in celebration. You felt the jersey ride up as you raised your arms, the fabric lifting just enough to expose the small, barely-there thong underneath.
Your ass swayed with each bounce, the thong almost completely exposed, offering a perfect view of your bare skin to both men. The sensation of their eyes locked on you was intoxicating, but you didn’t stop. You made sure every movement was deliberate, a tease designed to keep them both hooked.
Finally, you turned around, your back to them now. The jersey hung just low enough to cover your front but did nothing to hide the thong from their view. You felt their stares burning into you, the tension between the three of you palpable in the air.
With a grin, you smirked over your shoulder, catching their eyes before saying, “Man, I love football.”
Jake shifted uncomfortably, his hand now tight around the beer bottle in his lap, but he didn’t say anything. Bradley, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his reaction. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in frustration. His hand moved to the front of his jeans, adjusting himself. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, like every instinct he had was telling him to do something more.
The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could practically feel the moment when Bradley’s restraint finally snapped. As you smirked over your shoulder, still reveling in the heat of their gazes, you noticed the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides. His jaw was locked, his body rigid as he tried—unsuccessfully—to stay composed.
Then, without warning, he shot up from the couch. “Screw this,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, filled with frustration.
Before you could even react, he was on you. One moment, you were standing in front of him, and the next, he had you hoisted effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, but the only response from him was a determined growl.
You kicked your legs slightly, but it was no use. Bradley had you completely at his mercy, carrying you down the hallway toward his room with a purposeful stride.
Jake called out from the living room, his voice laced with disbelief. “Bradshaw—what the hell are you doing?”
But Bradley didn’t even look back, his focus solely on you as he carried you down the hall, ignoring whatever punishment Jake might throw at him. The bet? The consequences? They didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was the desire that had been building up in him, the need to finally act on everything he’d been holding back.
When he reached the door to his room, he kicked it open with one swift motion, stepping inside and slamming it shut behind him. As soon as it was closed, he dropped you onto the bed, his eyes dark with intensity.
“You’ve been teasing us all night,” he growled, voice thick with desire. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
You smirked, already knowing that you had pushed him too far. But that didn’t stop you from playing along, feeling the thrill of victory in the way you’d slowly unraveled him.
Bradley didn’t care about the bet anymore. All he cared about was you, and right now, that was enough.
As Bradley moved over you, his hands working the black thong off of your body with an urgency that matched the heat in his eyes, you felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The door swung open with a creak, and there, standing in the doorway, was Jake. His smirk was wide, his eyes gleaming with that same cocky confidence, but there was a sharpness to it now—a flicker of something darker beneath the surface.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. His eyes shifted between you and Bradley, taking in the sight of the thong being discarded carelessly to the side. The silence that followed was thick with tension, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
Bradley’s fingers paused for a moment, as if sensing Jake’s presence, but his focus quickly returned to you. The momentary distraction was all Jake needed. Without breaking his smirk, Jake pushed off the doorframe and strode confidently across the room.
“Bradley, step back, baby,” Jake’s voice was low, filled with a knowing taunt. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes still on you as he placed a hand on your waist, guiding you down across his lap.
You gasped, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding through you as you found yourself positioned across his strong legs. Your heart raced, but the smirk never left your face.
“You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” Jake’s voice was suddenly darker, his tone shifting as he ran a finger down your spine. “You think you can tease us both, and get away with it?” He gave you a playful, but firm tap on the back of your thigh, the sting shocking you.
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his lips to your ear. “Well, it’s time somebody put you in your place.”
Bradley watched, still breathing heavily as he stood at the foot of the bed, his hands flexing with restrained hunger. The game had changed entirely. You had crossed a line, and now, both men knew it was their turn to take control.
Jake’s grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he positioned you more firmly across his lap. He traced a finger across the curve of your backside, his voice rough as he said, “This isn’t over, sweetheart. Not by a long shot.”
The first smack comes without warning, a startled cry leaving your lips as you feel the sting of Jake’s hand.
“That’s one. You’ve got nine more. Think you can handle it?”
You nodd, but Jake just makes a tsk tsk tsk noise with his mouth before delivering another smack to the same spot.
“Use your words. We’re back to one. I can do this all night.”
“Yes. Yes, I can handle it.”
You hear Jake let out a low chuckle before saying, “Damn right you can, baby.”
The final smack echoed through the room, sharper than the rest, and you couldn't suppress the gasp that left your lips. A wave of heat rushed through you, a mix of sting and longing building in your body. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the tension of the moment overwhelming.
Jake’s hand lingered, resting gently on your sore skin, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the burn of the smacks. For a brief moment, there was silence. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the weight of his touch seemed to calm you, despite the ache.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still full of command. His hand moved slowly, rubbing circles into your tender skin, soothing the burn as he spoke. "You did so well for me."
You could hear the pride in his voice, and feel the shift in his demeanor as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. It was a small, almost gentle gesture, but it spoke volumes in the context of everything that had just transpired.
His fingers traced along your back now, his touch lighter, almost tender. "I know you can take it," he continued, his tone warm. "You’ve been so good for us tonight."
The praise was enough to stir something inside you—something that made the lingering sting worth it. He could still dominate you, but in this moment, you were his, and he took care of you in a way that felt like both power and care.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen next, sweetheart,” Jake says. “Bradley here is going to lay on his bed, and you’re going to ride him, reverse cowgirl so he can watch that pretty ass bounce as your ride him. And so I can watch your perfect tits bounce.” You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together at his words. “And I’m going to stand at the end of the bed and I want your eyes on me the whole time. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” Jake says before helping you up off his lap.
The moment you lift yourself off Jake’s lap, there’s a quiet shift in the room. The tension in the room grows as you crawl up the bed, hovering over Bradley, who’s now lying back on the bed, his eyes dark with hunger but also something else–softness, a trace of tenderness mixed with the primal need.
As you settle above him, the weight of your body supported by your hands on either side of his chest, Bradley’s hands reach up to pull you down. He doesn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. The kiss is almost electric, his lips hungry, but gentle enough to make you melt against him. The urgency fades slightly, and you find yourself losing a bit of control as you sink into the warmth of his embrace. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you close as if he doesn’t want to let you go.
The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It's just the two of you, your bodies pressing together, the soft sound of your breathing filling the space between you. You feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and warm, grounding you in this moment. It’s different with Bradley—there’s a tenderness there, something that contrasts with the more commanding side Jake showed earlier.
When you pull away, your lips still tingling, you can see the quiet satisfaction in Bradley’s eyes. His hands slip down your sides, tracing the outline of your body as if committing every inch of you to memory.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire, but there’s a softness to it, a reverence that makes your chest tighten.
You smile, leaning in to kiss him again, but this time it’s slower, more deliberate, and you can feel the shift between you—less about the tease, less about the game, and more about the connection.
You shift, moving so that your back is now towards Bradley, and your gaze finds Jake’s. The electricity between you three is palpable, the air thick with the kind of unspoken connection that runs deep. You can feel Bradley’s hands on your waist, steadying you, but it’s Jake’s eyes that hold your attention now—dark, intent, but filled with something else. There’s a depth in his gaze, a silent understanding, a promise that whatever happens next, it’s about the three of you as one.
You reach down, tugging the burnt orange jersey off, letting it fall to the floor in a fluid motion, leaving yourself exposed before them. The vulnerability stirs something within you—both exhilarating and grounding at once. With each passing second, the trust between you grows stronger, the knowledge that you're not just being seen, but truly understood, is almost overwhelming.
You pause, locking eyes with Jake, and the tension rises again. His presence is commanding, but it's the gentle weight of his gaze that gives you the confidence to continue. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself, the movement calculated and deliberate, not just for them, but for yourself. 
Bradley’s hands guide you, steadying you as you move closer to him. Your eyes flutter close as you feel the stretch of Bradley as you sink further and further onto him.
“Uh uh. Eyes on me, baby.” Jake reminds you.
You nod and open your eyes, yours immediately find Jake’s green ones. They’re darker than normal, laced with desire and need.
“You’re perfect,” Bradley whispers, his voice thick with emotion. You can feel the weight of his words, not just in his tone, but in how his hands trace over your skin, grounding you in this moment.
You stay locked on Jake’s gaze, the intensity of his eyes grounding you in the moment. The air between you two feels thick, like a promise that’s been quietly building, waiting to be fulfilled. His face softens, but there’s a quiet strength in it that makes your heart race. 
Bradley’s hands move to your waist, his touch steady and sure. He guides you gently, helping you find your rhythm as your body begins to move, slow and deliberate. His touch is a contrast to Jake’s silent command—Bradley’s touch is soft, like a grounding force, holding you steady.
You feel the heat rising, your chest tightening as the tension builds. But through it all, Jake’s eyes never leave yours. There’s something magnetic about the way he watches, as though he’s seeing you—every part of you—in a way that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe, all at once. His jaw tightens as he shifts, the intensity in his gaze never faltering.
With every small movement, every shift of your body, you feel the pressure building. Your breaths come quicker, your heart racing as Bradley’s hands guide you.
“S-shit,” you hear Bradley mutter from beneath you, causing you to clench around him.
Bradley’s hands move to your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin. His touch is tender, guiding you closer, helping you reach a place of intensity that feels almost overwhelming.
And then, it comes—like a wave crashing over you. You can feel the pressure building, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Bradley’s hands on your skin, his body beneath you, and Jake’s steady gaze pulling you deeper. Every part of you is alive, connected, and entwined in a way you’ve never experienced before.
Your breath catches as the moment hits, your body trembling as you reach the peak. Your eyes never leave Jake’s, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. There’s nothing but the bond between the three of you—the love, the trust, the unspoken understanding that this is where you’re meant to be. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.” Bradley grunts as you feel ropes of his seed release into you.
You collapse on the bed against Bradley, your body spent and trembling, Jake’s smile softens, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes.
“You’re incredible,” Bradley whispers, pulling you into him, his hands still on your back as he kisses the top of your head. His voice is filled with a tenderness.
“You’re perfect,” Jake adds softly, his voice low and comforting.
Bradley shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against your skin as he looks over at Jake. There’s a quiet moment between them, an unspoken understanding passing between the two. With a soft chuckle, Bradley pushes himself up from the bed, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer before he speaks.
“I’m gonna head to the bathroom. Jake, you wanna take care of her while I’m gone?” he asks, the affection in his voice evident.
Jake’s response is immediate, his eyes softening as he watches you. “Of course,” he says, his voice low but filled with warmth.
As Bradley moves to the bathroom, Jake crawls onto the bed beside you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His presence is a steady, comforting weight as he shifts closer, opening his arms for you. You don’t hesitate, scooting over to him, seeking the comfort of his embrace.
You curl into him, your body instinctively leaning into his warmth as your head rests against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a calming rhythm beneath your ear, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, the tension of the last few minutes slowly ebbing away.
Jake wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer, his hand gently stroking your hair as he settles against the pillows. His touch is soothing, almost protective, and it fills you with a sense of security that you can’t quite put into words.
“You did so well,” Jake murmurs, his voice soft and tender. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
You smile against his chest, the words washing over you like a balm. You can feel the warmth of his body, the affection in every movement, and it’s all you need right now. The bond between the three of you feels unspoken but undeniable, and in this moment, everything feels right.
As you settle more comfortably against Jake, his arms holding you close, you allow yourself to fully relax, your body melting into his embrace. The soft sound of Bradley’s footsteps in the bathroom fades into the background as you lose yourself in the warmth of Jake’s care.
The world outside this room doesn’t matter right now. There’s only the three of you, your trust, and the quiet love that lingers in the space between. And for the moment, that’s all you need.
As the warmth of Jake’s embrace settles around you, the exhaustion from the long day and the intensity of everything that’s happened begin to catch up with you. Your body feels heavy, your mind slowly unwinding as the last threads of wakefulness start to slip away. You’re so close to falling asleep, the soothing rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat lulling you deeper into comfort.
But then, there’s a soft rustle of movement. You feel the bed shift slightly, and soon, Bradley is back. He’s holding a warm washcloth, the scent of soap and something faintly floral filling the air as he gently presses it against your skin. The touch is tender, careful, as he begins to clean you up, his fingers moving gently over you.
“Let me know if I’m being too rough,” Bradley murmurs softly, his voice a whisper in the quiet room, his gaze focused on his task. There’s no rush in his movements, only a quiet affection, as he takes care of you.
Once he finishes, he places the cloth aside, his hand lingering for just a moment before he pulls back. You feel the bed dip as he moves around, and then, in the next moment, he’s crawling onto the bed beside you. His arms slip around your waist from behind, pulling you into him, and you easily melt back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against your back.
You’re trapped now, but it doesn’t feel like a prison. Bradley’s strong chest presses against your back, his arms holding you securely while Jake, still on the other side of you, continues to hold you close. The two of them surround you, their presence comforting, and you can’t help but feel safe in their arms.
“Comfy?” Bradley murmurs against your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
You nod slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t want to fall asleep any other way.”
The steady sound of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies, and the quiet intimacy of the moment all wash over you. You can feel yourself drifting, your body sinking into the bed, the pull of sleep becoming harder to resist.
Just as your mind starts to fade, you hear Jake’s voice, light and teasing, cutting through the soft lull of the room.
“So, Bradshaw,” Jake begins, his tone dripping with playful mockery. “Not even twenty-four hours, huh?”
Bradley chuckles softly behind you, his fingers idly tracing circles on your waist as he gives a quiet, amused grunt. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
Jake snorts, a low, amused laugh slipping from his lips. “Right, but it’s nice to know you’re still a little bit predictable.”
You can hear the affection in Jake’s voice, his teasing not mean-spirited but filled with that familiar bond that the three of you share. As the sound of their laughter and gentle banter continues, the exhaustion pulls you under, and you finally surrender to sleep, the two men’s arms around you the last thing on your mind as you drift away.
210 notes · View notes
planetsstarsandmoons · 2 days ago
Text
Synastry observations (partly) based on personal experience, part 6:
(18+!!)
(Back after a year! Lol🌜🌛)
Moon conjunct mars: can be one sided asfuhck. I’ve seen it play out. Fully accepting that deeply personal intimacy of having someone’s sex aspecting your deepest emotions and/or the other way around is a sort of intimacy that some people just.. don’t…. want with that other person. This comes as a shocker because to most people, having a synastry aspect automatically means you have to like that with the other person, but Some people are just not into the other person like that! Or have trouble with intimacy. And even though the very primal emotional bridge between (possible) intensity of emotions and (possible) intensity of sexuality really ‘clicks’ and hits like no other, it doesn’t mean that the emotions or sexuality of both of the people will be intense within themselves… or that they will be seen in the same way. Many times I’ve seen this aspect play out in two people who worked really well together, were natural kissers and such, had almost iconically amazing fullfilling sex together, but one person wanted to marry and move into the other person and the other person simply did not want that, got the ick maybe, or simply closed themselves off from that meaning to the connection that one party attached to it but they themselves could not get in touch with, and either abused that power dynamic as much as they could or they ran away. Meanwhile thatother person, and I’ve seen both the moon and the mars person in that situation, is left completely addicted and insecure and an unstable mess because of this, because this aspects didn’t cause them so much to be in love, it caused them to have an addiction to this perfectly fullfilling passion and intimacy that they fundamentally lack in their life. They wanted to marry this person because of that. A friend (the mars person) of mine once puked when they saw their recent mars-conjunct-moon-synastey ex (it was a 1,5 month relationship) walk into a room. He later discovered that for some reason, that extremely intense feeling heartbreak didn’t really have anything to do with her, but more about the affection he lacked from an absent parent in his childhood, and the (obvious to everyone else) fact that he was bordering on a complete burn-out. He desperately needed that dopamine and those endorphins. Meanwhile the moon person was nowhere near in the headspace to have that kind of emotional intimacy so fast in her 1st relationship, so she started finding him less and less attractive, and then it was over. I once had an international student (moon) I think fall in love with me (and later stalk me) after 2 dates. He was a lonely international student in this Nordic country and his mother was sick in Egypt. We could not hold an interesting conversation on our own if we tried, but we were -very good kissers-and the almost-sex was extremely good. I didn’t want to cross that line, because for lack of better words I felt like it would go on to mean too much, be too emotional and too intimate and the thought crossing that border with him gave me the ick/ a fight or flight response, like I would just let this man be wayy too intimate with me if it happened, so I cut it off 🤷‍♀️ All the hormones of interpreting yourself to be totally ‘in love’ are there in the synastry, but it’s not *really* that, and most people in the sorry position even secretely know that, even though it’s confusing because they forever remain adamant that there here was something bomb in their connection.. because there was. But imagine: the moon feels emotionally hit in their core by mars’s… sexuality/attractiveness. Mars sees the deepest inner emotions of the moon and feels… turned on. You see where I’m going with this? The intensity and intimacy is great, but for a real love connection you need synastry on things that lead to mental, spiritual and emotional connectivity too. Can you even have a good conversation with this person for longer than 25 minutes? Do you even.. care about them? and vice versa? Would you love them if they were a worm? I have even more stories but they’re for another time 💆‍♀️
Moon trine mars: so. This one is kind of different. What do I mean? Well I believe that in synastry aspects, planetary influence comes to exist in the context of the aspect. Mars conjunct a planet will get all of mars. Mars square a planet will get the worst/most challenging side of mars (brought out by both). Mars opposite will get the antihero kind of mars -the conjunct mars on a possible (and needed) character delevopment journey if you will- and mars trine and sextile will get the harmonious benific, kind of ‘angelic’ sides of mars. He becomes the Aiden from Sex And The City, the soft woodchipper. This mars is in relation to the moon person a 10th house oriented, responsibility taking man who makes you laugh in the form of making you smile. The moon person becomes enamored with the mars person’s standing for something, his way of solving problems, overcoming obstacles, his professionality and his energetic form of taking action. The mars here becomes the kind of mars that is serious about protecting and heartily keeping what he feels is hitting his mars, instead of fighting with it or having sex with it necessarily. The moon’s emotional being becomes like his healthy objective, that he will protect and will fight/work himself up for in a way that he can control. A trine is harmonious which is kind of how you’ll see the mars person get into that civilised and gentlemanly role (to the emotions of the!!👌) moon partner. Where mars squaring the moon is like a mean alcoholic to the moon, the mars trining the moon will be a driven, shaved man in a suit or a spencer, kissing his wife goodbye before going to work. The moon in this aspect is different too: like water, the moons energy decides to flow depending on the factors and tides of the environment: If the moon has no reason to feel stabbed all the time, the moon won’t act overly sensitive or insecure or reactive to every little thing. Being shown the harmonious and safe/secure part of such a powerful planet like mars, the moon person will let their guard down big time. Typically, in this aspect, the moon person opens up, becomes very emotionally comfortable and shows their real and raw private selves to the mars person in a way that even surprises the mars person. There will be lots of oohs and aahs from the mars person who is *absolutely thrilled* to discover that the moon person is actually way softer than they come across in their personality, or more insecure than they wear on their sleeve, or are actually way weirder than anyone would expect. This is like an emotional theme in the relationship for mars. Granted to mars, it actually is a kind of odd way of special, because Real selves are often only shown to others in despair, crisis, moments of survival, very few deep talks, or during sex, but here the moon person is comfortable being their quirky and complete and utter selves with the mars person just during ‘daylight’ so to speak, as if they were alone in their room doing a talk show monologue in the mirror. It’s because mars made themselves this safe haven but is also a good reason to get excited and happy. So this aspect isn’t so much about physical/primary (so sexual attraction) passionate intimacy as you see, it becomes a personality thing of more mental and earthy(?) substance imo. In couples this aspect creates a forever-kind of ‘fondness’ of each other. In this relationship it’s the sex that becomes the highest feat of romantic bonding, not commitment to each other or affirming affection like with the conjunct or the square, which needs those components to make or strengthen the connection as a romantic one.
Mars conjunct mercury: best friends aspect! Being able to talk for hours, do any activity together, spend an entire day doing stuff together or going to a daylong event with just the two of you without it ever being awkward. Being able to do groceries together for a pregame with each other before going to do an activity that you’ll also be doing together. Energy, jokes, and things to talk about never run out. Mars’s energy lets mercury’s thoughts and mind race through multiple subjects and important comments at once, and mercury’s thoughts excite slash fire up mars’s energy. Their response becomes fuel for mercury again and so fort. I know two best friends who have this in double whammy almost exact and they are *always* together. Like in the same day, they would hang out, go to do something else/hang out with someone else, then go hang out with each other again, then in the evening one would visit the other at work. I have this aspect with one good friend that I can talk for hours with. Catching up is never awkward and we constantly learn from each other, plus we’re interested in the same things, because his mind/daily thoughts/the things he pays attention to and tells me (his mercury), fires me up and consistently happens to catch my fixation (mars). And what I *do* in my life, the things that were motivation by nature of taking action, triggers his insight! Isn’t that the perfect combination? This aspect makes you very good and close friends, but this alone doesn’t grant an emotional bond. Those two best friends I talked about lacked in moon connections, so they kept surprisingly much of their feelings and what went on in their life/emotional world private from one another, including crushes they had on mutual friends 💀 like how was that possible?
Moon square moon: a link is a link, an attachment is an attachment, so moon square moon is that too. You will ‘see’ each other for who that person emotionally is from the inside. You will acknowledge it, you can even understand it, but trying to emotionally ‘relate’ or connect to the other’s emotional world causes a short-circuit. This sounds like a finished deal, and marriage it often is. This aspect imo means kind of sacrifing a part of crucial understanding of the other partner. But there is another important part: some people do not have moon to moon aspects in their partnerships. Some people can connect with a moon through their sun mercury venus and mars for example, but not be able to deeply feel the other person next to them with their own moon, like what’s possible in a moon to moon aspect. With moon square moon, the two people deeply *see* each other. It’s hard not to because the friction of the square makes them very neon noticable to each other. One moon person might not be able to touch or soothe the other moon person from and with their own emotional angle, because through the square it will inherently cause a (n immediate often) frictive disconnect, but their presence will be enough. They will learn from each other and with enough respect for the other, (seriously) they will be able to teach themselves how to manually get their moons to relate, by in their empathy intuitively touching and patting to learn what the other person feels, and sleutelingen on their own emotional patterns. With the man I had this with. I completely saw and understood how he was. We, to each other’s emotional automatic ways of thinking, understood each other, but could never relate, so in our most intimate conversations we saw each other raw, but were also like.. damn,, you live like this? you do you! 😂
Male Venus conjunct woman’s moon, but the man has venus square moon natal: so this is really too specific, I know, it’s from my personal life, but the observation is such an almost lawful rule that it needs to be said. So the man has a problem with women in a romantic or otherwise emotionally intimate sense. He either sees them as charmless but safe, emotional, and boring ‘kin’, who fullfills his emotional needs but in a way that cannot fullfill his romantic wants, because they fundamentally clash, or he sees them as these charming, pretty, sexy sensual creative people or muses that fullfill his wants and desires, but cannot fullfill his emotional needs because they fundamentally do not mesh/are able to ‘melt’ with each other. So men with this aspect are doomed to have a lonely romantic life where they deeply hurt a lot of women but in the long run also themselves. This is ofc unless the man is capable of self reflection and is willing to do the work and *respect* the challenge that squares require, but since misogyny is a thing that challenge and perceived radically different worldview of the woman practically never gets respected, found interesting/compelling enough for the man to study, or romanticised like the way in which women will handle a natal moon square mars for example. BUT! If a woman’s moon conjuncts that squared venus, they kind of crack the code in a weird sense!? And become sort of “the only woman that can tame this man blabla that he actually respects”. Because the woman becomes like a domineering mother to him. In his moon square/battle/tension her moon, so where his emotional ‘needs’ are challenged by another person’s needs, his moon yields to the woman’s moon because his venus is enamored by the woman’s moon emotional world. You will get two people who are weirdly intimate friends, because both square moons emotionally ‘acknowlegde’ each other’s emotional life and wavelength, in a kind of bizarre to witness way that will have the woman wear the pants and the often so misogynistic and macho guy follow her and her needs around like a (doggo)💀, acting like each other’s bf/gf, but sitting too close to each other?? Kissing? The thought of having s**?? Will make them revolt. From an astrological standpoint, this may be the most significant planetary relationship with a woman that this man will ever have in his life.
A woman’s venus conjunct that sort of man’s moon I have never seen, only conjunct other planets, but I imagine it would be the same but the other way around at the same time. I think she would be only possible romantically intimate partner for the man, the only girlfriend to exist, only girl that he can wholeheartedly register as ‘girlfriend’, who will hold that *romantic* muse place forever, the only one to forever fullfill his emotional needs like a romantic partner does and can, but he doesn’t like her as a person, he couldn’t be friends with her, can’t talk with her, was never even his type, wants to cheat on her, can’t admire her really. This female venus is the sensual and sexual but disrespected girlfriend to the female moon’s sexless but elevated wife. If that man ruled the world and had all the money and the woman who marries him would win the universe, these were both equally bad but extremley solid places you would want to be in, because you’d be one of the only two women that he will ever seriously consider in his life.
Venus square jupiter: I have this with almost every man I get involved with, because their venus is in that way also conjuncting my scorpio sun and mercury. I’ve found with these people that they are confused if they should be charmed by the grand/optimistic/philosophical side of me, or cringe. Either way they are overwhelmed. Venus in crush-mode will be especially interested in jupiters views and opinions and outlook on situations and jupiter is enthusiastic about the romantic muse that they see in venus and become a kind of a philosophical rant-y person near them, in a good way, because they see venus as an equally inspiring and interesting and beautiful (big ideas and emotions) creative peer of their outlook on life. Venus listens and is in awe. Jupiter is like a positive-energy bomber to venus and venus can be confused, overwhelmed, but gets all the butterflies and wants to be swept in. This is an aspect where the other knows or can relate to what the other is feeling the least, because jupiter is making venus live in their own world and venus is in their head thinking out loud. Astrologers say this easily dies out because of it, like an inflated balloon, but I don’t agree. Don’t let your relationship completely ride on this aspect alone and you’ll be fine and it won’t end with a big bang, but stay flickering like smoldering fire like any other venus or jupiter aspect.
Saturn conjunct moon: saturn wants to snatch moon off the market and moon is like “yeesssss”
Mars overlaying 8th house: it’s true what they say… i won’t elaborate 😶‍🌫️ just kidding I will of course. Having been the 8th house person, it’s actually very straightforward: whenever we talked about serious matters like trauma, (lost) finances, our heritage, and our secrets, fears, that’s when I became most attracted to his masculine/sexual side. Those were the moments I would find myself like ‘daym’, just like a 7th house having mars overlay there would have that during moments of romance and partnership.
Moon opposite mars: I talk about this aspect a lot because it just fascinates me. Moon opposite mars in the context of all the other mars aspects is almost funny because in the beginning, when the insane kind of unsettling attraction is noticed between two people, mars doesn’t really want to be in this situation and moon doesn’t like the fact that it exists at all. I feel like it’s a karmic aspect for mars and somewhat for the moon. Moon will feel every single jab from this aspect but because that jab fundamentally hits them in their *feelings* they will just think: “what was that, what even is that? Who is this mars person making me feel single intense emotion at once?” Even typing this synastry aspect out is making me laugh. It’s moon doing what? Opposing. Oh god. And the lucky planet it’s being opposed is… mars 😂🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️! Imagine the moon one day going like: “f*ck you! And you, and you, and you,” then pointing to mars “and ESPECIALLY you!” Mars turning around and saying: “what are you saying f*ck me for?” looks at moon, boom, falls in love. Kind of disrespectful, but it isn’t meant that way? Which can in short make the connection even more uncomfortable for the moon, or completely the opposite. The intrigue in this aspect lies in how fundamentally foreign (because they’re opposites!!) these people are to each other. This aspect is an up and down and up and down one, because to have the closeness that they both desire and even need, they have to do the work and understanding to become closer and win each other’s trust and affirmation. Mars is challenged to channel powerful frictive energy from the fixation that the opposition creates into creating an environment that caters to the moon’s emotional needs. It challenges itself to encompass all of mars’s qualities, both the ying (harmonious) and the yang (not necessarily that) in a hyperaware manner, and that’s one of the reasons he comes to have like ‘multiple personalities’ in this aspect. It doesn’t help that mars always manages to come across the wrong way to the moon person, can hurt the moon unintentionally, but can also in a burst of martian energy try to fight with the moon when aggravated (caused by their opposing natures), can come across too sexual and disrespectful by the moon person when they intensely show their attraction and preferred treatment to the moon. When Mars tries to be nice, it doesn’t come natural for them to do that imagining what the completely opposite person would want. When mars succeeds, a very real and mental bond is created that is extremely raw. In the healthy romantic version of this, the moon isn’t really easy sex for mars like I’ve seen male astrologers describe it. I’ve seen men describe it as ‘deer’, which can create reaally different outlooks depending on your respect and goodwill to the more vurnurable person. Goodwill especially can make or break this aspect. I feel like this can either be one of the most pain-in-your-stomach disrespectful cortisol aspects, or the sweetest and most genuine and wholsesome emotionally intimate aspects.
A little story I wanted to share: an astrologer on 27th november 2023 gifted me a moon badge on tumblr and I only opened it on 21th november 2024, because I thought it the little pop-up present on my home page was a tumblr advert 🥲 I almost cried because it was such a lovely present around my birthday and as it goes I didn’t say thank you or acknowledged it for a year even though it was an awfully sweet gesture and I really appreciate her 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
199 notes · View notes
halfmoonaria · 3 days ago
Text
what i can’t say
pairing: tara carpenter & female reader
summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.
word count: 10.7k
author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!
Tumblr media
Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."
Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.
All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.
But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.
Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.
Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.
If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.
You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.
You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.
You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.
You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.
Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.
But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.
She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.
To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.
You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.
It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.
And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.
No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.
Brian.
Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.
She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.
The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.
Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.
But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.
It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.
But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.
Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.
Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.
Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.
But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.
Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.
While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.
The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.
But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.
Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.
Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.
The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.
When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.
There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.
That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.
But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.
The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.
She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.
The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.
And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.
She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.
Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.
But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.
She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.
She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.
So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.
She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.
At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.
During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.
And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.
It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.
She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.
The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.
She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.
And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.
Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.
She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.
It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.
And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.
She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.
But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.
Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.
She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.
Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.
You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"
Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"
You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.
She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.
She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.
You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.
Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.
Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.
You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.
She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.
"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.
Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."
Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"
Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.
But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"
"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.
Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?
But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.
She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.
The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.
"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.
You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."
The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.
She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.
Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.
Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."
But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.
And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.
Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"
Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.
Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."
Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.
She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.
Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.
Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.
Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.
She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.
She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.
First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.
She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.
And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.
She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.
The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.
The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.
You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.
She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.
The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.
She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.
And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.
She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.
It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.
Maybe it would be better if she came along?
The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.
If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.
She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?
At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.
She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.
In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.
If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.
And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.
Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.
If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.
You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"
Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.
She should've said no. She wanted to say no.
But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.
And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.
That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.
What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.
But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.
But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...
Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.
Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.
"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."
It won't be the same without you.
Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.
You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.
"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."
The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.
She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.
She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.
Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.
She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.
___
"What about this one?"
Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.
The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.
It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.
But this wasn't dress-up anymore.
Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.
You were dressing up for him.
Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.
She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.
It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.
The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.
Did Brian? She doubted it.
He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.
He didn't know you, not like she did.
"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"
Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.
Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.
"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.
"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."
Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.
"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.
Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.
She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.
"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.
Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.
Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.
She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"
Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.
She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.
"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.
You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.
Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.
She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.
"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.
"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.
The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.
"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.
You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.
As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.
And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.
Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.
She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.
Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.
The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.
She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.
Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.
You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.
"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.
Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."
Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.
She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.
She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.
Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.
You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.
"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.
You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.
Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"
Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.
"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.
"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."
She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."
You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."
Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.
___
The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.
Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.
People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.
You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.
"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."
Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."
Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.
The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."
Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."
"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.
Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"
Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.
But Tara wasn't anyone else.
"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.
He didn't deserve that smile.
Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"
She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."
If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.
You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.
This was going to be a long night.
And it most definitely was.
As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.
You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.
Brian.
He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.
You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.
Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.
You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.
You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.
She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.
At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.
But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.
Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.
Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.
"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.
She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."
She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.
You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"
She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."
You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.
By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.
The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.
Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.
And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.
Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.
Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.
So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.
"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.
And after an hour, or maybe even more.
The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.
The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.
You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.
She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.
It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.
Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.
So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.
Then she turned her head for just a moment.
A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...
Her heart stopped.
You and Brian were kissing.
It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.
Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.
It was rage.
Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.
Because of course this wasn't a problem.
Why would it be?
You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.
But God, it felt like a betrayal.
Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.
But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.
It was a problem. A huge one.
The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.
And still, she couldn't look away.
She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.
Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.
She wanted to scream.
To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.
But she didn't.
Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:
You're not supposed to feel like this.
So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.
And still, she couldn't look away.
Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.
A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.
When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.
Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.
You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.
"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.
Tara felt something snap.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.
She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.
Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.
"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"
Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.
"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."
It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.
You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"
You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.
The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.
She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.
But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.
Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.
He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.
The most beautiful girl on the planet.
Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.
He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.
How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?
Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.
Did he even realize how lucky he was?
Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?
Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.
Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.
Tara nearly saw red.
She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?
How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?
It was insulting. Infuriating.
She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.
But she couldn't.
Because none of this was his fault.
The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.
He could have you.
Tara wasn't sure what happened next.
What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.
All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.
His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.
The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't sweet.
It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.
Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.
Because this wasn't about him.
It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.
This was about her.
Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.
The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.
But it wasn't working.
If anything, the kiss only made it worse.
Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.
It didn't feel like you.
And that thought was like a punch to the gut.
Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?
Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.
His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.
She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.
It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.
It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.
She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.
This wasn't about him.
But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.
And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.
Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.
No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.
Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.
His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.
And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.
His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.
She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.
She should've.
But she didn't.
Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.
Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.
And she let him.
Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.
Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.
Not yet.
She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.
Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.
It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.
And yet, she let it happen.
Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.
But it didn't.
Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.
When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.
What had she done?
Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.
Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.
Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.
Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.
Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.
It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.
She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.
You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.
She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.
You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?
Nothing.
Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.
She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?
The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.
And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.
Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.
She'd wanted you.
And now she'd ruined everything.
382 notes · View notes