#I’ve never related so much to an image

[soft-cloud-pillows]

[woniedarlin]

The Price of Perfection

pairing: Academic Rival! Jake x fem! reader

synopsis: You are always first. The one everyone expects to win. Confident, prideful, and untouchable. People admire you, envy you, resent you. But it doesn’t matter because in the end, you always prove them right. Then you go home. And first place isn’t enough. Second is unacceptable. Third is a disgrace. Anything less is failure. But then there’s Jake. Jake, who wins because he loves to. Jake, who has everything you don’t.

And the moment he looked past the perfect image you built, everything began to change.

warnings: This story contains themes of parental neglect, emotional abuse, academic pressure, and self-doubt. It covers on inadequacy, angst, and emotional breakdowns, but also slow-burn romance and comfort. Read at your own risk.

author's note: This story is deeply personal to me. It’s the first time I’ve poured so much emotion into something. If you relate to any part of this, please remember: you are enough. Always. Thank you for reading.

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

The cameras flashed. The medal's weight around your neck was heavier than it should’ve been. Gold, cold, undeserved. Applauses were loud.

You smiled. Of course you did. It was the expression expected of a champion. Graceful, composed, proud. You had practiced it enough times in the mirror, so much so that it no longer hesitated. You let the corners of your lips go upward just right, enough to appear humble but not so much that you seemed arrogant. Enough to sell the illusion that this victory was yours to enjoy.

Your parents stood at the front of the crowd. Their hands clapped the loudest, and their smiles stretched the widest. They shook hands, nodded in gratitude, and took every compliment thrown their way as if they were the ones who had spent sleepless nights preparing. As if they were the ones who had earned this. “We’re so proud,” they had said when your name was announced. “You did it.”

Did what, exactly?

You stood there as the flashes went off, the cheers rang in your ears, and your parents continued to receive congratulations on your behalf. You stood there and dared to look down.

Second place was crying.

Not just the silent kind, not the polite, quiet tears of someone accepting defeat, but the kind that came from deep inside, that cracked a person open. Their shoulders trembled as they looked down at their silver medal, fingers curling around it so tightly you thought it might shatter.

And then there were the others. The ones who had fought, who had given everything, who had wanted this much more than you ever did. Some stood stiffly, disappointment carved into their faces, blinking back the loss with forced indifference. Others stared blankly at the floor, avoiding your gaze because looking at you only deepened the wound.

It didn’t feel good.

It never did.

Taking something that wasn’t yours to take, crushing someone’s dreams just because you could. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel right.

And maybe it wouldn’t have felt so hollow if this had been your dream. If you had wanted this as badly as they did. If you had fought, struggled, and clawed your way to the top because it was something you couldn’t live without. But that wasn’t the case.

You had never wanted this.

But you won anyway.

And that was the worst part of it all.

🪢

The hallway was full of students moving in clusters. Conversations were overlapping, and lockers were slamming shut. Same faces, same voices, same excitement over things that would be forgotten by next week. You walked through the center of it all, and people noticed you without needing to say anything. Whispers followed you, talking about your latest win and how easily you had secured another first-place title. People admired you, but bitterness and jealousy were hidden behind their forced smiles.

“Look who’s finally back from their throne,” a familiar voice called out, loud enough to turn a few heads. A heavy arm slung over your shoulder before you could react. It was Seojin, one of your so-called friends, though that word had lost its meaning a long time ago. He grinned down at you, his smile wide. There was something in his face that made it clear he wasn’t celebrating you.

You scoffed, shrugging his arm off easily, adjusting your bag strap as his touch had thrown off your balance. “What, miss me already?” Your voice was light enough to remind him where you stood in this hierarchy. “You should get used to it. Winners are always busy.”

Laughter spread through the group gathered around you. A few people exchanged glances, nodding as if they agreed with each other, truly believing you were unstoppable. Seojin laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Busy collecting more trophies, huh? I have to say, it must be tiring being the best at everything.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t know. It comes naturally.”

Immediately, the group reacted with a chorus of “oohs” and chuckles. Another voice joined in. “You looked like you belonged on that stage. I mean, holding that trophy, you seemed made for it.” Jihoon added.

For just a moment, your smile faded a little.

“Made for it.”

Those words should have felt like a compliment but instead felt like a reminder. A cage.

But you couldn’t let them see that. So, you laughed easily, like every other lie. “Of course I did,” you said, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “I make everything look good.”

More laughter followed. More voices joined in. More noise.

You kept up this act because it felt natural now. This confident version of yourself, who never had doubts. This group, these people, this constant game of who could seem the most untouchable. It was tiring.

And none of them were even your friends.

They were here because your name meant something. Because standing next to you made them look better. Because being associated with a winner was better than being another nameless face in the crowd.

Some people called you cocky.

Maybe they were right.

Or maybe you just played the part because it was the only thing you knew how to do.

The moment you stepped into the next hallway, the energy shifted. The laughter, the background noise of your so-called friends. It all faded into something heavier. Because there he was.

Sim Jaeyun, or Jake as most would call, was the person who never treated you like a high-status figure. He didn’t feel any pressure from your name. He was a real threat and didn’t even have to try. While you acted like a confident champion, enjoying victories you didn’t care about, Jake was different. He truly wanted this, and that made things more complicated for you.

Unlike you, he was genuinely passionate. He stayed up late studying, not to keep up his image, but because he loved learning. He was brilliant but never showed off. He made people feel comfortable around him. Your presence was sharp and demanding, while he was warm and easygoing. Your so-called friends stuck to you for your status. In contrast, Jake’s friends liked him for who he was, not his achievements. His parents didn’t take credit for his success. They supported him and celebrated his efforts, not just the results.

You had everything. Yet somehow, he had everything you wanted.

And maybe that was why you hated him.

Or maybe you didn’t.

Maybe you didn’t know what to do with him.

Jake looked up as you walked toward him. His face was hard to read. You both seemed very different. You wore an arrogant smirk, surrounded by people who only stuck around when you won. He stood there relaxed, with his friends laughing at a joke you hadn’t heard.

But you needed to keep up your image.

“You seem pretty relaxed for someone who lost yesterday.” You said.

Jake paused his conversation and looked at you, his friends noticing you too. He met your gaze, and his smile was small and genuine momentarily, not bitter or angry. It made you feel like entering a game without knowing the rules. “And you,” he replied, “look a bit worried for someone who won.”

For a moment, your confidence almost falters. Almost. But you quickly kept your expression smooth. “Worried? Not at all. I barely broke a sweat.” You let out a short laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, you put up a good fight. I almost thought you had a shot.”

Jake kept looking at you. He didn’t react the way others usually did. Instead, he took his time before responding. “Almost, huh?” He spoke as he was contemplating your words. He studied you, and for once, you felt like the one being examined. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms, shifting your weight to show confidence. “Go ahead. We both know how this usually turns out.”

His lips turned into a slight grin, neither a smirk nor a laugh. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a challenge or bragging. It was just a simple statement from someone who seemed to believe that the future was unpredictable. For some reason, that feeling shook you more than anything.

People like you were not supposed to hesitate. People like you were not supposed to let doubt creep in.

But Jake Sim had a way of making you feel uncertain.

You weren’t even sure if he noticed.

🪢

The moment you stepped outside the school gates, you were still the person everyone expected.

You smiled, laughed, and stood tall.

Your so-called friends hung around you, stretching out their goodbyes. They gave half-hearted compliments and exaggerated praise about your latest win. You nodded along, pretending their words mattered. You let them talk, enjoying the moment before you walked away, climbed into the waiting car, and left them behind for the day.

As soon as the car door shut, the act ended.

The silence weighed heavily. The outside noise turned into a dull hum and was muffled by the thick glass. Your confident expression finally dropped. There would be no more forced smiles or sharp comments.

Just quiet.

Your older brother, Jay, was already in the backseat, sitting comfortably with his long legs stretched out. He looked calm, as usual. When you settled beside him, he glanced up from his phone and met your eyes. “Hey,” he said, relaxed.

You hummed back, leaning against the seat and feeling your exhaustion set in.

“How was school?” Jay asked. He asked because he always wanted to hear it from you, even if he knew the answer.

“It was alright,” you replied. It was the most straightforward answer.

Jay didn’t respond right away. He studied you momentarily, his fingers tapping his phone, deciding whether to call you out on your lie. In the end, he didn’t press you. He never did.

The car started moving away from the school, and with it, the image you had kept up faded. You watched the students outside continue their laughter and conversations. What felt suffocating just moments ago now seemed far away.

No one at school knew this version of you.

You didn’t speak unless someone spoke to you. You didn’t fill silences with witty remarks or smug comments. You didn’t carry the weight of expectations. You didn’t feel like you were performing.

At school, you were never quiet. You were always loud and talking, making sure everyone noticed you. Being quiet meant giving others space to think and see through you.

But in the car, you didn’t have to fill the silence.

In the car, you could just be you.

So, you let the quiet settle. You relaxed your shoulders. You stared out the window, watching the city blur, knowing you could just be yourself for the next twenty minutes.

Jay didn’t say anything else. He lets you sit in silence and take it in. And that was enough.

🪢

The moment you stepped into the house, you already knew something was wrong. The air was too tense. Too quiet. You barely had time to take off your shoes before your mother called your name. You could tell something was wrong. You always knew when it was.

Your father was already in the living room, which made it clear there would be no discussion. Your mother stood next to him, looking exhausted and grim. “You didn’t sign up,” she said. It wasn't a question or an accusation. Just a fact. They already knew the answer before you walked in.

Your stomach dropped. Of course.

You had tried not to mention the competition and hoped they wouldn't notice when the deadline passed. You thought, maybe for once, they would let it go.

But they didn’t.

“You didn’t even try,” your father said sharply with his piercing gaze. “We had to call them ourselves. We begged them to let you in after registration closed.”

Begged.

That word felt heavy and suffocating. Your well-respected parents had to use their influence and name because you didn't do what was expected. Your mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you know how embarrassing that was? Do you even care?”

“I just won a championship,” you replied. You didn't raise it or show your fatigue, but it was hard not to let it show. “Why does it matter if I skip this one?”

Your father shook his head in disbelief. “Why does it matter?” he repeated, astonished that you would even ask. “Do you think success ends with one win? That one victory is enough?”

Your mother stepped forward, her face showing disappointment and frustration. “Do you realize how many doors this could open for you? How many people would do anything for a chance like this?”

You knew because you had seen those students who wanted it badly. They cried when they lost and studied late into the night, chasing something that was handed to you.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re competing,” your father said firmly. “End of discussion.”

There it was. They made the decision for you, as usual.

Your mother sighed and rubbed her temples. “We already submitted your name. The least you can do is show some gratitude.”

Gratitude.

You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat.

There was nothing left to say.

So, you nodded. You nodded because it was easier than fighting. Because no matter what you wanted, it never really mattered.

Because, at the end of the day, this was the life you had been given.

And no matter how much you wanted to, you could never escape it.

“I’m sorry,” you said with the words barely escaping past the tightness in your throat.

Your father scoffed, turning away because your apology wasn’t worth acknowledging. Your mother sighed before walking past you, her hand lightly brushing against your shoulder, not as a sign of comfort but as if she were dismissing you.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Because in this house, your choices didn’t matter.

Only the results did.

🪢

Everything in the dining room was arranged perfectly. The food was carefully portioned. It looked beautiful, but it tasted like nothing to you. You sat still, your back straight, moving your fork absently, pushing the food around rather than eating it. The conversation between your parents was casual, even. But you knew where this was going before they even said it.

Then, there it was.

“Jake placed first in the regional math competition,” your father said as he cut into his steak. “I spoke to his father earlier today. Apparently, he not only won, but he beat last year’s champion by a huge margin.”

The muscles in your jaw tightened. You knew better than to look up.

Your mother hummed, sipping her wine before delicately setting the glass down. “I’m not surprised,” she said, dabbing with a napkin at the corner of her lips. “Jake’s always been a hardworking boy. So polite, too. His mother told me he spends extra hours studying every night without being told. He even tutors younger students in his free time.” She sighed, shaking her head, almost wistful.

“You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You knew it was coming.

That didn’t make it any easier to hear.

Your grip on your fork tightened, your fingers pressing into the cool metal. You didn’t lift your head. Didn’t argue. Didn’t say anything at all.

Your father continued, “Jake doesn’t have everything handed to him,” he said, placing his knife down with a soft clink. “And yet, he’s still doing better than you.”

The words sat heavy in the air, heavier than the food sitting untouched on your plate. Jay, who had been quiet up until now, let out a sharp exhale. He placed his utensils down with more force than necessary, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. “You’re acting like she’s not already winning every other competition,” He spoke calmly, but you could hear a tension in his voice that only you noticed. “Maybe, instead of comparing her to someone else, you should acknowledge what she had done. Instead of acting like it’s never enough.”

Your mother shook her head, seeing what he said was unreasonable. “That’s not the point, Jay,” she said sharply.

“Then what is the point?” Jay shot back. He looked directly at them. “That no matter how much she achieves, it’s still not enough for you?”

Your father turned to him. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said as if that was the end of it. As if that was all that needed to be said.

And just like that, the discussion was over.

There was no room for argument. There is no room for anything.

Your parents continued eating, their conversation turning to something lighter, meaningless, as if the weight of their words hadn’t just settled in your chest like a stone. It was as if they hadn’t reminded you once again that you were still not enough. You forced yourself to take a bite, chewing slowly, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

Jay glanced at you from across the table, his expression softer now, but he didn’t say anything else.

Because he knew, just as you did, that there was nothing left to say.

🪢

Jake didn’t think about you much. Not in the way others did.

To everyone else, you were a name that carried weight, a student who stood at the top without fail. People whispered about you in the halls. Some with admiration, some with jealousy. You had everything. The grades, the reputation, the influence. And you knew it. You walked through the school like it belonged to you, like everyone else was just a step below, trying to catch up.

Jake never had to catch up.

He had always been fine where he was. He worked hard, he did well, and that was enough. He didn’t need to stand on a podium to prove anything. His parents were proud whether he won or not. His friends didn’t care if he was in first place or fifth. His achievements were his, not something for others to measure their worth against.

That was the difference between you and him.

You acted like everything was a competition. Every test, every ranking, every moment you could use to remind people where you stood. It was almost entertaining sometimes. The way you smirked when your name was called first, the way you barely spared a glance at the people below you.

People always assumed the two of you were enemies. The belief that academic rivals are destined to despise each other. But Jake never really hated you.

He didn’t respect you either.

Because arrogance didn’t impress him.

So, when he passed by you in the hallway, watching as you threw an arm around your so-called friends, laughing too loudly, standing too tall. He didn’t feel envy. He didn’t feel admiration.

He just felt nothing.

And if you ever turned your gaze his way, lips twisting into that confident smirk, daring him to try and take your place at the top. He only ever smiled back, easy, unbothered.

Because, unlike you, he had nothing to prove.

🪢

The room was silent except for the clicking of keyboards and the scratch of pens against paper. The weight of expectation pressing down on your shoulders. Your fingers flew across the page, solving, calculating, writing. Each answer had to be perfect. Each step is precise.

You couldn’t afford to be slow.

You glanced at the timer. Two minutes left.

Your heartbeat pounded fast. Your breathing was shallow. You could hear the clock ticking. It's louder than it should be. Your grip on the pen tightened until your knuckles turned white.

One last question.

Your eyes looked at the numbers on the screen. You ran through the calculations in your head, fingers trembling as you wrote them down on the paper.

Something didn’t feel right.

You double-checked. No, no, no. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be. You rewrote the equation, erasing and correcting. The answer wouldn’t come out right. The numbers blurred together, your mind racing faster than you could keep up.

Your hands were sweating.

One minute.

You swallowed hard. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t-

Your hand slipped. The pen streaked across the page, ink smudging. You cursed under your breath, hastily fixing the mess, but-

Thirty seconds.

Shit

Shit

Shit

Your breath hitched. You were running out of time. You forced yourself to write down the answer, even if you weren’t sure. You couldn’t leave it blank. You couldn’t-

Five seconds.

Your eyes darted to the scoreboard.

Jake’s score was higher.

Your stomach dropped.

No.

The timer beeped.

The competition was over.

Jake had won.

🪢

This is what it feels like.

To be second.

The cameras flashed, but they weren’t for you this time. Your lips twitched, struggling to form the familiar, practiced smile. It was supposed to be easy. You had done it a thousand times before, in every victory and moment you stood at the top.

But this time, you couldn’t.

You stood there, trophy in hand, a step lower than ever. A step below Jake.

Jake, who stood on the podium above you, smiling. Genuine, effortless, like he belonged there. His name was called, his score announced, and the crowd cheered. His parents were among them, their voices the loudest, their pride so clear. His friends clapped, laughing, celebrating with him.

You swallowed hard.

Your eyes looked to where your parents sat.

They weren’t clapping.

They weren’t smiling.

They weren’t doing anything.

Their faces were blank, unreadable, but that only made it worse. It would have been easier if they were angry, if they scolded you, demanded answers, questioned why you weren’t standing where you were supposed to be.

But they didn’t.

They just watched.

And somehow, that silence crushed you more than any words ever could.

You turned back to Jake, forcing yourself to look. He was still smiling, still happy, still surrounded by people who were happy for him.

You had never been jealous of him before.

But now?

Now, you wished you knew what it felt like to win and actually deserve it.

🪢

The medal was cold against his skin. But his heart was warm.

Warm from the embrace of his parents, their arms wrapped tightly around him, their voices with nothing but pride. Warm from his mother’s teary smile as she cupped his face, whispering you did so well. Warm from his father’s hearty laughter, the way he clapped him on the back and said, we knew you could do it, son.

Warm from the cheers of his friends, their voices overlapping, already talking about celebrating, about how Jake had earned this.

It felt good.

Not just winning. But knowing, truly knowing, that he deserved this moment. That the people around him were happy for him, not because of what he had achieved, but because it was him. “Excuse me for a second,” Jake murmured, offering them a smile before stepping away. The main hall was busy with flashing cameras and loud applause. He just needed a breather, a moment to let it all sink in.

But as he walked toward the quieter side of the building, his steps slowed.

He saw you.

And it wasn’t at all how he expected.

Your father stood in front of you, voice low but strict. Your mother was beside him, her arms crossed, her words quieter but no less cruel.

You didn’t look at them.

Your head was bowed, your hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles had turned white.

Jake stopped in his tracks.

For as long as he had known you, you had never looked like this before.

You, who always carried yourself with that arrogant smirk. You, who always made everything a competition, never settling for anything less than first. You, who always acted like winning was your right.

Now, you looked-

No. You didn’t look like anything at all.

Your face was blank. Your shoulders stiff. Like you had frozen in place, unable to move, unable to fight back.

And then-

Your father exhaled. “Embarrassing.” His voice was something worse than anger. More like disgust. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for us?”

“Second place?” Your mother scoffed. “Do you think that’s acceptable? After everything we did for you?”

Jake clenched his jaw.

It was the way they spoke. Like you had failed them. Like coming in second was the same as losing entirely. Like you were nothing more than a disappointment.

And then it happened.

Your father reached forward, fingers gripping the silver medal around your neck. Without hesitation, without a second thought-

He ripped it off.

The thin ribbon snapped. The medal clinked against his wedding ring, slipping from his fingers-

Into the trash.

Jake felt sick to his stomach

You didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t even look at it.

Like it wasn’t even there.

Like it never mattered.

Your parents didn’t wait for you. They turned, walking away, their faces unreadable, like this was routine. Like they had done this before.

And you-

You followed.

Quiet. Expressionless.

Like you weren’t even there.

Jake couldn’t move.

His hands tightened into fists. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

Was this… normal for you?

Had this been happening every time you lost?

No. Jake knew you. He knew your pride, your arrogance, the way you carried yourself with confidence.

But was it ever real?

Jake had never questioned what was behind your smirks, your constant need to be first.

Not until now.

🪢

Your bedroom was dark. You sat at the edge of your bed, staring at nothing.

You should be crying.

Shouldn’t you?

But you felt nothing.

Not anger. Not sadness. Not even disappointment.

Just… numbness.

Jay knelt in front of you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His warmth covered your skin, but it didn’t reach the coldness inside. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, like he always did when things felt too heavy, when you came home and locked yourself away, and when the weight of expectations became too much to carry alone.

His embrace was the only thing tethering you to reality.

And it hurt.

Because Jay was all you had.

The only person who saw you for more than just a name. The only person who didn’t care if you were first or second or last.

The only person who stayed.

“…I’m proud of you,” Jay whispered. His voice was calm, but there was something fragile in the way he held you. He was afraid you’d shatter. “No matter what, I always am.”

Your hands clenched the fabric of his sweater, but you still didn’t speak.

Because what was there to say?

That you never wanted any of this?

That winning had never been your dream?

That you were tired. So, so tired of being the person everyone expected you to be?

That when your father threw your medal away, he wasn’t just throwing away an award. He was throwing away you.

Jay pulled back slightly,

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “Please.”

You knew you wouldn’t.

Because even with your eyes closed, the weight of it all would still be there.

Pressing. Crushing.

Never letting go.

🪢

You had been walking through life on autopilot for as long as you could remember.

Winning, smiling, shaking hands, collecting medals like they meant something. Like they made you something. It was a routine now. Just another thing you did because it was expected. Because that was who you were supposed to be. And yet, standing at the podium while staring at Jake Sim of all people, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Exposed.

You weren’t sure why you were still here. The hallway was empty. The competition had ended yesterday. The results had already been burned into everyone’s minds.

Jake won. You didn’t.

Simple as that.

But it wasn’t simple. Not when you could still hear the sound of your father’s voice slicing through your ribs, carving up whatever was left of you. Not when you could still see the silver medal at the bottom of that trash can.

Jake’s voice cut through the silence.

“You don’t look happy.”

Oh, he’s here too.

You scoffed. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought winning was everything to you.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “Yeah, well. First time for everything.”

“You don’t seem that upset about losing.”

That made you look at him. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t smug. He was just… watching. Like he had been watching all night.

“What are you getting at, Sim?”

Jake looked at you. “I saw what happened.”

The world around you blurred.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

“Outside. After the competition.” He tilted his head. “I saw your father.”

“I saw him throw your medal away.”

You wanted to laugh. To brush it off. To say so what? But the words wouldn’t come.

He continued. “That wasn’t the first time, was it?”

You swallowed, “Mind your own business, Jake.”

He didn’t back down. “I see you now.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “And what exactly do you think you saw?”

“Someone who’s exhausted.”

A slow, bitter smile appeared on your lips. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s been forced to win their whole life. And I know what it looks like when they finally realize they don’t want to anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, before you could stop yourself, before you could shove the words back down. Your voice slipped out, quieter than you intended.

“What would you have done?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You clenched your jaw. “If you were me. If you had my parents, my life, my expectations. What would you have done?”

His expression changed. Softer. Almost… sad.

“I don’t know.”

You huffed out a bitter laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Jake didn’t argue. He just watched you like he was waiting for you to say something real.

But you didn’t.

Because you didn’t know how.

So instead, you did what you always did.

You turned and walked away.

🪢

The sun was beginning to set. Jay had just stepped out of a convenience store, a cold soda in hand, when he heard someone call his name.

“Jay?”

He turned, barely catching a glimpse before an arm wrapped around his shoulder in a quick bro hug. “Jake, man!” Jay grinned, giving him a solid pat on the back before stepping away. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jake smirked. “Yeah, I was just passing by. You headed somewhere?”

“Nah, just grabbing something to drink before going home.”

Jake glanced at the can in Jay’s hand and grinned. “Still hooked on soda, huh?”

“Still better than your overpriced coffee addiction,” Jay shot back.

Jake let out a laugh. “Fair.”

They found a bench nearby and sat down, cracking open their drinks. “Man, feels like forever since we just sat down like this,” Jay said, taking a sip. “Like when we were younger. Back when drinking soda made us feel cool.”

“Still does,” Jake replied, and they both chuckled.

The conversation was easy. They talked about random things. Old friends, stupid childhood memories, how fast time was passing. But then Jake’s playful energy in his eyes dimmed just slightly.

“Jay… can I ask you something?”

Jay raised a brow. “Since when do you ask permission?”

Jake didn’t laugh this time. His fingers tapped against his can. “It’s about your sister.”

Jay’s smile faded.

“What about her?”

Jake hesitated, just for a second, but long enough for Jay to notice.

“I saw…” Jake paused. “Never mind.”

But Jay already knew.

The way Jake wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jay set his drink down, voice calm but firm.

“What did you see, Jake?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He looked like he was deciding whether to speak at all. Jay didn’t rush him. Finally, Jake continued. “After the competition… I saw her with your parents.”

Jay didn’t react, not outwardly. He just kept his gaze on Jake. Jake hesitated, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I—I heard what they said. What they did.” He clenched his jaw. “Jay, they threw away her silver medal.”

Jay’s expression didn’t change. He simply took another sip of his drink,

“Is that all?”

Jake frowned. “Jay-”

“No, really,” Jay cut in. “Is that all you saw?”

Jake stared at him confused. “What do you mean?”

Jay scoffed, shaking his head. “If you think that’s bad, then you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Jake felt something cold settle in his stomach. He had always known Jay’s family was strict, but this… this was something else.

“How long has it been like that?” Jake asked quietly.

Jay leaned back against the bench. “Since forever.”

Jake’s grip tightened on his soda can. “Why don’t she say anything?”

“Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Jake hated how casually Jay said it, like it was just a fact of life. Like it wasn’t something that should make someone furious. “I don’t get it,” Jake admitted. “Why did she still… play along? Why act like everything is fine?”

Jay finally looked at him tiredly. “Because that’s the only choice she have.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that. For the first time, he regretted knowing. Because now, he couldn’t unsee it. He couldn’t forget the way you had stood there silently and not moving, as your father discarded your achievement like it was nothing. He couldn’t forget how you had walked away, your shoulders heavy, your head bowed. Not out of shame, but out of exhaustion.

He had always thought of you as arrogant, competitive, impossible to break.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“You know, she’s always been quiet,” Jay said suddenly.

Jake looked at him confused. “Quiet?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah. Like, really quiet. Always has been. Since we were kids.”

Jake frowned, trying to piece that together with the girl he knew. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

Jay chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s because you don’t know her like I do. People think she’s all confidence and competition, but that’s just what she lets them see. You strip all that away? She barely says a word.”

Jake stayed silent, letting that sink in.

“She was always the quietest one in the room,” Jay continued. “Never talked much, never caused trouble. Just did whatever was expected of her. I think people used to forget she was even there sometimes.”

Jake found that hard to believe. “So why the change?”

Jay shrugged. “Didn’t change. Not really. She still doesn’t talk much when she doesn’t have to. Just learned how to play the part when she needs to.”

Jake tilted his head, thinking back to all the times he had seen you surrounded by people, laughing, teasing, always in control of a conversation. And yet, he couldn’t remember a single time you had actually talked about yourself.

“So all that confidence-“

“Not her,” Jay cut in. “But, she’s still quick-witted, still kinda funny when she wants to be. But when she’s not ‘performing’ for people? She’s quiet. Always has been.”

Jay stretched his legs out. “You know, you should at least try to be friends with her.”

Jake raised a brow. “Friends?” He let out a small laugh. “Pretty sure she’d rather choke than let that happen.”

Jay smirked. “Yeah, she’s dramatic like that. But she’s actually really funny when you get to know her.”

Jake gave him a confused look. “Funny?”

Jay nodded. “Like, in a really deadpan way. She doesn’t even try, but it makes it worse because she says stuff so seriously. And she’s good at keeping a straight face too, so people never know if she’s joking or not.”

Jake thought about it. He had seen glimpses of that before, the way you could make a single remark and have people either dying of laughter or questioning their entire existence. But he had always assumed you did it on purpose, as part of the persona you carried.

“You’re telling me that under all that arrogance, she’s just… quiet and funny?”

Jay grinned. “Yep. Oh, and she also eats weirdly. She cuts everything so neatly.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jay chuckled. “It’s weird. She won’t just bite into a burger. She’ll actually cut it first. Like, who does that?”

Jake laughed.

Jay continued. “But seriously. She’s not as impossible as you think. Just… don’t be an idiot about it.”

Jake stayed quiet. He didn’t know why, but the idea of getting to know you, really know you, stuck with him longer than it should have.

🪢

The wind was pushing against you like it wanted to knock you over. You welcomed it. The cold, the force of it, it was the only thing that felt real right now.

Footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“You always come up here when you’re pissed off,” Jake said.

You exhaled through your nose. “And yet you always follow me. Should I start calling you my shadow? ”

“If it gets you actually to talk, sure.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Jake didn’t say anything. He just walked forward, stopping beside you, mirroring your posture as he leaned against the railing. For a while, neither of you spoke. “You lost back there,” he said finally. Not taunting, not victorious. Just a fact.

You closed your eyes briefly before reopening them. “Yeah. I did.”

A pause. Then, softly, “And? ”

You swallowed. “And… it’s funny.” Your voice was quieter than you intended. “Because I didn’t even want to win.”

Jake turned his head toward you, but you fixed your gaze on the skyline. You couldn’t look at him. Not now. “Then what do you want? ” His voice was gentle.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

What did you want?

The question pressed against you. You’d spent your whole life running, fighting, and competing. Chasing after a finish line someone else had drawn for you. You were always trying to get ahead and be the best. Not because you wanted it but because you were expected to. So then… what was left when all of that was stripped away?

Jake was still watching you, waiting. But you had no answer.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, his voice was quiet. Almost… sad.

“You know, for all the years I’ve known you… I don’t think I’ve ever really known you at all.”

Your throat tightened. You finally turned to look at him.

“Let me help you figure it out,” he said.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to let someone try.

The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“How?”

It wasn’t arrogant. It wasn’t with the usual sharpness you carried. It was… quiet. Uncertain. Real.

Jake was caught off guard. Maybe he had expected you to scoff, to push him away like you always did. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You were tired.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw as if thinking. “We start small,” he said finally. “We talk. We stop pretending to know everything about each other when we don’t.”

Your fingers loosened around the railing. “And then? ”

“And then we figure it out.”

You stared down at your hands. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not.” Jake studied you. “But it doesn’t have to be impossible either.”

You swallowed. “Why do you even care? ”

He was silent for a long time, long enough that you almost regretted asking. But when he spoke, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it.

“Because I saw you that day,” he said. “With your parents. I saw the way they looked at you. The way they spoke to you. And I realized… you’ve never had someone who listens to what you want, have you? ”

No. You hadn’t.

You didn’t even know what you would say if someone ever asked.

You turned away from him, your grip tightening against the railing again. “I don’t need your pity, Jake,” you murmured, but even you didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s not pity,” he said. “It’s just the truth.”

The truth.

You let out a bitter laugh. “You act like it’s that easy. Like suddenly, because you noticed, something will change. It won’t.” You inhaled sharply. “My parents won’t. I won’t.”

“Then let’s stop talking about them,” Jake said. “Just for a second. Forget them. Forget all of it. Just tell me. What do you want? ”

There it was again. That question.

“I…” Your fingers trembled. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” His voice was steady. “Then we start there.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time, you didn’t see Jake as your rival. You didn’t see the boy who beat you, who had everything you didn’t. He was just looking at you.

And for once, that was enough.

🪢

The crisp rustle of paper snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Here you go,” your professor said and slid a registration form onto your desk with a smile. “I assumed you’d be competing again this year. You wouldn’t want to waste your momentum, right? ”

You stared at it. The words are printed at the top. Bold, formal, suffocating. It felt heavier than it should.

“Right,” you muttered and forced a smile as you picked it up.

Of course. Of course, they’d assume. Because that was who you were. The star student, the prodigy, the competitor. Even if you hadn’t breathed a word about joining, people just knew. Your parents must have already whispered it to the right ears. You walked out of the classroom, staring at the form in your hands. It felt like holding a contract with no escape clause.

And then, before you could process it, the paper was gone.

“What’s this? ”

Your head snapped up. Jake. Standing in front of you, turning the paper over in his hands.

“Give it back,” you muttered, reaching for it, but he took a step back.

“Are you actually signing up for this? ” His tone wasn’t mocking, but something about it irritated you.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” you said flatly. “They expect me to.”

Jake’s face didn’t change. “And do you want to? ”

You scoffed. “Why do you always ask me that? ”

“Because you never answer,” he said.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“It should.”

He was so sure. So convinced. You almost envied him for it.

“Then tell me, Jake,” you said. “If I say no, if I throw this form away and never look back. Then what? ”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll be right there with you.”

“What-”

“If you don’t sign up, I won’t either,” he said. “If you want to walk away, then let’s walk away. Together.”

Is he being serious right now?

“Why? ” you whispered.

“Because I told you. I want to know you. The real you. And if that means letting go of some dumb competition, then so be it.”

You had never felt so seen in your entire life.

🪢

The aluminum can was cold in your hands. You stared at it, confused, before glancing at Jake.

“…Why? ” you asked as your brows furrowed.

Jake only shrugged. Popping open his own can with a hiss. “You looked like you needed one,” he said simply and brought the soda to his lips.

You eyed him for a moment longer before taking a small sip. The carbonation fizzed against your tongue. It gave you something to focus on. Something other than the boy sitting beside you. Jake leaned back against the bench, his arm resting casually along the backrest. “Jay was right,” he said. “You really are quiet.”

You paused mid-sip. Lowering it just enough to glance at him.

“Huh? ” You weren’t sure what he meant by that.

Jake didn’t look at you right away. Giving you space to process his words. “I mean… when you’re not performing. When you’re not playing the role everyone expects. When you’re not competing or surrounded by people who only care about your name.” He finally turned to you and smiled. “You don’t say much at all.”

You pressed your thumb against the can’s surface. “And that’s a problem? ” Your tone was neutral.

Jake shook his head. “Not at all,” he said steadily. “Just… different.” He took another sip of his drink before adding, “I think I like this version of you more.”

That was strange. You weren’t used to being seen like this. To someone noticing the parts of you that existed outside of competition, outside of expectations. You didn’t know how to respond. So, you didn’t. Instead, you took another sip of your soda, letting the taste of artificial sweetness and carbonation sit heavily.

“I’m jealous of you.”

The words left your mouth before you had the chance to second-guess them. They weren’t said with bitterness or anger. Just exhaustion. A quiet sort of truth. Jake didn’t react at first. He was processing your words. “Jealous? Of me? ” His voice held genuine surprise.

You let out a breath while your shoulders sagged. “Yeah.” You turned the can in your hands again, staring at the condensation gathering on the surface. “You have everything I don’t. A supportive family. Friends who actually care. You don’t have to prove yourself every second just to be worth something.”

Jake stayed quiet, listening. He always listened.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me,” you continued, voice quieter now, but no less raw. “To have people around you, but still feel alone. To have a name everyone respects but never be sure if anyone actually likes you. To constantly win, but never feel like you’re allowed to lose.” You let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “And the worst part? I don’t even want to win.”

Jake’s face was showing understanding. Or pity. You weren’t sure which one was worse.

“Then why do you? ” His voice was gentle.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

Because you didn’t have an answer. Or maybe you did, but you weren’t ready to say it out loud.

Jake leaned forward slightly. “I don’t know how you feel,” he admitted. “I won’t pretend I do. But… you don’t have to be alone in it.”

You scoffed. “And what? You’re going to save me? ”

“No,” Jake said simply. “But I can listen. If you let me.”

You had spent so long keeping these thoughts buried. Locked behind walls built too high for anyone to climb. But somehow, he had found his way through.

“Jay is the only thing I have,” you admitted.

Jake stilled beside you. “What do you mean? ” he asked, though you could tell he already had an idea.

“He’s the only one who really knows me. Who doesn’t care about the name, the rankings, the medals. If he wasn’t there…” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “I think I’d have nothing.”

Jake didn’t speak right away. His eyes on you. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know that’s not true, right? ”

You laughed bitterly. “It is.” You gestured vaguely. The proof was all around you. “Everyone else only sticks around because of the reputation. Because it benefits them. I see it. I know it. And my parents-” You stopped yourself. “They only care about the success, not the person behind it.”

Jake was quiet for a moment. “That’s not how it should be.”

“Yeah, well.” You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Not all of us get to have what you have, Jake.”

Jake frowned. “And what do you think I have? ”

“Everything.” The word was heavier than you expected. “You have people who support you. People who love you. Who don’t just see you as a title or an achievement. You don’t have to fight for their approval, because you already have it.”

Jake held your gaze. Then, slowly, he set his can down beside him and leaned back on his hands. “I don’t think that means I have everything,” he murmured. “Not if it means you have nothing.” Then, he stretched beside you. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day where you admitted you were jealous of me.”

You shoved his arm lightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll just make sure to remind you every chance I get.” He grinned. “‘Jake, you have everything,’” he mimicked in a terrible impression of your voice. “‘Jake, you’re so humble, so talented, so-’”

You shoved him harder this time. “I take it back. I’m not jealous of you. I pity you.”

Jake only laughed, catching himself before he could tip over. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips turned upwards despite yourself.

“So,” Jake finally said while tapping his fingers against his knee. “Since we’re being honest today. What do you actually like? You know, aside from crushing your opponents in competitions.”

You raised a brow. “Who says I like that? ”

“You sure act like it.”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated. “I guess… I never really thought about it. I’ve just been doing what’s expected of me.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully. “Well, maybe it’s time you start.”

You glanced at him. It was unsettling how easily he could be both annoying and unexpectedly kind in the same breath. “And how exactly do I do that? ” you asked.

Jake shrugged. “Figure it out. Try something new. Do something for yourself instead of everyone else.” He paused, then smirked. “Like, I don’t know. Maybe getting ice cream with your ‘rival’ after school?”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

“Call it what you want.” He stood up and stretched. “But I’m getting ice cream either way, and I won’t stop bragging about it if I go alone.”

🪢

After classes, you two went to a nearby ice cream shop. The ice cream was cold against your tongue. You sat across from Jake at a small outdoor table, absentmindedly tapping your spoon against the cup. “You know,” you started with your voice flat, “this is the first time I’ve eaten ice cream without the crushing weight of expectations looming over me.”

Jake snorted. “Wow, what a tragic backstory.”

“It is,” you deadpanned. “Every bite before this was accompanied by the echo of my parents’ disappointment.”

He stared at you for a second before bursting into laughter. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Am I? ” you asked, still completely serious. “I think it adds depth to my character.”

Jake shook his head, taking another bite of his own ice cream. “Jay was right. You really are funny in the weirdest way possible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, still expressionless.

“It wasn’t meant to be one.”

“Too late.”

Jake just chuckled, shaking his head. The conversation carried on like that. Quick exchanges, half-serious jokes, and you, testing the waters of what it felt like to simply be. No competitions, no expectations, just sitting here, eating ice cream with the one person you never expected to share something so normal with. And when you looked at Jake, mid-bite, you realized something else…

Maybe this was what it felt like to have a friend.

🪢

For the next few months, something unexpected happened.

At first, it was a small change. Jake started waiting for you after class. The two of you walking together, sometimes in silence, sometimes bickering over the smallest things. He would flick your forehead whenever you made a dry joke, and you would roll your eyes when he got too philosophical about life. Then, there were the study sessions, the shared lunches, and the exchanged texts that started out about assignments but eventually turned into things that had nothing to do with school.

Somewhere along the way, “rival” wasn’t the right word.

You still competed, of course. Old habits were hard to break. But there was a difference now. When you turned in your test papers, you didn’t feel like you had to prove something to him. When you saw his name next to yours on the scoreboard, it didn’t feel like an attack on your worth. Jake had a way of existing so effortlessly, like he belonged wherever he stood, like he had nothing to prove. And for some reason, being around him made you feel like you didn’t have to prove anything either. One afternoon, as the two of you sat on the school rooftop. “I think I’m forgetting how to be competitive.”

Jake looked at you. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. ‘’It’s not.”

🪢

The moment the results were announced, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Third place.

For a second, the world seemed to slow. The crowd cheered, cameras flashed, and the weight of all the past competitions pressed against your chest. But instead of disappointment. There was…

Relief.

You turned your head and saw Jake standing on the highest podium. He was smiling, beaming, and when his eyes met yours, his expression softened. He wasn’t just happy for himself. He was proud of you. And strangely, you felt proud too. The old you would’ve hated this. Would’ve obsessed over the what-ifs, convinced yourself that third place meant failure. But now, standing there, you just smiled. Genuinely smiled.

Jake stepped down from his podium before the ceremony was even over, ignoring the announcer’s call. In a second, he was in front of you, eyes searching, until you opened your arms. And then, he pulled you into a hug. It wasn’t brief or hesitant. It wasn’t a victory embrace, not in the way you used to think about winning. It was steady, warm, something unspoken but understood.

“You did amazing,” he murmured.

You let out a small laugh. “You did better.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point” he squeezed your shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

You swallowed. For once, you didn’t brush it off. You didn’t argue.

You let yourself believe it.

🪢

The moment you stepped out, the harsh light from the parking lot made the situation feel colder than it already was. Your parents were already waiting for you by the car. Their faces were tense. They didn’t even look at each other before they started in on you.

Your father’s voice was low. “You’ve failed again.” His words hung in the air. “How many times do we have to do this? We put you in the best position possible. I thought you’d learned something after last time, but all you’ve proven is that you can’t handle the pressure.”

You stayed quiet, your hands at your sides, unwilling to look up. There was nothing you could say that would make them understand. Not now. Not ever.

Your mother spoke, her voice a little softer but still sharp. “We give you everything, every advantage, and you still can’t manage to bring home the result we expect. You got third place. Third. Why? Because you didn’t care enough. Because you were distracted. Because you-” She stopped herself.

You wanted to say something, anything, to defend yourself. But you knew it wouldn’t matter. Your words would fall on deaf ears. No matter what you said, it would never be enough.

“I thought you’d work harder. But it’s clear now. You don’t care about winning. You never have,” your father added with his voice cold now. Then, there was silence, and it was unbearable. You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes. You fought them back. You had to. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. And just as you thought you might snap, you heard a voice from behind you. Calm. Steady. Unshakable.

“That’s enough.”

Jake.

You didn’t turn to look at him, but his presence was like a wall between you and your parents now. He stepped forward, his shoulders straight, eyes hard as he looked at your father. “With all due respect, sir, that’s not fair.” Jake’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “She tried. You can’t pretend that she didn’t. I’ve seen her work. I’ve seen how much she puts into this. You can’t just tear her down like that because she didn’t win. That’s not how this works.”

Your father’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to being challenged. Not by anyone. Certainly not by someone like Jake. Your mother, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes. “You’re out of line. This is a family matter, Jake. You don’t know what we’ve sacrificed to give her everything she needs to succeed.”

Jake’s eyes softened, but there was still a firmness to it. “I’m not saying you didn’t sacrifice. But you’re hurting her. You’re not giving her a chance to breathe. To be more than just the next win on your list of expectations. She’s not a machine.”

You could feel your heart racing now. This wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want Jake to defend you like this, not like this. You didn’t want to be the center of their conflict. But you also couldn’t help the way his words felt so protective and heartwarming. Your father’s voice cracked this time. “You have no idea what it’s like to be responsible for someone like her. You think this is easy for us? ”

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m sure it’s not easy. But that doesn’t mean you can break her every time she doesn’t meet your expectations. She’s already carrying a burden you don’t understand.”

There was a long silence. Your parents, caught in their own frustrations, didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw your father this quiet. This is uncertain. And yet, it didn’t make you feel better. It made the pain worse, somehow.

“Go to the car.” Your father looked at you.

You didn’t move. Not immediately. You couldn’t. Your feet felt rooted to the ground. Your mother’s voice broke through the fog. “Come on, let’s go.” There was no warmth in her voice. No understanding. Just a demand, as though you were nothing more than a tool they could use to achieve their own goals.

Still, you didn’t move. But then, your father’s gaze hardened, and with a final glance at you, he turned away and started toward the car. Your mother followed without a word. They got into the car and drove off, leaving you standing there, frozen, isolated. Abandoned in the worst way possible.

The car was long gone, and the sounds of your parents’ angry voices were still in your mind. You were left in the cold, standing at the edge of the competition venue, a place that was supposed to celebrate achievement, yet all you felt was an unbearable emptiness. You didn’t know how long you stood there, paralyzed by the weight of it all, until you felt a presence behind you.

Without saying a word, Jake came up behind you and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a way that was protective and almost desperate. For a moment, you stayed completely still, not knowing how to react. You tried to suppress the tears that threatened to break through, but the more you tried to stop them, the more they came. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to fall apart like this, but the pain, the frustration. It was all too much.

Jake didn’t say anything at first. He just held you. Your body shaking against him. His hand ran through your hair gently. After a long silence, his voice broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

You froze. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t expect it, not like this, not in this moment of raw vulnerability. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was cry harder, the pain in your chest intensifying with every breath you took. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t need to explain. His arms around you were all the explanation you needed.

And then, in the most fragile, broken voice, you managed to choke out, “I love you too, Jake.”

Your voice cracked as the words left your mouth, the reality of it all hitting you harder than anything else. It wasn’t just the weight of your parents’ disappointment. It wasn’t just the competition. It was everything. The years of trying to prove yourself, the years of hiding your pain, of pretending you were okay. But in that moment, with Jake holding you, all the walls you’d built around yourself crumbled.

You didn’t know how to explain it. You didn’t even know what it all meant. But you knew that in this moment, you weren’t alone.

🪢

It was late in the evening. The sun had long since set. You and Jake were at the same spot, the one you’d found yourselves in countless times before. It had become a place of understanding, where the noise of the world couldn’t reach you, where nothing else mattered except the moment you were sharing. Jake leaned against the railing, one arm crossed. You sat next to him, just a little distance apart, but the space felt non-existent.

It had been a few weeks since everything had changed between you two. Since the “I love you’s.”

“You know,” Jake said, breaking the silence, “I never really thought about how much I’d come to care about you. I think I spent so much time trying to figure you out that I missed how much I wanted to just… be with you.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The honesty in his voice hit you harder than you expected, and for a brief moment, you felt exposed. “I never really let anyone get close,” you admitted quietly. “But… with you, I don’t know. It just feels like it’s easier.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything with me,” he continued. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be anything you’re not. I only want to be here for you.”

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. Without thinking, you leaned in, the distance between you two shrinking with every heartbeat. And then, without a word, Jake mirrored your movement, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he closed the space.

When his lips met yours, it was like everything had clicked into place. It wasn’t forceful, nor was it with frantic energy. It was gentle, careful. You pulled back slowly. Jake’s smile was soft, and when he opened his eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he said quietly.

And when you smiled back at him, it was different. It wasn’t the kind of smile you gave anyone else. It was for him. For everything you were beginning to understand about him, and about yourself, too.

🪢

You don’t know why you agreed to meet them. Maybe some part of you still wants to believe they’ll listen this time. That they’ll understand. You sit across from them at the dining table in your family’s home. Your father is the first to speak. “Are you done being distracted? ” His voice is calm but sharp. “We gave you time to sulk after your loss. Now it’s time to get serious again.”

Your mother looked at you with disappointment. “Do you know how humiliating it was for us to see you standing there in third place? After everything we’ve done for you? ”

You don’t flinch. Not this time. “I was proud.” Your voice is steady. “For the first time, I was actually proud of myself.”

Your father scoffs. “Proud of what? Settling for less? ”

“Proud that I didn’t hate myself.” The words come out before you can stop them. And for the first time, silence fills the room.

Your mother’s expression tightens. “Where is all of this coming from? Since when did you start talking like this? ”

You grip your hands under the table. “Since I realized I could breathe without trying to be perfect. Since I stopped believing that my worth was tied to a trophy. Since Jake.” But you don’t say any of that out loud. Instead, you swallow and meet their gaze. “I’m not going to keep chasing something that makes me miserable just because it makes you proud.”

Your father’s hand slams against the table, making the dishes rattle. “You think you know better than us? You think you can just throw away everything we built for you? ”

“You built it for yourselves. Not for me.”

Your mother shook her head. “Ungrateful. We gave you everything. And this is how you repay us? ”

Then your father delivers the final blow.

“You’re making a mistake.” His voice, ice. “And when you fail, don’t expect us to be there.”

Something inside you cracks. Maybe it had already been breaking for years. You stand up. Your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

And with that, you turn and walk away.

🪢

The months pass, and so do the expectations that once weighed you down. You’re still you. Still sharp, still competitive when it matters, but you’re no longer fighting a battle just to prove something. There’s no more need to mask everything behind arrogance. No more need to win just to feel like you deserve to exist. People notice the change. You’re quieter now, but not in the way that feels like suffocation. You’re reserved, but not closed off. And most importantly, you’re kinder. Not just to others, but to yourself. Jay is the first to point it out one day, laughing as he nudges you. “You used to act like you had to be the smartest person in every room. Now you actually let people speak.”

You roll your eyes. “I never did that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.” He grins. “But look at you now. I’m proud of you, you know? ”

You pause at that. It’s not something you hear often. But from Jay, it’s real.

You shrug. “Took me long enough.”

And then there’s Jake.

He’s always there, not in a way that feels like an obligation, but in a way that feels natural. Like you were always meant to meet him at the finish line, no matter where it was. You sit beside him on the rooftop as always. After a moment, he glances at you, eyes warm. “So, do you regret it? ”

You tilt your head. “Regret what? ”

“Letting go.”

You don’t answer right away. You think about everything you lost. The approval you once desperately sought. The expectations you’ll never meet. The people you had to walk away from.

But then you think about everything you gained.

You think about Jay’s laughter, about the way he never left your side. You think about Jake, about the way he looks at you as someone he chose to stay with.

For the first time, your answer is certain.

“No,” you say. “Not even for a second.”

Jake smiles. And when he reaches for your hand, you don’t hesitate before taking it.

Because for the first time in your life, you don’t need to win. You don’t need to be the best.

You just need to be here.

Extra Scene:

You and Jake sat on his bed, legs stretched out, backs resting against the headboard. “No, seriously,” Jake said, chuckling as he shook his head. “You were the most terrifying person I’d ever competed against.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You make it sound like I was some villain.”

Jake laughed and looked at you for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. You knew what he was thinking. A comfortable silence passed between you before he suddenly reached over to his nightstand, pulling open the drawer. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then his fingers brushing over something inside before carefully pulling it out. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was the silver medal.

The same one your father had ripped from your neck that night after the competition, thrown carelessly into the trash.

But here it was, resting in Jake’s hands.

The thin ribbon that had once been torn off had been stitched back on. Messily, but carefully. The fabric wasn’t perfect, the stitches uneven, but it was there.

Whole again.

“You…” You swallowed as your eyes looked up to his. “You took it?”

Jake exhaled a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I saw it in the trash that night. Just sitting there, like it didn’t mean anything.” He paused, turning the medal between his fingers. “But it did mean something. Maybe not to them, but to you. So, I took it.”

You reached out, your fingers brushed over the uneven stitches.

“You fixed it,” you whispered.

Jake smiled. “It was never broken,” he murmured. “It was just… waiting for the right person to hold onto it.”

You looked at him then, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

Being around him felt like peace.

[kaijutegu]

Beating the Heat while Fat: A Summer Survival Guide

Summer is (almost) here and it’s going to be hotter than ever. If you’re fat (like me), you know how much hot weather sucks. Specifically, we get to deal with fun issues like underboob sweat, chub rub, skin fold sunburn, and more. And while I like to take a body neutral approach to everything, this can be hard in summer thanks to exclusion and neglect.

The thing is that not a lot of people really... talk about these things, though, because that would interfere with our image of summer. Not a lot of companies are marketing their stuff as a solution to fat people’s problems, because that would be acknowledging that fat people might actually want to go outside during summer.

Having been fat for many a summer now, I want to share some of my resources for enjoying summer! These are all based on personal recommendations and things I have directly experienced. Please feel free to reblog and add on with your experiences and recommendations!

However, if your commentary is even remotely fatphobic, you will be blocked and your comments will be deleted. This post is not for you, and nobody is actually interested in what you have to say!

Back and Underboob Sweat

Two words: Gold Bond. Gold Bond fixes this. It comes in powder, stick, and spray form. I’ve used the powder in shoes, but not on my body. They’ve recently released an invisible form of the spray, which I’m very excited about.

Spray this under your breast tissue or other skin folds, or on flat areas of skin like your lower back that tend to sweat. Some of their powders have aloe in them, which is delightfully soothing for the skin.

Make sure that if you’re sensitive to scent, you buy one of the unscented versions. The “fresh” scent is nice, but it is a scent!

When you’re using this type of spray, do it clean but dry. Don’t do it right after a shower- give your skin a chance to dry off. Lift your breast or skin fold, spray underneath, and then hold it for a couple of seconds to let the spray dry down.

You can also use other types of powder, like body powder or baby powder. There’s mixed evidence about talc-containing powder and its link to cancer, but some people do find talcum powder more irritating than talc-free powder, so whether or not you use this is up to you.

Do keep in mind that this is NOT sunscreen! Apply your sunscreen first for areas of exposed skin.

Chub Rub

Dealing with the tops of your thighs rubbing together is extremely unfun. There are a couple of ways I like to deal with this!

Slip Shorts

I actually reviewed a bunch of these a few years ago. Slip shorts or bike shorts are perfect for wearing under dresses or loose-fitting rompers as a way to stop your thighs from rubbing. As a bonus, if you’re using bike shorts, sometimes they come with extra pockets to stash stuff in.

Friction Sticks

If you’re wearing a swimsuit and don’t want to wear shorts, or just don’t want to wear shorts, period, then a friction stick is another good way to avoid chub rub! I have a couple, Bodyglide and Gold Bond.

If you’re buying Bodyglide, they have one that’s just as good, Bodyglide Outdoor, that is sometimes cheaper. There’s a Bodyglide “For Her” which I’ve never tried, but that’s usually more expensive and let’s be real, do you really need to moisturize your inner thighs? I think not!

There’s also creams you can use but I find those messy and less effective than the sticks. You might like them, though! Experiment with products to find the one(s) that work for you.

Friction sticks can also stop foot blisters. Rub a little on your heel, toe, or wherever you get hot spots. 

Dealing With Sweat

I sweat, you sweat, we all sweat. Humans were meant to sweat. Sweating’s a good thing. But that doesn’t mean it’s fun, and frankly I hate being sweaty. Typically, fat people sweat more than thin people, for several reasons related to the way we thermoregulate.

Fortunately, there are lots of ways to make summer sweating less annoying. I’ve written about this before, so you can check out that post for some of my favorite tips for dealing with sweat. Here’s some of the highlights.

Evaporative Cooling

A bandanna or other wrap filled with water crystals can do AMAZING things. You can make this yourself really easily- if you can’t find water crystals, you can just use Orbeez. They sell little 99 cent packs of those in the checkout lines at some stores and at the dollar store, and you can make several cooling wraps with one packet.

You can also get evaporative cooling towels, like Frogg Toggs. I don’t like those as much because they tend to start smelling a little funny, but they’re great for larger area coverage.

Using these will help cool you down and will do the same thing that sweat does– without being sticky.

Hair

If you have long hair, get it off the back of your neck. I used to put it up in a bun with a bun former, but now I just use claw clips. They’re cuter and easier! Seriously, this will help you so much. Get the hair up and away from your skin, you’ll feel so much better.

Hand Fans

I always have a hand fan with me, but not one of the little battery operated ones. I’ve tried a lot of those! I even took one up a mountain once, and it was the only reason I survived. But they never provide the same level of breeze that my folding fan does.

I use this one because it’s cute, and you can get cute ones for a couple bucks on Amazon. I do prefer fabric to the stiff paper ones, just because they’re a bit more durable- I’ve had mine for years now. It’s good.

I’m also not a huge fan of those fans that go around your neck, but I’ve seen many people enjoying them. If they work for you, great!

Hydration and Electrolytes

Carry water with you when you go places, and if you’re gonna be out for a while doing anything strenuous, take some electrolyte tablets with you. I like Nuun because I think they taste good, but there’s lots of brands out there.

There’s no one mineral called electrolyte, just so you know. Electrolytes are a group of minerals that includes sodium, potassium, and chloride as the primary (or significant) electrolytes. Electrolytes are important because they have a natural positive or negative electrical charge when dissolved in water. This electricity is how your nerves transmit information and how your cells make your muscles contract, so low levels of electrolytes can cause some serious issues. Different electrolyte imbalances have different symptoms, but common symptoms include nausea, fatigue, confusion, tremors, muscle spasms (cramps), and dizziness.

If you’re feeling those as you’re moving around outside, get somewhere cool, drink some water, and either eat some food or add electrolyte tablets to your water. This will help stabilize you quickly!

Skin Fold Sunburn Prevention

Everybody should wear sunscreen, period. End of story.

But if you’re applying sunscreen by yourself and you have skin folds, it can be a pain to reach them! This is especially true for any folds that form on your upper back or around your upper arm.

These areas can burn and be very painful, especially if you’re in swimwear or a sleeveless top. It’s also VERY easy to forget that these areas need sunscreen!

If you don’t want or don’t have someone to help you apply those areas you can’t reach, spray sunscreen can be a way to get those areas. If you don’t like the spray or want heavier coverage with a cream, then use a lotion applicator!

If the stick style doesn’t work for you (like if you have shoulder mobility issues), the strap style asks for a different range of motion. If you can’t find one that works for you at a big box store, look at a pharmacy. These are often sold as disability aids or for elderly people with a reduced range of motion.

But honestly, one of the most important things about this is just knowing your body. Know where your skin folds are and think about how they move as you’re applying sunscreen. Get underneath them- as you move, those areas can be exposed to the sun, too.

So yeah, that’s my best advice for beating the heat while fat. If you’ve got other tips, feel free to share them!

[hoshigray]

hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever. 

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world. 

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man. 

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He was spending the night at yours after a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it. 

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest. 

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft. 

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him. 

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames. 

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[wordsofwhimsy]

🅲🅾🅽🅲🆁🅴🆃🅴 🅵🅻🅾🆆🅴🆁🆂

A/N: I’ve been going BONKERS reading through all of the Mark Grayson x reader fanfics on here.  Y’all are so damn talented!!!  Got a girl having all the feels.  It really inspires me to write more myself :’).  The last thing I posted got a little bit of love & it really meant a lot to me!  I’m also going to try working on my formatting to make it more appealing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

PAIRING: [Budding] Sinister!Mark Grayson x Reader

WARNINGS: Series-Typical Violence & Gore, suggestive abusive/possessive

INSPIRED: by the song “luther” by Kendrick Lamar & SZA

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ If this world was mine… ♫♪

Something was changing in Mark.  The sweet, funny, and thoughtful guy you’d known for years was still there, but you’d noticed within the last few months that there was also something else—something much darker bubbling just below the surface.  At first you told yourself his heavy emotions were normal and made sense.  What he went through with his father was nothing short of traumatic, and he never truly had a chance to process any of it.  Not in the typical sense, at least.  No therapy, no counselors, no support groups.  Just himself, his mom, and all of the poor souls who dared to take up the mantle of being a career criminal.  Of course there was always you, but what words of wisdom could you really offer?  You were just a regular girl, working an ordinary nine to five as a library assistant.  The life he led was so fantastical and impossible for you to ever truly understand.  You loved him dearly and would always support him in any way you could, but the reality was you did not relate to his current life at all.

As time went on though you noticed that what started as a shadow within him was growing, becoming like a black sludge that would seep out of his mouth when talking about Cecil, or his father—or anything really that he disagreed with.  If you were being honest with yourself, it scared you.  You of course knew he was not his father and would never even conceive of committing such atrocities, but somewhere in the recesses of your mind you held the image of the destruction that was caused by Omni-Man, and then the knowledge that Invincible was more than capable of doing the same.  Not wanting to add the stressors that consumed Mark’s life, however, you never voiced these feelings.  But they were there nonetheless, and becoming harder for you to ignore.

♫♪ I'd take your dreams and make 'em multiply ♫♪

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset with me about [Name],” Mark stated, the irritation evident in his tone. “You wanted to become the lead librarian, and now you are. That’s literally what you asked for.”  You stared up at him incredulously, arms stiff at your sides with your hands clenched into tight fists.

“You have got to be kidding me right now Mark.” You waited a few moments, for some reason believing his senses would come back to him.  Instead, you were met with him starring evenly back down at you. Your eyes widened as you shouted, “You threatened Mrs. Crump into retiring!”

“I gave her strong encouragement.”

“Be so for real right now…” You dropped your head and covered your face with your palm, needing to regroup your thoughts. “Maybe I’m mistaken.  Did Invincible not show up at my job this morning and tell my boss that if she was smart, she would make this her last day?” His dark, slim eyes glanced away from you now as he gave no answer.  Your lips pursed as you slowly nodded your head, at a loss for words.  Mark looked back at you, his expression suddenly so soft and tender.  It almost made your heart flutter.

“Your life is so short, [Name],” he said in almost a whisper. “You deserve for every dream you ever have to become reality.  In fact you deserve even more!” All the built up tension in your muscles suddenly melted away as you instinctively reached out to take his hand in a comforting gesture.

“Oh—” Your fingers trace up the solid and muscled contours of his arm, gently grazing over his shoulder and neck to finally cup his jaw. Your eyes meet with his and you couldn’t help but feel a soft smile tug at your lips. “Mark… My life may seem short in comparison to yours, but understand that for me, it’s the longest thing I’ll ever experience.” Your words seemed to do nothing to comfort him as a look of frustration pulled at his features. You only continued to gently smile. “Besides, the fight for our dreams is the most important part of the adventure.”

This seemed to register for him, at least on some level. “I love you,” he hushed while holding your face in his calloused hands.  He leaned down to give you a soft, lingering kiss that made you weak in the knees.  This time, as was the case with every time that you began to worry about his dark tendencies, he touched you and flooded your brain with oxytocin causing you to forget all about your concerns.  Just like he wanted.

♪♫ If this world was mine, I'd take your enemies in front of God Introduce 'em to that light, hit them strictly with that fire ♪♫

This is a dream, you told yourself.  Every cell in your body was shaking in horror.  This is dream, you repeated in your mind, tears welling in your eyes.  This has to be a dream.  Mark stood facing you, donning his superhero attire.  Although the blood that heavily stained his right hand up to his elbow did not lend itself to the idea of heroism. “[Name],” he spoke your name so calmly.  Nausea churned in your stomach as you took a step back from him. “I had to do this.  His life was meaningless – he didn’t deserve to be on this planet with you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at his face.  You didn’t dare see what was undoubtedly laid in a careless, bloodied pile at his feet. “You know that I’m right, [Name]. Don’t you understand? He was—”

“He was my father!” you cried, the tears now spilling freely from your swollen eyes. “How could you do this?!”

“How could I do what? Save you from his abuse? Spare you from another bruised eye or busted lip? Another horrible insult being spit at you from his vile mouth?” As he talked you could see the blackness gushing from his lips.  This was what you had feared all along but denied endlessly, until now.  And now it was far too late.  You took another step away from him and suddenly felt your back pressed into something solid and immovable.  Mark’s arms closed around you from behind, his face leaned down next to yours. “I am all you really need, [Name].  I can keep you safe.  No one else can do that for you.  Only me.” You sobbed without restraint, all of your body giving way under his embrace as he kept you on your feet effortlessly. “I know this is hard for you right now, but don’t worry, I promise you’ll understand someday.”

Having gone numb to your own senses, it took you several minutes to realize you were no longer on solid ground and instead floating above your father’s home.  It was quiet out, no sirens or people screaming.  Your neighborhood and the police were none the wiser.  And even if someone did know, what could they possibly do? “I love you, [Name].  I know you know that.  You might not feel the same right now, but I hope soon enough you will again.”  The tone in his voice left you feeling like you didn’t have a choice in the matter.  And suddenly, you could see the future clearly.  He would follow in his father’s footsteps, and this world would bend knee to his every whim.  You would be no exception.  In the name of self-preservation, you found yourself reaching up to hold onto his arms which still gripped tightly around your rib cage. 

“I love you too.”  The words surprised even you as they cracked out of your throat.  A low hum of satisfaction could be heard from Mark before he placed a tender kiss to the crook of your neck.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that.” He squeezed you even tighter, pushing the breath out of your lungs and putting a deep ache in your spine.  How could your sweet, thoughtful, caring boyfriend have changed so much? Where did the Mark you know go? Your stare fell back down to the roof of your father’s home and the sight immediately brought tears back to your eyes, blurring your vision. “Things in this world are going to be changing.” You bottom lip quivered at his words. “But don’t worry, I’ve done some things to your house just to make sure you can stay safe.  I can’t wait for you to see.” He placed another kiss to your throat, and you felt yourself slip out of your skin.  Nothing would ever be the same.

[snoopychris]

dbf!chris is struggling and needs younger!readers help

chris sighed as his four year old rejected his food again. he felt like he had made every possible meal by now. eggs, pancakes, waffles, he even went out of his way to call his mom for a french toast recipe. “owen, buddy. hey i need you to eat.” he frowns, ruffling the kids hair. “i’ve made you everything by now! i can’t make you much more… we don’t have much more. i’m gonna be eatin all this food for multiple meals.” he whispers. he knew that owen didn’t understand much, but he still tried. owen huffed and crossed his arms, shaking his head.

“cocoa puffs!” he whines, pouting his big brown eyes at his father. owen, otherwise a spitting image of chris, had his mothers eyes. it was the only feature he seemed to have of hers. chris sighs again as he nods in defeat, grabbing the cereal box from the top of the fridge. he serves a small portion in an equally small bowl for the boy, but groans when he’s opens the fridge and discovers he’s out of milk. that damn french toast. he glances outside to determine if it was worth going out with a toddler. when he sees the snow falling, he decides against it.

“sorry bud. guess you’ll have to eat it dry.” he mumbles, giving the boy an apologetic kiss on the head. owen frowns at the sight, pushing the cereal away too. chris’ frown grows and if anyone were to see the two boys pouting at that moment they’d know they were related. “owen.” he speaks sternly, his patience suddenly flying out the window into the storm. owen’s little lip trembles at his dad’s tone. chris never yells. he’s never mean. he swore to be everything his dad wasn’t. tears form in the poor boys eyes. he’s about to break down. chris tries his best to prevent the situation by pulling him into his arms, rubbing the back of his head. “hey… it’s okay. we’ll go buy some milk later and you can have that for lunch yeah?” he mumbles, running fingers through the boys hair. when owen begins to reply, he’s cut off by a knock on their door.

owen hops off his chair and begins running towards the door, his little feet going slower than he hopes. “mommy! daddy mommy’s here!” he yells. chris only frowns cause he knows that no, owen’s mom definitely isn’t there. as much as he wishes that she was on the other side, he knew that there was no way. he catches up to the boy and moves him aside gently.

“no bud it’s not mommy. move over so i can open the door yeah?” chris whispers, slowly opening the door. he’s shocked when you’re on the other side, a big tupperwear in your hands. “hey, kid. what are you doin here? it’s storming out there, don’t tell me you came all the way over here to return an old container of mine? unless you’re just using it as an excuse for something else which… just isn’t the best time right now.” he asks, moving aside to let you in. you shake your head as you walk in, pushing your hood off your head.

“no i um… actually made like… way too much chicken noodle soup last night. my dad told me to bring some over.” you smile, placing it on the table. you kneel down to be eye level with owen, noticing his messy hair. “y’just wake up or something? why’s that hair a mess?” you joke, glancing up towards chris. you smile at him, his hair messy just like his toddlers. owen giggles at your words, tumbling towards the container on the counter.

“daddy, soup?” he whispers, batting his eyes at his father. chris chuckles and nods, taking the container to the kitchen and serving the young boy some. a genuine smile runs across chris’ face when owen begins happily eating, enjoying every bite. chris sends you a look. you can’t tell what it’s for at first, but you understand when chris speaks.

“thank you… he hasn’t wanted to eat anything yet.” he whispers, looking over all the other food on his kitchen counter. “you hungry?” his smile grows when you nod and begin to dig into some of the food sitting out.

dividers by @issysh3ll !!

a/n: dilf!chris i adore you

taglist(reply or message to be added!): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @forgottxen @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @riasturns @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @mattg1rl @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @ayesha-eroticaa @ivysturnss @slutformatt17

[nagichi-boop]

Gerald’s Journal - Disability representation

I read scans of Gerald’s Journal and I have to talk about it. Not the lore or anything like that, but the disability rep. I didn’t expect to cry reading this.

Please don’t look at this post if you don’t want to be spoiled about what’s in this journal. If you do want to read it, you can find scans here. Credit to this Twitter/X thread for the images I’ll use.

I don’t have much to say about this image, but it is nice to see Maria using a mobility aid. It’s not often we get representation for an ambulatory wheelchair user.

I do wonder about Maria’s relationship with her parents. They weren’t happy with Gerald’s wish to bring her to the ARK so that he could research a cure for her, but they let her go anyways? Maybe Gerald got some sort of order to get her to go or Maria decided she wanted to go with him, but it seems a little odd to me. I’ll expand on this a little later.

Quote from right page: “[Maria] is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I’ve caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanished when she’s slighted.”

Oh my days, I’ve never felt so seen by a piece of media and it just so happens to be my special interest video game. I am tearing up again thinking about this. Maybe that’s silly but to have a character express his frustrations about people doubting the invisible disability of his grandchild is so touching. I wish people in my life were more like Gerald. People with invisible illnesses get doubted so much because we “look fine”, but it’s so invalidating to have your struggles questioned just because the symptoms aren’t as visibly obvious.

Quote from left page: “[Maria] doesn’t know the full scope of what [Shadow] has been designed for, but she understands he will be under tremendous strain. She’s helped me conceptualize a number of accessories that will help focus his power and aid in his mobility.”

So we now have confirmation that Shadow’s air shoes and inhibitor rings are akin to mobility aids. I headcanoned this but I didn’t know they’d flat out confirm it like that. My favourite character is canonically disabled physically (and I’d argue mentally given his PTSD). I don’t have much to say about this besides being happy that my favourite character is now even more relatable.

It also makes a lot of sense for Maria to help create them because she has experience with her own disability and can offer a perspective that an able bodied person couldn’t. That and it makes Shadow’s connection so much stronger. His mobility aids were designed by Maria. He didn’t just help her with her disability - she helped with his. He wouldn’t be able to function without what she and Gerald created for him.

Quote from the right: “Back on Earth [Maria’s?] parents have been blessed with another little girl. They’re already run tech(?) and she has none of the genetic markers like to [Maria’s] condition. While this was welcomed news, the unspoken commentary was received loud and clear.”

(I am assuming they’re talking about Maria’s sister, but I guess they could also be talking about her cousin.)

So did Maria’s parents see their new daughter as a replacement? If I’m reading that correctly, it’s so sad. Do you think Gerald told Maria about her sister/cousin? If she did know about it, I bet she was excited to meet her. But I get the feeling that her parents back home didn’t really care about her anymore given what Gerald says in his journal. It hurts that much more when you consider how much Maria wanted to go home, perhaps even return to her family.

I feel like all of this makes Maria’s death more tragic for both Gerald and Shadow. For Gerald, he did so much reason and sacrificed so much in order to try and find a cure for Maria. He supported her when no one else did. And from his perspective, despite her illness and the judgement of others, including potentially her own family, she was still positive. And yet she was killed, and he only found out about her death because of a report that had her name on it (I think anyways?).

From Shadow’s perspective, she is the person who gave his name meaning. Despite most being distant and weary of her, she was immediately friendly to him and helped teach him about the world. She helped created the devices used to reduce his pain and control his powers. He quite literally carries part of him with her. She was his sole reason for existing for a long time. And despite being this super supportive, kind, loving person, she was killed. I can imagine him being mad at Gerald for messing with his memories, but I figure there’s a degree of understanding, even if he doesn’t fully agree with what Gerald did. The difference between them both is Shadow’s purpose shifted beyond Maria while Gerald’s did not. Anyways, I digress - this post is about disability rep, not Shadow lore.

I love this and Dark Beginnings for their direct and indirect disability rep. My love for Shadow and Maria has only grown and I have a deeper appreciation for Gerald. I wish more people were as understanding as he is towards people with invisible disabilities.

I don’t really have a conclusion. I just really wanted to yap about the journal entries.

[akanemnon]

I was bored, so I decided to create Dark World versions of DR!Asriel and DR!Chara! (Even though they’ll never actually go to the Dark World in Twins Runes… but details).

Of course, since I love making my life more complicated, instead of just showing them to you, I’ve decided to write out my entire "creative process" as well.

Brace yourself, because this is gonna be loooong.

---

• Asriel

At first, I thought about making him look similar to Asriel from Deltarune Chapter Rewritten, adding a few details from an old Dark World design of Asriel you made a while back. It would have been simple, effective, and overall made perfect sense...

But obviously, NOPE.

Taking the easy way out? Couldn't be me.

So instead, I went for something a bit more "colorful", still taking inspiration from Asriel’s "God of Hyperdeath" version in Undertale.

For his class, I went with bard. Something like this:

[Bard for D&D]

I don’t know why, but the idea of a bard in Deltarune has always cracked me up. Plus, I think it fits his personality as a "fake tough guy with a heart of gold."

Now, onto his weapon. I took Asriel's Chaos Buster from his "God of Hyperdeath" form and turned it into… a lyre.

I know, not exactly a groundbreaking idea, but I can’t stop laughing at the thought of a lyre that, every time it hits someone, plays a dramatic music note… or maybe an electric guitar riff. I haven’t decided yet.

---

• Chara

If I had a lot of inspiration for Asriel, Chara was a whole different struggle. There aren’t many reference images (and no, UT!Chara doesn’t count, because from what you told me, they should have a completely different outfit).

The only real starting point was this drawing, which was super helpful:

[By @Unabashedconnoisseurtwitt / @UCNSFW (One of these should be fine...)]

Aside from that, I had to improvise, taking inspiration from Deltaswap Kris’ outfit:

[By @panpan]

For their class, I went with thief/assassin (kinda like UT!Chara). Something like this:

[D&D Assassin]

Now, let’s talk about their weapon.

This part was easy: a knife.

But not just any knife.

A knife shaped like the Delta Rune. (No clue why, but I thought it looked awesome.)

I picture them having a dynamic similar to Susie and Ralsei in Chapter 1: Asriel happily playing music to spare enemies, while Chara… just stabs them repeatedly.

---

And that’s it! After months of pure artistic nothingness, I finally managed to draw something Twins Runes-related!

I really hope you like the drawings and that my endless explanation didn’t bore you too much.

Now, after this sudden burst of creativity, it’s time for me to disappear for another 3-4 months, just for consistency.

BYEEEEEE!

(PS: Thank you again for creating Twins Runes! It’s been forever since I worked on something this detailed, but your art really inspired me!)

These are really nice! I like the thought process that went into these! Really like the idea of turning Asriel's blaster into a lyre!

Funnily enough, I HAVE already created Dark World designs for these two, but never showed them off. Maybe some other day and definitely not under this ask. Don't wanna take away from your lovely fanart!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Dorm leaders(plus jamil) with a fem hunter of Artemis reader, basically reader had however many years ago prior to ending up in twisted wonderland had sworn herself to Artemis and became a hunter of Artemis, Reader is good at hunting, archery, fighting etc, she's also immortal and can only die in battle and oh yeah Reader had sworn to never make romantic relations with men as Artemis is goddess of virginity and had sworn off men herself and has all her hunters do the same since 'men are just distractions'.

If you're not currently taking requests you can just ignore this

Artemis Hunter Fem Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

In Greek mythology the goddess Artemis stood for the pure maiden, the respectful hunt with archery, and childbirth. Back in your world, you are the closest thing to a child for the goddess. A nymph devotee blessed with her power and foresight. Where you are now is considered the belly of the beast surrounded by men who want nothing more than to have you. So the battle for your chastity and independence vs their determination and power begins:

Idia Shroud

“Ah!”

“This is not a time to be crying Idia, you’re the one who challenged me!”

“To a battle match IN GAME! I can’t compete with you on a physical level!”

“Too bad!”

It’s truly a match of brawns and brains according to Idia

Him with his constantly evolving technology to chase away contenders 

And you with your physical aptitude to avoid and cleverness falter any obstacle he throws in your way

He falls in love through his screen

Witnessing your sweetness through Ortho 

And your heroics through cameras he’s placed around

Is it so bad he wants to drag the hero to the underworld

He can’t decide if he wants to drag you to depravity or to fuel your image of a hero

So he settles to one day trap you

Maybe then he’ll decide

Jamil Viper

“I’ve been warned about snakes such as you!”

“And what was said?”

“That you’re not nearly as much fun to hunt!”

He often finds himself feeling the need to antagonize you

To engage in a ‘hunt’ with you

It’s not a physical one 

More so mental

It’s an unspoken game between you two 

And he’s not willing to back down

But neither are you

He absolutely adores playing basketball with you

Seeing the sweet create a shiny sheen over your body

It makes him excited 

You’ll weirdly feel sympathy for him

Something about being bound against his will 

Cruelly reminds of the poor animals poached 

He comes to realize this 

And he plans to use this to win

Rook Hunt

“You’re skill is far better than mine.”

“Don’t fret I’ve been blessed by Artemis. I may not have magic but I do have my bow.”

“That you do...”

“So…would you like a head start?”

Of course there's only two things can happen when two hunters meet

hunt the same prey

Or Hunt one another

Since Artemis prides herself on hunting within reason and not persecuting the weak

You decide to do the latter 

After all from the beginning he’s decided to hunt for the one thing Artemis absolutely asks that you protect

So it’s only natural that there will be sparks whenever you to decide to release your arrows

While in archery you might outclass him 

it’s easy to forget

He’s familiar with the terrain, with the presence of magic

He’s got just enough to properly consider a threat 

But he’s so determined and so sneaky its a wonder if you’ll realize it in time 

He hopes not 

But at the same time he knows the hunt is about to conclude when the doe knows to run

So on second thought he hopes you do

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hi was wondering if you also wrote for Daniel?

Maybe like reader having an eating disorder and Daniel comforting her when she’s struggling again?

this body is still yours

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

summary: reader struggles with an eating disorder and body image issues. daniel comforts her during a breakdown and helps her take a small step toward recovery.

warnings: READ WITH EXTREME CAUTION eating disorder thoughts, body image issues, emotional breakdown, food avoidance, soft comfort

A/N: hi, my loves. this is a heavier topic than i’m used to writing, but i hope it does justice to how it feels when u have an ED. ik what it’s like and my heart goes out to anyone dealing with one. if u are, pls talk to someone, consider seeking help. i love u, pls eat. we need u here, alive, healthy and happy. with that being said, of course i write for daniel. i’ll write for any driver y’all request tbh, u’ll just have to bear with me while i figure out how some of them would act and talk. i’m wishing all of u the best. aim for at least 2 meals a day (if not 3) and 1 snack. ure doing amazing baby ❤️

p.s. enjoy my fav pics of dannyric for the mood-board cuz anything related to the actual theme of the fic felt insensitive

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you hadn’t eaten all day. not because you forgot—no, your body reminded you every five minutes with the loudest growls—but because the mirror had gotten to you.

you stood there that morning for way too long, poking at your stomach, tugging at your hoodie, hating every angle you saw.

you didn’t cry right then. you just shut the lights off and crawled back into bed like maybe if you didn’t exist for a while, it’d go away.

daniel had been out for hours. you told him you were tired, wanted to stay in. you made it sound casual. easy.

he texted you a few times, checking in. he always did.

dan 🥵:

hey sleepyhead

hope you’re being kind to yourself today

want me to bring something home? i miss your face.

you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

because what were you supposed to say?

hey, i’m spiraling and the only thing i’ve had all day is guilt and water?

you stayed curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over your knees, blanket wrapped so tight around you it felt like armor.

your chest ached. not from hunger, but from all the thoughts you couldn’t shut up.

the door opened softly. you didn’t move.

daniel’s voice floated in, light and happy like always.

“guess who brought sushi and those weird seaweed chips you like? and your pink juice. i had to go to two stores, so you’re legally required to love me now.”

you still didn’t move.

he turned the corner and stopped.

his eyes found yours immediately, and everything about him changed.

his expression softened. his voice dropped.

“baby?”

you blinked at him. your face was hot. your hands were shaking under the blanket.

he walked over slowly, crouched in front of you, his hand resting gently on your shin through the fabric.

“is it one of those days?” he asked. not like he was annoyed. like he already understood.

you nodded. barely.

“okay,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “talk to me when you’re ready.”

it came out faster than you meant it to.

“i didn’t eat today.”

his brows pulled together, but he didn’t flinch.

“okay,” he said again. “thank you for telling me.”

“i just��fuck” your voice broke. you looked away. “i hate how i look. i hate it so much. i feel huge and gross and i know it’s stupid but i can’t stop thinking about it. i just want to be small. and empty. and i thought maybe if i didn’t eat, it’d feel better, but it doesn’t. it never does.”

your throat closed.

“i feel disgusting, danny.”

he moved so gently, like the whole world had to slow down just for you. he sat beside you, wrapped his arms around you, pulled you into him.

you let him. you needed him.

“you’re not disgusting,” he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest hurt. “you’re just hurting.”

you sniffled. “i just want to be skinny. like those girls on your instagram explore page. i see them and i just… wish i looked like that. i wish i could stop thinking about it, but it’s constant.”

daniel kissed the top of your head, then rested his chin there.

“you don’t need to look like anyone else. you’re not meant to. you’re you. and you’re the only person i want. like this. even when it’s messy. even when your brain is lying to you.”

you wiped at your face, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“i feel so broken.”

“you’re not broken,” he said. “you’re tired. you’re overwhelmed. but you’re still here. you’re still trying. and that matters more than anything.”

you stayed in his arms, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

after a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“can we try eating something? just a little. not to fix anything. just to be gentle with yourself. i’ll eat with you. we can sit on the floor and watch that trash reality show you love. uh.. what was it- dubai bling?”

you hesitated. your stomach flipped.

but you nodded. because you trusted him.

he smiled softly.

“that’s my girl.”

he stood up and held out his hand like it was sacred.

and somehow, with the storm still raging in your head, you took it.

THE END :>

[rizzanon]

omg! some focus on our girls!.

Stephanie and Batsis!readers relationship… it hurts so much.

Batsis was normal almost opened to Steph in the beginning. likely because Steph was not only outside of the family, outside of the people she needed to prove herself too but Steph was another girl struggling to be a vigilante just like her, that with the fact Batsis saved Steph in their first meeting likely soothed a lot of her insecurity because she was helpful and capable for once. it was a nearly perfect opportunity for Batsis to make a friend in her vigilante life, to have someone in her corner who could resonate with her, who she didn’t have to prove herself too… only for all that to come crashing down when Steph was chosen to be batgirl… for someone she had thought she was on the same level with maybe even slightly higher then to suddenly “be chosen over her” it triggered that same negative self image that had originally been absent in her relationship with Steph except so much worse because now she isn’t just shadow boxing now she has actual competition, one who has already won over her.

the fact that the actual reason Steph was chosen was due to Batsis degrading mental health in self-endangerment only makes this worse for her. grief can often time exacerbate already existing mental health issues like insecurity, feeling like if you were stronger or smarter, if you were better that who you lost would still be alive are so common and being a vigilante would only add “credibility” to those thoughts. if you’re fighting to save lives then how come you couldn’t have saved your loved ones?. those heightened negative feelings leading her to misconstrue why Steph was chosen to be batgirl making her unable that it was in part for her own safety even when directly told fully believing she was being lied to and seen as lesser.

all of that leads to her shutting out and lashing out at that one person she previously didn’t seem to feel a need to prove herself to, the one person who could understand her, the one person who seemed to have believed she was fit for the role as batgirl from the start who never doubted her before. Batsis’ own negative self image completely destroys her relationship with someone who believed in her and who she believed in. turning it into a competition turning that girl she could’ve built a bond with into nothing more then someone she needs to prove herself better then.

Stephanie seemed to truly believe in batsis despite noticing her flaws from their very first interaction. Steph knew Batsis wasn’t flawless and yet still clearly respected her, despite not wanting her help, because she related, she too wasn’t the best and need to improve, to Steph Batsis was someone who has more experience then her in the field of vigilantism but still reachable someone she could connect with, someone who had extended her belief, belief in her skills, in her determination, belief in her. and Steph extended it that belief back. she believed in Batsis, and it seems she still does even the tinniest bit.

Steph seemed so excited to show Batsis, her as batgirl. almost as if she was saying “look i’ve caught up with you now!” “we’re matching!” possibly thinking that them sharing the batgirl moniker would bring them closer together deepen their connection only for it to destroy it.

to suddenly be faced with such anger and accusation by someone who you were forming a bond with must’ve hurt so much. for someone who had once offered you such unwavering belief to view as nothing but competition, an obstacle they need to overcome, someone they need to knock down someone they need to be above… would be agonizing. not just losing their belief in you but gaining near condemnation as if they want nothing more then to see you fail all while accusing you of trying to hurt them of trying to replace them as seeing them as lesser…

Steph was just trying to prove herself, trying to find her place and unknowingly pushed Batsis out of the one she was trying to carve for herself.

Barbra was trying to help, both girls needed a guide, both were trying to prove themselves, trying to find their places, they needed to, they both needed help… and were equally deserving of it. but realistically Babs could only supply an adequate level of help to one. she could’ve and should’ve tried to do more for Batsis but there’s only so much one person could do. it was one or the other and Barbara knew that. she only likely knew that what Batsis was going through was much more then she was equipped to handle especially when she was also in charge of helping Steph. she could’ve and should’ve done more for batsis even if it was only ten precent more but she couldn’t have done much on her own…

it would need to be a group effort and unfortunately due to the circumstances it wasn’t very feasible but they still should’ve tried should’ve done something…

anyway thats it for todays amateur dyslexic analysis hour. babs section could be better but i need to sleep, i’ll domore when i get more scenes of her.

LITERALLY COULDN’T HAVE SAID IT ANY BETTER 🥹 i have to admit, steph and reader’s relationship became more complex than i intended for it to, but i think it fits well with the story now so im happy with that. you’re so right by saying that Steph was outside of the family and outside of the people reader needed to prove herself to. Steph was another girl struggling to be a vigilante just like her, which is why there was a chance for them to bond over, but all of it was ruined when steph became batgirl whilst reader was benched. reader being benched didn’t help with her growing insecurities and need for validation/to prove herself, and it only intensified seeing how someone else “stole” her role, the one thing she was trying to prove herself with.

as for babs, she was trying to help both girls, but she inevitably spent more time on steph and left reader alone. i agree that babs definitely could have handled it better, but for the sake of the plot we move on. i’d like to think that babs didn’t realise how vital her role is in reader’s life as a guide/mentor and a role model (considering she’s the first batgirl and the one who set the standards—very much like dick with robin) the person taking up the mantle after the first person set very high standards for it definitely don’t have it easy lol

there will be more of barbara and reader’s relationship explored in chapter 7, so hopefully you’ll look forward to that and babs owning up to her mistakes and seeing where she went wrong..! 🤭

[the-phantom-peach]

how do you do anatomy? it’s something i really struggle with OTL

and all of your poses seem really fluid!! and good!!

also your handwriting is so pretty 👀

UNFORTUNATELYYY the more you practice the more you improve (booooo!! 👎🍅🍅💥) but ofc I can’t say I’m even that great at anatomy either. I still use references whenever I can because you can never be too sure ^^

So I can’t really give a lecture on anything anatomy related bc shrugs shoulders buut I can show you how I trace effectively (in a way that actually teaches something I think). This is how I learned how to make fluid poses and how to connect body parts. Let’s start with a pose and make a lower opacity frame of it as well.

There’s two ways I go about tracing a pose. Option 1: Structure first, Action second. I’ve posted about this method before but it’s mostly just making a frame for the later details. Pretty boxy and rigid, no details.

Then (without the bg image) add more fluid details using reference image to see where movement is most evident.

Then boom!

Option 2: Action first, Structure second. Kinda obvious. Focus first on where movement appears, avoiding overly straight lines and too many details.

Then add the structure necessary to complete the pose.

In the end you get pretty much the same image from the same pose in either option so it’s up to you which one you prefer.

Aaaaaand that’s how I trace for a pose! It’s great practice for anatomy as well as it forces you to ignore details and look at overall shape. Tracing isn’t evil if you use it effectively, but avoid using other artists work without permission since that’s when plagiarism muddies the water. Use photos to practice quick studies and soon you’ll be drawing things without a second thought!

Also thank you! I hope this helps at least a little

[vibelladonna]

𝓎𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 : 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓋𝒾𝓋𝒾

Hi, my dearest readers! I’ve been seeing a lot of questions piling up in my inbox lately—a few certain ones I wanted to speak on, too, so... now’s the perfect time to sit down and answer them all at once.

Quick heads-up before we dive in: my finals are coming up next week, so from May 5 to May 9, I’ll be pretty much off the grid—buried in textbooks, tests, and the occasional existential crisis.

Once that’s over, I’ll be packing up and moving out of the dorm, then taking a much-needed breather. I’ll still be writing a little here and there, but mostly I’ll be catching up on sleep and spending some time with friends.

That said, I am planning to post at least one headcanon and maybe a longer fic this weekend—just something to keep you fed before I vanish into academic chaos for a bit.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s jump into the questions!

“Hello! I loved "luscious" so much! Believe it or not, it improved my self-image for the week. The way you write is truly magical. You stated in the warnings how you were a bit uncomfortable writing topics like this, but I don’t see it in your “will not write for” and I’m wondering if you write for ED readers? I’m in recovery and I’d love to see how the TKAB would help out!”

Okay, starting off strong, thank you so much for your kind words about Luscious. I’m really glad it resonated with you and even helped improve your self-image, even if just for a week—that honestly means a lot to hear.

That said, I want to be very direct and honest with your question:

No, I will not be writing content centered around eating disorders, and I want to explain why—not to shut you down, but to be transparent and respectful.

As someone studying psychology and deeply familiar with how sensitive, complex, and personally damaging ED-related themes can be, I make a conscious effort to avoid writing about them. Even with the best intentions, depicting eating disorders in fiction—especially fanfiction—can be incredibly risky.

It’s not just about triggering someone who’s in recovery (or not yet), but also about unintentionally reinforcing harmful thought patterns, behaviors, or body image distortions for people who might be silently struggling.

Even if the story seems like it’s meant to be supportive, fanfic isn’t therapy, and I’m not willing to gamble with someone else’s mental health by romanticizing or oversimplifying such a serious condition. EDs are clinical, rooted in deep psychological, emotional, and often neurobiological complexities.

They aren’t just plot devices—they’re lived pain. And I have too much respect for that pain to fictionalize it in a way that could do harm.

You’re not wrong for asking.

In fact, I admire your honesty, and I’m truly glad you’re in recovery. That takes strength. But for both ethical and personal reasons, EDs are a firm boundary for me as a writer. My goal is to create dark/funny, complex, emotionally rich content—but never at the cost of someone’s real-life progress or well-being.

I hope you understand.

“Hi! Ur stories r absolutely amazing but I have a question, we're u the one who wrote abt TAKTB men as fathers? Thanks!!” 

Hi! Thank you so much—that means a lot to hear !

To answer your question: no, I haven't written anything where the TKATB men are portrayed as fathers. And to be honest, I likely never will. I don’t enjoy writing pregnancy or family-centered tropes, especially ones that involve raising children or parental dynamics. It’s just not something I find creatively fulfilling or comfortable to explore.

If anything, I might dabble in themes like marriage or long-term commitment from a psychological or emotional angle, but kids? That’s a hard no. That discomfort also ties into why I really dislike the whole “Mommy/Daddy kink” trend—something about it just makes me recoil. 

It’s not for me, and I don’t plan to entertain it in my work.

Ironically enough, I will be working with children in the future—but in a psychiatric setting, not a fictional or romantic one. So while I can engage with those dynamics professionally, it’s not something I bring into my writing. I might consider a babysitting scenario purely for humor or character chaos, but that’s probably the farthest I’d go. 

Hope that clears things up!

“I’m pretty new around here, but I’m absolutely in love with your fanfics! If it’s not too much trouble, could you recommend some other writers for TKATB?”

To be completely honest, I don’t actually know a lot of TKATB writers—at least, not personally. I’m familiar with a few, like @soluversworld, @lovelake, @mannior, @lu-dao-writes, and @zombii-hoe. They’re all incredibly talented, and I really admire the way they bring the characters to life.

On the art side, though, I’m mutuals with a bunch of amazing artists here, such as @alienfreak124, @bonw0n, @tkatbyon, and @mint0hhh. There’s also Waza, whose work I absolutely love—though she’s only active on TikTok and Twitter, not Tumblr.

I genuinely adore the creativity in this fandom. The writers and artists have such a unique way of interpreting the TKATB universe, and I always find myself inspired by them.

And, funny enough, if you’ve noticed my fanfic headers lately… I’m actually running out of art to use for them. So, I’ve started reaching out to artists directly to ask permission to feature their work. I always make sure to credit and tag them properly—it’s important to respect their effort, especially when their art plays such a big role in setting the tone for a fic.

“hi! i love your writing, i have a question about your writing but feel free not to answer ofc<3 would you be comfortable writing for Britney (tkatb)”

Hi! First off—thank you so much, that means a lot to me! And no worries, I don’t mind answering at all !

So, if you’ve read my earlier post [ 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 ], you might already be a little surprised… but yes, I have considered writing for Britney—and Jess too, actually. The thing is, I’ve just never fully settled on a solid plot for either of them yet. That said, between the two, I’m much more inclined to write for Britney.

There’s something really compelling about her character—she’s ambitious, confident, and unbothered in a way I admire. Honestly, I’m also friends with someone in real life who reminds me a lot of Britney, so she feels easier and more natural to write.

Jess, on the other hand, is trickier. I tend to view her more as a background or supporting character rather than someone central to the plot, so it’s harder for me to build a narrative around her.

As for future plans, I do intend to write a few fanfics involving Britney and even Deryl. They’ll probably have their own little section or category though, since I’ve completely run out of space on my main TKATB banner that holds all the character mini-icons—there just isn’t room left for those two at the moment.

But yes, you’ll definitely see Britney show up more in my work going forward—especially if inspiration continues to hit.

“i just read game over.. u should ABSOLUTELY write the threesome!”

“Idk if I'm being greedy but at the last part where you were suggesting a threesome with Hyugo and Sol in your most recent post, I FELT something. So ya that's basically what I'm asking for 😞😞”

IT IS KILLING ME (in the best, most dramatic way possible) how feral everyone’s gone over the idea of a Sol x Reader x Hyugo threesome. Like… y’all saw one line and collectively lost your minds. And honestly? I respect it. Deeply. You’re all insane—incredible, unhinged, perfect—and I love being here with you guys.

Here’s the thing: when I wrote [ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ] that ending? That was never the plan. Like, not even close. I was originally inspired by an artist’s piece—art really is my creative lifeline—and I was vibing, writing, enjoying the pacing... until suddenly my brain was like, “Wait, what if Hyugo just strolls back in like he never ghosted us?” 

Because let’s be real—his disappearance was suspicious as hell. You think he was just gonna vanish and not stir chaos? Please. So I threw him back in, stirred the pot, and BAM—suggestive chaos.

And apparently, I awakened something in everyone.

So YES. Part Two is coming. Will it drop immediately? Nah—I’ve got finals breathing down my neck like a demon in a horror movie. But the plot? Already in the works. It’s going to be chaotic, hot, and emotionally messy—basically the fanfic equivalent of a beautiful, reckless car crash.

AND—AND—I WASN’T GONNA SAY ANYTHING YET, but while studying for my statistics exam (because that’s the kind of multitasking monster I am), I started thinking…

Crowe x Reader x Geo.

WAIT. LISTEN. My two favorite men?? IN A THREESOME??? I’m grinning, kicking my feet, giggling while writing this. I’m so serious. You’re probably thinking, “But wait—Geo is aro/ace?” And YES. He is. But don’t worry—I already figured out the plot, and it’s going to make perfect sense. I’m scribbling notes like a mad scientist as we speak.

So yeah—hold tight. Sol x Reader x Hyugo is coming soon. Crowe x Reader x Geo is loading. 

And once I survive finals, you’re all getting fed.

“ur so real because bullying sol is sooo fun for fics >:3”

— YES. YES IT IS. You get it.

Let me be completely straight with you: Sol? 

He’s easily the TKATB character I like the least.

And I don’t mean that with full-blown hatred or anything—it’s more like… he’s pathetically entertaining. In the kind of way where you squint at him like, “Are you okay?” and then continue to mentally toss him into a locker for fun. He’s an insert character to me, which is fine, but he just never really grabbed me the way others did.

Now—is it because of the orange juice scene that I don’t vibe with him? Honestly? Kind of. I didn’t really care for him overall, but that ending got my ass.

I hate being lusted after in real life—it’s genuinely uncomfortable, borderline revolting. That whole scene just hit a little too close to something I’d sprint away from irl. But I still write him because it’s fun to twist his character into chaotic, emotionally messy situations. Plus, the kicker? He weirdly reminds me of my roommate. No, really—down to the clothes, the quiet weirdness, the way he says stuff that makes you pause and question your existence. It’s freaky. 

We lowkey flirt and it’s hilarious but… It’s fine.

Sol is like the kind of guy you see walking around campus wearing his tragic poetry boy aura like a fashion statement. And because I’ve seen real-life versions of him around way too often, it just doesn’t hit for me. I gravitate toward a very different type.

Oh, you already know who has my whole damn attention.

Geo. He’s exactly the type of character that digs claws into my brain and doesn’t let go. Broody, hyper-intelligent, calculated to the point of obsession. That man’s a locked vault, and I want the key—not because I want to open it, but because I want to understand why it’s locked in the first place. He’s a walking case study in emotional repression, and that mystery? That layered silence?

That's what hooks me.

It’s actually hilarious because I hate nonchalant guys in real life—the whole “too cool to care” vibe? No thanks. But Geo doesn’t feel nonchalant—he feels withholding. There's intent behind his silence. Purpose in how he watches a room. He’s cold, yes, but cold like a sharpened blade—not because he doesn't feel, but because he chooses what you’re allowed to see.

That level of control? I eat that UP.

And while I enjoy characters like Hyugo and Deryl, their goofiness can be a little much for me sometimes. They’re fun, chaotic, but not the kind of energy I lock onto. Geo’s the exact opposite—he’s tension incarnate, and I adore it.

Now Crowe? I do like him. I mean, who doesn’t love being adored? Compliments? Spoiling? Drama served with a smile? He’s got flair and elegance, sure—but lowkey, he started getting boring for me. Like, I appreciate the charm, I really do, but when someone throws too much attention my way, I get suspicious… or annoyed. I like to chase, not be constantly showered in praise.

Still, Crowe clears Sol by a mile.

The choice is obvious.

“Have u read the A Date with Death webtoon? The latest chapter made me so emo. 😭 (If u haven't, it's called A Date with Death Zero, there are 5 chapters out currently, and it updates monthly. If u have, what r ur thoughts ? 👀)”

Yes—before answering this, I actually sat down and read the entire A Date with Death: Zero webtoon. I had to reset my login because, honestly, I haven’t touched Webtoon in a long time—not since freshman year of high school.

Back then, I mostly stuck to the top titles, and School Bus Graveyard was hands-down my favorite. Wow, I might have to reread it just for the memories.

Anyway, back to Zero—I’ve read the five chapters that are out, and I already have thoughts. It's a genuinely strong tie-in, offering the kind of context I think the main game benefits from. Seeing Grim’s origin laid out like this? It adds depth. He wasn’t born. He wasn’t chosen. He was made. The transformation wasn’t spiritual—it was mechanical. 

That alone reframes the whole concept of what a Grim Reaper is in this universe. The fact that they’re manufactured, not reborn, changes everything. It makes the reapers feel less like supernatural entities and more like tools—built with purpose, stripped of choice. That angle hit me fast, and it stuck.

As someone who grew up obsessed with Black Butler, my baseline assumption was always that Grim Reapers were souls punished by suicide—recruited into eternal service as penance. So, seeing Date with Death lean into the idea of artificial creation rather than post-death transformation?

 It gave me chills. It shifts the lens: instead of being punished for dying, you were never really allowed to live to begin with. You were constructed with a purpose, and that purpose is final. Cold. Mechanized. Beautifully cruel.

If it’s not obvious by now, I adore supernatural themes. I’m goth btw

Witches and Grim Reapers top the list—no contest. Vampires and werewolves? Meh. I’ll choose vampires over wolves if forced, but neither does much for me in comparison. Reapers though? There’s always something tragic, elegant, and quietly rebellious about them—especially ones like Grim—well, real name Casper, who toe the line between duty and desire.

Speaking of Casper—I absolutely adore him.

Which is the reason why I write [ 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 ]

He’s sweet, and surprisingly complex. I love how both the game and the webtoon explore the reapers' core rule: no attachment.

You don't speak. You don’t feel. You don’t empathize. Just collect the soul and move on. That idea being drilled into them since creation is haunting—but the possibility of falling in love with a soul? That little crack in the system? That’s what makes it beautiful. Why give them emotions at all if not to tempt fate?

There’s something poetic about that entire setup. 

Reapers are expected to be tools, yet some still give themselves names. Not numbers—names. That act alone speaks volumes about the quiet rebellion written into their existence. The story’s not just about death—it’s about identity. About claiming autonomy in a world that tried to strip it from you at creation.

Also, let’s not pretend I didn’t notice the senior reaper—5012. He is stunning. That aesthetic alone? Flawless. He’s ethereal, composed, and absolutely captivating. His design hooked me instantly—don’t even care if it was shallow, he’s the kind of character you look at and immediately want to know more about.

I haven’t finished the game yet (so I’m holding off on writing any serious fics about Casper or 5012 for now), but I’ll admit—I’ve been tempted. 

The story does an excellent job of blending the narratives of the webtoon and the main game so far. The worldbuilding—especially the divide between the underworld and the mortal realm—is rich and nuanced, practically begging to be explored further. 

That delicate boundary between life and death, and the emotional consequences of crossing it, gives the story an aching kind of beauty. It’s not just about reaping souls—it’s about the emotional restraint these characters are forced to live under, and what happens when that restraint slips.

And to answer a question you didn’t ask but probably thought of: why don’t I write for other visual novel games?

Honestly…most of them just don’t hit the same way.

The Kid at the Back and A Date with Death stuck with me in a way others haven’t. Like, I was this close to dropping VNs entirely and returning to Creepypasta full-time, however, there’s something about these stories that feels different.

Visual novels are like interactive books, and when they’re done well—especially with supernatural elements—they resonate hard.

Back when I was around sixteen, I was deep into the Seduce Me the Otome series by Michaela Laws. Main games, side stories—I was fully in it. It was one of those unhinged hyperfixations that weirdly helped me discover writing as a hobby.

Now that I’m older, in college at twenty-one, I’m more selective. There are popular VNs people swear by that just don’t do anything for me. If the writing doesn’t grip me, I’m out.

But A Date with Death?

It has that potential, I love it. It feels more grounded, more personal. Casper has emotional depth and is incredibly endearing, and the universe’s laws—especially how Reapers aren't supposed to form attachments—are beautifully tragic.

Once I finish the game, I will be writing about Grim / Casper.

Especially other reapers like 5012. His aesthetic alone has me paying attention. If you can't see already I love purple-haired men.

“Btw, do you write for 14dwy? If not, ig i'll try to think of a couple of requests for TKATB then ^^”

Ah, so—do I or will I ever write for 14 Days With You?

Hell no. Fuck no.

No offense if you're into it, but that game? Not for me at all.

Yeah, I know it’s an upcoming romantic horror visual novel centered around Ren—the pink-haired yandere boy who’s supposed to be obsessive and twisted in a sexy way—but I just… don’t care for it. 

I’ve seen it around on TikTok, I even tried playing it out of curiosity, and honestly? It didn’t hit. At all. The vibe was off. Maybe it’s the overly pink aesthetic, maybe it’s Ren’s personality (or lack thereof), or maybe it’s just the fact that I didn’t find it unsettling or engaging the way horror should be.

Let me be clear: I have nothing against the creator.

But once more, the game simply didn’t capture my interest, and I’m not going to force myself to write for a character or fandom I find underwhelming/overwhelming.

Ren just doesn’t have the depth I look for—he feels like a cookie-cutter yandere to me. Basic, predictable. 

I’m not in the yandere community, and I never WILL be in it. I don’t mind writing yandere characters when there’s real complexity behind them—Sol from TKATB, for example, is a mess, sure, but he’s layered. He has a backstory, conflicting emotions, moral rot—and I love when creators, such as @fantasia-kitt acknowledge her characters are meant to be morally wrong.

It makes the writing grounded, not romanticized.

Meanwhile, Ren? Flat. Just clingy with a knife and a pretty face.

Also, from what I’ve seen, there’s been a lot of drama in the 14DWY fandom. The creator even publicly distanced themselves from the yandere community altogether (let's add Your boyfriend, too, because that game is simply confusing to me)

That alone is enough for me to steer clear.

I don’t want any part in a fandoms that chaotic.

Now, if we’re talking games, I have enjoyed—there are better ones.

Doki Doki Literature Club?

A classic. Yes, a Yandere game, and it has genuine female love interests, and possibly three yanderes?

However I can't think of any VNs that come close to being as subversive, creative, well-written, interesting, and overall, a brilliant experience as this. While this VN is extremely well loved in the indie gaming community, I rarely see people acknowledge how genuinely brilliant it is.

Everything in this game's narrative is carefully constructed in such a wonderful way that I notice a new detail every time I replay it or watch a new playthrough. The characters are all extremely enjoyable and fun, as well as being delightfully well-written, relatable, and psychologically fascinating.

The Bloody Painter Dating Sim?

Sure, it’s still technically yandere, but it leans more slasher horror, and at least the guy doesn’t pretend to love you until the end. I’d rather write for Helen Otis or go full Creepypasta mode. That’s childhood nostalgia right there. Not a phase, but something that genuinely shaped who I am—like if My Little Pony wore black eyeliner and a ski mask.

Or take Homicipher.

That one’s a weird gem—a language-based horror game where you’re decoding an alien dialect while navigating surreal monster-boys. Now that’s unique. I probably wouldn’t write for it either, but I respect the hell out of it. It’s strange in the best way.

And Love and Deepspace? Yeah, no thanks.

That chaotic mix of gacha mechanics and otome storytelling is basically a Mystic Messenger flashback just waiting to ruin my sleep schedule again. I remember those 3AM chatroom alarms, the fake phone calls, the emotionally manipulative plot twists—it was immersive, sure, but I came out of that phase with chronic eye bags and trust issues. 

Not doing that to myself again.

Now, I’ll admit—Love and Deepspace has its spicy, swoon-worthy moments. Visually? Stunning. But it’s also a financial trap.

I'm not about to drain my wallet just to unlock affection from a highly designed pixelated man who won’t even text me back on time.

I’d rather watch all the juicy clips on YouTube like a sane person. It’s great for inspiration, but I’m not committing to that grind. Honestly, that game drops more content than I write in a month. You guys already have a feast. Be fed. Stay blessed.

So yeah—circle back to TKATB requests if you're thinking of something. Because 14DWY? That’s not even on the table.

Respectfully—but very firmly—nah.

𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈???

So, overall—yes, I’ll definitely keep writing for The Kid at the Back.

That’s not going anywhere. I’m also planning to flesh out more content for A Date with Death, and maybe Creepypasta since it's always been my comfort zone. That’s home base, creatively and emotionally. It shaped a lot of my early writing, and honestly?

I always end up crawling back to it, no matter what.

Now, when it comes to expanding into other fandoms… I've thought about anime-based content, but the truth is, I’m into way too many series. Trying to commit to one would be like herding cats—pure chaos.

Some of my top picks include Death Note, a classic, but let’s be real, that fandom’s been six feet under for years, then there's Bungo Stray Dogs and The Case Study of Vanitas—also beautifully written but buried under layers of fan silence. Then there are MANY MANY others, psychological, supernatural, horror anime and manga I love, however, that's too much to list.

Overall, basically, I collect dead or dying fandoms like cursed antique—beautiful, forgotten, and weirdly comforting to keep around.

There’s something about those quiet, half-abandoned spaces that feels like home. But even among all the dust-covered gems, a few stand out—and right now, I’m in the middle of a three-obsession: one familiar, one newer, and one oddball wildcard.

Let’s start with Black Butler—a timeless obsession of mine.

This fandom has been with me for years, and while it once drifted into the shadows, it’s recently clawed its way back into the spotlight. Only the real ones know the hype I’m talking about. The manga is thriving again, and with CloverWorks giving us two fresh anime seasons that align with the Manga correctly this time?

Yeah, I’ve never hit the rewatch button faster.

And yet, despite how wonderful the comeback is, my love for it has always been quiet, private, and deeply personal. I’ve got over 100 chapters written about my OC, called 𝓂𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒻𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸—hidden away on my iPad like a little treasure hoard I’ve never shared.

For me, Black Butler is a whole world I keep close to my heart. It’s more than comfort—it’s a legacy. Honestly, it’s even bigger than my attachment to Creepypasta, and that’s saying something, considering both of them raised me in very different but equally strange ways.

Absolutely—here’s a more emotionally raw, elaborate take that leans into the chaos Nana leaves behind and your appreciation for female authors:

Then there’s Nana—another top-tier comfort, or at least that’s what people call it. But let’s be honest: this show didn’t just comfort me, it ruined me. Nana doesn’t live rent-free in my brain—it owns the deed, remodeled the interior, and emotionally wrecked the foundation. I was told it was the kind of anime you should watch in your early twenties, and let me tell you... they were right. Too right.

The moment I hit play, I was done for.

The fashion? Impeccable. The writing? Sharper than broken glass. And the emotional fallout? Atomic. It’s the kind of series that doesn’t just hit you in the feels—it digs into your chest, sets up camp in your ribcage, and whispers, "You will never recover from this, and that’s okay." It's pure, messy, devastating art—and that's what makes it brilliant.

What Nana does so well is show you the raw, jagged edges of youth—ambition, failure, dependency, heartbreak, and all the fragile little dreams we keep trying to stitch together. It doesn’t sugarcoat the reality of growing up. It lets it bleed. And somehow, you thank it for the wound.

I think about it constantly—not just the story, but the feeling it left behind. And honestly? One of the most powerful parts of this obsession is knowing it came from Ai Yazawa, a woman who understood exactly what kind of emotional labyrinth she was leading us into.

Just like Black Butler—which is also written by a woman, the insanely talented Yana Toboso—Nana proves that women creators build worlds that are emotionally intricate, psychologically rich, and haunting in the best possible way.

It’s no coincidence that my favorite stories are written by women. They see things differently—sharper, deeper, more emotionally dangerous. And I crave that kind of storytelling. It's what keeps me coming back for more, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Now, onto the odd one out: Kaiju No. 8.

BROOOOOOOOOO, this series has me in a chokehold. I never thought I’d get so obsessed with a Kaiju-based story, but here we are. Seriously, this manga has a grip on me that’s hard to describe. It’s just so damn good.

This is the wild card in my lineup, the unexpected obsession I didn’t see coming—but I’m deep in it now. And by deep, I mean “I own merch and have a shrine-worthy level of admiration for Soshiro Hoshina and Mina Ashiro” kind of deep.

I even created an OC for this world called 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑜. and quietly wrote over 30+ chapters about her. Hoshina especially? He owns space in my head rent-free and fully furnished. No apologies.

Side note: I’m one of those who watches almost all mainstream animes, either solo or with friends. But right now, I’ve got this mini obsession with The Apothecary Diaries. MaoMao is everything. She’s honestly the funniest female protagonist I’ve ever seen, and her sarcastic, sharp-witted nature just makes the whole show so entertaining.

And then, there’s my current favorite romance anime: A Sign of Affection. Oh my god, it’s just beautiful. The story, the characters, everything about it feels so pure and heartwarming.

And Itsuomi Nagi... the man, the myth, the legend. Nagi is just chef’s kiss. He literally healed my heart from the emotional wreckage of A Silent Voice—which, let's be real, is one of the most gut-wrenching movies out there.

But Nagi? He’s a breath of fresh air.

Thinking about he's mix of Crowe and Geo. My opinion.

Games like Bayonetta and Devil May Cry? I love them, but strictly as a player. Writing for them isn’t really on the agenda. And Danganronpa? Yeah… absolutely not. That fandom left psychological scars on me. I’m good.

So yeah, exploring new fandoms is something I’ll deal with later. If you have any solid recs or think there’s a community I’d mesh with, feel free to let me know.

Otherwise, I'll be sticking to my usual writing routine.

Catch you later, my dear readers—I'm off to crash and get some much-needed sleep (only got like three hours of sleep from writing 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒). — ♤

[yourlocaltreesimp]

I would like your opinion on something! So for the chain by themselves, we know at least some of them (cough cough Time and Twilight cough cough) are family oriented and want to have their own with kids, right? And even more so for yandere chain. Because a baby would just bind you guys together even more, right? But like… what if darling can’t/wont have kids?

I was writing when that thought occurred to me. I was trying my hand at yandere stuff myself. My OC has severe trauma related to pregnancy that ended in the death of her only child. So she turned off her ability to conceive (magic~) and made the decision to never have another child. (I’d like to say that she’s an amazing aunt/godmother tho.)

So yeah, from the yandere Chains pov… how would they react to their darling not wanting/can’t have children? Especially if it was trauma related?

AHHH OMG TOTALLY!! This is actually a really cool concept and I got almost a little too into it with the whole yandere dynamic. It’s been so long since i’ve made any yan! content, so I hope it’s good by you :]

Synopsis: Yan!Chain’s darling doesn’t want kids and they all deal with this in their own varying *totally* normal ways.

warnings n’ such: Cringe links, Yandere, mentions of murder, light baby trapping, use of trauma as ammo, potentially disturbing content

You see, the best thing about Yanderes is that their top priority is and always will be their darling. You want steak for dinner? He’ll kill the cattle. You want a house? He’ll fell the trees, cut the lumber, build you a house that they know all the hiding spots. You want a family? You’ll have however many kiddos you want running around, giggling as they weave through your feet.

Of course, naturally, the family life is what most Yanderes want because it gives them control. It gives them an opportunity to show how good they are. To flaunt their happy family to the world, to obsess over being the perfect lover and parent, to show you just how good they are.

And You can’t exactly leave (at least not easily) once you have a family. And especially not when everyone knows you’re the lucky spouse to the hero.

So flipping this dynamic to where this isn’t the case definitely complicates things a little. I see things splitting in a few ways depending on what their darling is comfortable with… at least with some varying degrees (given that some yan!links are bound to be more controlling than others) Still, at the end of the cycle, it’s your word that they hang onto as gospel

Pseudo adoption

(Twilight, Sky, Time, Legend, Warriors, Courage, Koridai, Mayybe Four)

This would ideally be in the situation where their lover is either healed from their trauma to the point they’re comfortable being close with children. This is either being the village babysitters, or just flat out picking up a child off the side of the road to, *ahem*, “foster” until they find a home. (Yeah that child is not leaving.)

The whole idea behind this one is more for the yandere’s own self assurance that he is of service to and close to you. He is the image of a doting husband and father, waiting at your beck and call, hand and foot, every syllable of every word, to make sure that you are content and not leaving. It’s more for himself and for the perception of being your one and only rather than actual care for whatever it is you’re looking after.

Maybe, in some fucked up way, he doesn’t care as much because the kiddos aren’t his, and doesn’t have that same weight tying you down. But that’s depending on just how dark we’re making our yanderes.

I’m really extreme, fixated cases, I can imagine them going off the rails and flat out killing the parents of some child you felt close with so he could swoop in and have a perfect happy family. I only really see this for Twilight and Time, though, and maybe Sky if he’s at his limit.

Fur babies

(Wild, Legend, Sky, Time, Twilight, Maybe Hyrule)

As the name implies, you are now the owner of several dogs/cats/birds/snakes/lizards/horsies/ordonian goats. Slightly different than lightly kidnapping children, this one is a little more involved than simply babysitting. Where the last solution focuses more on the yandere’s own need to prove his worth to you and the perceived family to others— this is more in alignment with him trying to actually foster a family relationship in some sort of way.

He can’t raise a child, but you both to love and care for some amount and form of animal, and you bet your ASS that pet will be the best cared for. Pampered. Best food, brushed daily, best bedding, all the pets, you name it. Vicariously, that pet will become the closest thing to a child you can effectively think of to fill any voids left behind in his heart.

He’s also not naïve to the fact that a pet is something you’re emotionally attached to, and thus has value.

It makes you happy, it keeps you around, and it makes you a team.

An animal makes it harder for you to leave.

And on top of that, the idea that it’s valuable because of your attachment to it opens the door to the idea which that pet also doesn’t matter to the yandere in question. He only keeps it around because it amuses you, even if he doesn’t see why. Afterall, he only loves his Darling.

But again, that’s darker au and stuff you take as you please.

Perfectly happy having you to themselves

(Hyrule, Legend, Wild, Four, Warriors, Courage, Koridai, Maybe Time)

I personally left this to the most possessive of the yanderes or the ones who I would imagine wouldn’t want kids to begin with. This has varying levels of toxicity.

On one hand, he’s perfectly happy keeping you to himself. Sure, some kids for the sake of convenience or closeness wouldn’t hurt, but this is fine too. You probably won’t be able to work through the trauma (if there’s trauma, there doesn’t have to be) that led you to no longer wanting children, as your obsessive doting husband gushes about how glad he is that it’s just you and him. Guilt is the name of the game. He wants you to himself. And he sure as hell ain’t sharing if he doesn’t have to.

(Hyrule, Four, Courage, Koridai)

And for those who didn’t really want kids to begin with, things are certainly much tamer. You might actually have a chance to work though your trauma (if any). And if, later down the line, you decide that maybe you want kiddos, congratulations, he’ll probably do a full 180 on the no kids.

The only real risk with this is that the longer and less careful you are with him, the more likely he is to switch to possessive type. And in THAT case, i’m sorry. I truly am. If you confided in him your trauma, that is absolutely ammo. And he will 100% bring up the ‘dream’ you’d built together of growing old just the two of you.

Basically, there’s a chance he’ll become the former, just so much worse and so much more overbearing.

(Legend, Warriors, Wild, Four)

[jupiterhours]

Scorpio Rising: from a scorpio rising

this is my struggles as a scorpio rising, libra in 12H.

just highlighting some experiences that I don’t see many astrology accounts discuss when talking about scorpio risings. It sometimes seems like they haven’t read a single thing about this placement and i don’t relate to most of what they are saying; do take in account that i have a 12H scorpio mercury, and 11H libra mars (due to my rising being at 5°) that may hinder my experiences. (this is unedited and unrevised btw don’t flame me, just my thoughts on screen)

-inability to maintain/create friendships

i find this a hit or miss. most of the time it is really hard to make and maintain friendships and i’m not sure why. i find most of them have so much to say about my looks and how i present myself. they are far more worried about these things and how others perceive me than im worried. i find they try to be controlling of it like, “don’t do this around my parents, they don’t like it” as if i am not an adult? or they don’t say anything but stare at parts of your body that you’re insecure about. like… i can literally see you staring at my thighs, do you have something to say?? seems like a lot of people want to paint you as the bad guy. they say that you are hurtful in your actions but never elaborate.. lots of projection. they treat you like shit and the minute you turn your back on them or give them even the tiniest flick back of what they’ve done to you: all hell breaks loose. on the other hand, they become OBSESSED???? why are you still following me after i’ve removed you form socials; why are you calling me after telling me you never wanted to speak again 5 years ago?

-Never letting anything go: ever.

i honestly hate this aspect of scorpio placements (i have many) i cannot seem to get over anything that has happened to me literally ever. sometimes it feels good to hang onto that kind of pride of knowing when someone did you wrong, other times it’s very hindering in growth and healing. you can 100% know that everything is okay, you’ve gone over it with a therapist/friend/journal etc and STILL have it affect you DAILY if anything it just festers and boils underneath, making you a very mean person who you don’t want to be sometimes.

-The craziest dreams!

why do i involuntarily astral project in my sleep???? probably my mercury sitting in its little 1° in my 12H but maybe, MAYBE other scorpio placements can agree, i know pisces placements do too bc well duh 12H… but it’s a very hard thing for me to grasp my brain around. why do i know things in my sleep, why do i SEE things happen before they actually happen. i have dreams about celebrities and the people they know and their business before it’s even public, MONTHS before anything is public and it’s so fucking scary to experience. like why do i know what a sports player’s new gf looks like before they’ve broken up with the current one? i don’t know these people! but somehow i just am given this information. it feels like a curse sometimes, to know but to not have any real connection to speak out about it. i’m given information in metaphorical terms sometimes. and sometimes the people in the dream are helping me to wake up? i feel alone in this one so if anyone experiences it to this extent PLEASE dm me! i am so curious!!!!

-not knowing how to distribute energy efficiently

i find it hard to be able to focus my energy into certain areas. like how do i order these tasks/items of importance, how do i know what is worth my time. i feel like our 12H being in libra, the scales just dramatically bounce back and forth and it affects our mental state, this also might just be my libra mars in affect so i don’t have too much to say on this. but it feels like the scorpio risings i’ve met irl have this horrible sense on when they are putting too much time and effort into something that won’t flourish (including myself) we have been creating this false image of the end result and we work diligently to get to it, thinking the interruptions are a part of it since we experience that ALLLLLLLLL the time as the placeholder of death and rebirth. but once again, might just be my detriment placement of mars..

well that’s all i can think of off the top of my head. maybe a pt.2 if i think about it some more but yeah:)

[wildemaven]

strangers : climax | dave york

pairing: dave york x fireader word count: 6307 content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, workaholic Dave, Soft Dave, miscommunication, implied/ alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn't know this), Dave's phone deserves its own warning, mention of food and alcohol consumption, a moment in a dressing room where reader inspects her reflection/self image judgments, smut (oral f receiving, fingering, semi public sex, kissing after oral, public affection, some praise if you squint), angst and sad feels, somewhat jealous Dave in a kind of joking manner, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress and jeans- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes: it's finally here!!! I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter out into the world. I was working through lots of writing blocks, kids, travel, and sickness. But it's finally here!!!! This one is a doozy in so many ways but I'm so excited for it!! I'm so grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, share, comment and like each chapter of this series. I'm sad it's almost over!!

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It’s almost sadistic. Taunting every single fiber of your being as each chord of the melody, so perfectly orchestrated, looms over the hotel bar. 

Your body betrays you. So easily giving in to the song's familiarity as each word reverberates through your chest. Flashes of Dave dressed in black, spinning you in front of your closest family and friends drowned out the urge to ask for the song to be skipped. 

The liveliness of the crowd pouring into the dimly lit space helps block out the music. Your fingers swirl around the condensation slowly settling around your drink that sits untouched on the mahogany bar top. Your mind sifting through the day's events leading up to this moment, where you’re sitting alone, annoyance raging in your veins, in a dress you're starting to regret buying. 

*

Lunch was relaxed and pleasant. The oceanfront views of the small cafe were something straight out of a movie. The weather was warm enough to enjoy the patio dining, a subtle breeze cutting through periodically. The ocean swells breaking masked the bustle of beach goers and passing cars. It was everything you had wanted to experience in this beautiful city.

Dave had been fully present since the intimate moment you both shared back at the hotel. More than he had been the entire trip thus far. Keeping you close to him, his hands never leaving you once stepping out of the room. As if to silently say I’m all here with you and I love you. 

You relished in the closeness of him. Internally screaming with increasing avidity at his electrifying advances all afternoon. 

Pulling your chair closer to where he sat so his free hand could nestle between your thighs. Too focused on twirling the pasta around your fork between discussing the most current events Dave had read in the morning paper while waiting for you to return from your walk. 

Growing and falling Stocks. Government scandals that could trickle down and affect parts of his job. National affairs of all levels that jumped out to him. All things you hadn’t really kept up with until meeting Dave, were now things you looked forward to listening to him talk about and giving your input with your own perspective. 

It's when Dave starts discussing something about sports or sports related that throws you off balance. Not necessarily so much in what he’s saying, but in what he’s doing when he’s saying it. 

“So if they draft him this year, he’ll be a starting rookie…” Dave says as he shifts forward in his chair to adjust his position, hand slightly shifting where it still rests between your legs, his pinky sliding up the crotch seam of your denim with an ample amount of pressure. 

“I’ve got money on him this season…” Your mind is too cloudy to even focus on what he’s saying. 

An instant jolt of arousal splinters across your body, you use your napkin to hopefully muffle the moan you nearly choke on. Oh! It’s deliberate, Dave’s expression collected and unphased as he carries on, continuing to drag his digit up and down the thick layer of fabric. 

“You okay, Honey?” He smirks, applying a little more weight behind his touch, before directing his attention to the server passing by the table and signaling for the check.

“Mmhmm— y-yeah! I’m fine. Great!” Your voice pitches at an unusual tone, frantically nodding in response as you wring the napkin between your fingers trying to not succumb to the pleasure currently building in your core. 

It’s a tragic feeling when his hand abandons the heat of your thighs. His focus now is on inspecting the bill, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tucking the proper amount of cash into the server’s book. 

“That’s good.” He says all blasé as he looks at you with deadpan expression, situating his wallet in place again. 

“Oh my god— Dave! You are the worst!” You toss your napkin at him, shaking your head as you laugh at his flirtatious behavior. 

*

A proper casualness flows between the two of you following lunch— a familiar domesticity that had become so foreign to you. It now almost seems too far-fetched to think things have been strained in the last few months leading up to today and this seemingly perfect afternoon with Dave. 

A stitch of guilt begins to weave through your mind as you take in Dave’s unreserved laughter and the way he looks so, extremely happy. Maybe you were premature in believing that there was anything wrong to begin with. 

There’s a liveliness to Dave that has felt so rare to witness as of recently. No signs of stress. No closed off demeanor. No inkling of any distress that threatens to disrupt a marriage you so desperately desire to keep intact. 

He’s remarkably your Dave— through and through. 

The sun becomes far more dominating as the day passes. It’s fiery intensity has you squinting as you step out of the cute little ice cream shop you dragged Dave into after lunch. 

Thankfully you’re more than prepared. A pair of dark sunglasses now perched on the bridge of your nose and the light fabric tank you opted for thanks to Dave’s attentive nature for planning, always checking the weather forecast incessantly as he sips from his morning coffee.

It’s no surprise at the influx of tourists that crowd the sidewalk as you both amble about. Your arm wrapped around Dave, his free hand gently resting at the nape of your neck, both of you working against the heat to keep your ice cream from dripping down the cone. 

There’s a silence that hangs around the enjoyment of the summer treat, but it’s not uncomfortable. People watching and window shopping paired with brief moments of sweet banter have seemed to reignite the flame that had slowly begun to dwindle. 

“Woah!” A swarm of teenagers rocketing by on skateboards out of nowhere has you stunned, several of them nearly knocking into you. 

“What the fuck!” Dave’s quick like reflexes immediately turn on and he’s pulling you into his chest as the last few of the trailing skateboarders roll by. “Get off the sidewalk before you hurt someone, you punks!” 

“Yeah yeah! Fuck off old man!” The last of the bunch, a typical backwards hat wearing unphased teen, yells over his shoulder raising his middle finger as he skates off into the distance. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“I’m fine. They didn’t hit me— just startled me more than anything.” You assure him. 

“Still— those little assholes almost sideswiped you. And that little fucker calling me an old man?” Dave grumbles, following your lead to continue walking despite wanting to track down the group and give them a piece of his mind. 

“Easy, they’re just having fun. If I remember correctly, you too were once a little asshole. There’s a laundry list of stories your mom has shared with me to back that up too.” He scoffs at your comment, knowing exactly which stories his mom has divulged to you about his wild adolescent years. 

Your favorite being when a senior year prank almost resulted in suspension and losing scholarships. Dave and a few of his high school friends had decided to toilet paper and egg the principal’s home one night. The group of teens had thought they pulled it off until they came to school and their pictures were plastered in every classroom— security cameras were not taken into account while planning such a prank. Dave’s parents caught wind of the incident and the missing rolls of TP from their home and forced Dave to turn himself in. Dave confessed as a lone prankster, adamant that he didn’t know who the other students were in the images, resulting in tutoring lower grade classmates the remainder of the semester and a few weekends of community service. 

“I’m not an old man.” He murmurs against your temple, pressing his lips to your warm skin. His hand settles into your back pocket directing his attention to his almost finished ice cream. 

“Didn’t say you were.” Grinning at his annoyance. “Your mom earlier— How is she? Everything okay?”

“She’s good. Everything’s good. Just checking in. Making sure we’re settling in okay here— you know how she is.” It feels like he’s saying a lot without saying much of anything. 

“Yeah— definitely sounds like her. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to her. We should invite them over for dinner when we get back. Proper catch up— share about our trip with them in person.” You look at him, his head nodding along at the suggestion. 

You’ve always had a close relationship with his mother, Carol. Weekly trips to the farmers market and coffee dates became a regular thing after you and Dave married. Family dinners took place once a month, rotating between each other’s houses or restaurants. Carol never wanted to be one of those overbearing mother in laws, always making sure that you and Dave didn’t feel suffocated by her and Dave’s dad’s presence. 

“Okay. I’ll umm— I’ll call her when we get back. See what her and dad’s calendar looks like. I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to get together, since our busy schedules haven’t seemed to line up in the last few months.” 

“Perfect.” 

There’s a beat of silence that follows making plans with his parents. Like there was more he wanted to say but left it unsaid. You don’t push for more and let any needling thought dissolve. 

“How was it?” Dave points to the remaining milky soup that’s settled into the top of your semi soggy cone. 

“It was delicious.” You tell him, then lapping at a few random drips racing down your wrist with your tongue, savoring the last of its salty sweetness.

“Let me have a taste of it.” He says, pulling you both out of the main flow of people walking behind you. 

“What? You don’t even like this flavor, Mr. Vanilla is the only flavor that truly matters.” You playfully mock his go-to choice of a single scoop of plain vanilla, not even a punch of vanilla bean or a sprinkling of chocolate chunks— he’s a simple man. 

“Maybe my taste buds have evolved?” He counters, pulling you flush against him under the shade of a store awning. “Give me a taste.” 

Everything around you fades to the background, it’s just the two of you. Dave’s lips molding to yours. His tongue gently skims over your lower lip, silently seeking entrance. 

It’s unhurried and thorough. A stark contrast from the chilly sensation that still lingers from the frozen dessert and the heat emanating from the way Dave’s tongue languidly traces over every bit of surface he can reach. Dizzying your senses, your mind fully immersed in the way he still tastes of sweet vanilla as he explores every detail of your mouth. Lapping at the remnants of the melted salted caramel that coats your tongue. 

It’s vulnerable and thrilling— feeling so right and fully present together. 

Your ice cream cone falls from your hand, crashing hard on the cement walkway, giving you the freedom to wrap your hands around his neck and relax even more into the kiss as Dave guides you through it. His hand squeezes your ass through your denim pocket, securing you against him. His other hand cradles your face as he swallows the small moans you produce when he nips tenderly at your bottom lip. 

“Dave—“ Is the only coherent word you can think of when he finally breaks the kiss. Your fingers tighten around his short hair as you float back to the ground. 

“I like the way it tastes on you. Might be my new favorite flavor.” He smiles, releasing small puffs of his breath over your lips. 

*

It was the first shop that caught your attention, the front display had you stopping in your tracks. Your initial interest to merely window shop, a signal to Dave that you were interested in the possibility of checking out more of their inventory. 

“Sweetheart? You doing okay in there?” Dave asks cautiously, as if to not scare off any potential decisions you might be deliberating over from behind the velvet curtain of the dressing room. 

It’s nothing new, a song and dance you’ve been through before— turning and inspecting from head to toe. Your mind in an epic battle with the reflection framed in front of you, dreading anytime you step foot in anything that resembles a fitting room. 

Except this time you’re not tearing apart every little thing about what you’re seeing, finding all the negative reasons as to why this particular dress isn’t working.

It’s the complete opposite, because you love the dress and you can see yourself wearing it on many occasions without a doubt. 

An ambered hue that reminds you of autumn when the leaves turn, and Dave spending hours in the yard gathering pile after pile while you bake a seasonal pie, watching him from the kitchen window. 

The tiered tulle fabric plucks a peculiar scene from your memory. Its flowy and dramatic silhouette is reminiscent of the dress you had worn to last year’s CIA Gala. Dave kept you close for the entirety of the evening. Your arm wrapped around his as he talked with colleagues, some new whose names you wouldn’t remember and others who had slowly worked their way into a more permanent place in your lives with regular dinner parties and monumental celebrations. Dave’s hand planted on the small of your back, his thumb drawing soft shapes where your dress strategically exposed your back, you were his grounding force among a sea of highly regarded men and their significant others.

“Hey- is everything okay?” Dave’s head now visible as he pulls the curtain back just enough to check in with you, his hushed tone barely audible over the upbeat music that the trendy boutique has playing through the store. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You say flatly as you continue to inspect your reflection, the hang tag with the bold asking price of the dress held between your restless fingers.

“Wow— Sweetheart, you look… Wow!” Speechless. Dave stands stunned behind you, taking in every bit of you, completely captivated.

“Yeah? It feels like a lot. I have a dress back at the room I can wear instead…” You say, watching the arduous battle he’s sorting through in his mind, his smitten smirk doing wonders to help settle your dress turmoil.

“No— No this, this is perfect. I love it so much. You definitely should get this one.” Dave says persuasively, a beat of sensualism exuding from where he now stands with his chest flush to your back, his hands attempting to bypass the layers of fabric in search of somewhere to efficiently affix himself to you. “Reminds me of that dress you wore to the Gala last year. You looked stunning. So much so I couldn’t keep my hands off of you the entire night. Pulled you into that closet and fucked you while the awards ceremony carried on.”

“Hmm, I remember.” You smile, your stomach flipping at the way he so vividly remembers that evening too. “But the price is a little much though. Like too much.” Dropping the price tag, allowing it to hang freely from the dress instead of mocking your sticker shop distress.

“Don’t worry about the price— it’s fine.” You gasp when he connects with your skin, a shiver zipping up your spine, his lips fervent and assertive as they work up the expanse of your neck.

Dave’s hand catches your head as it tips to the side, allowing him more ample space to roam. Your skin in his teeth triggers a soft whimper in your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you get lost in the sensation of him.

It’s a blur of calculated movements on his part, your body receptive to his smooth control, moving along with ease until your back settles against the wall of the dressing room. The carpeted floor envelops the sound of him falling to his knees. Dave’s eyes glazed over as he stares up at you, their usual golden hue dappled with gleaming eagerness. His hands fumble with the hem of the dress skirt briefly, delighted when he finally manages to breach the abundant layers of fabric. The brush of his fingers on your skin as his hands skim up your legs is all the forewarning you’re given before he’s pulling down and removing the lace panties that you’ve been soaking through all afternoon because of him.

“Dave— what are you doing?” A breathless question, one you don’t really need a response to as he looks up to you one more time, his pointer finger resting on his mouth then lifting your leg over one of his shoulders. 

He takes in the sight of your glistening wetness, his mouth watering at how you’re dripping for him. The urge to taste you is strong and he gives into it fully. 

From above all you can see is bunched fabric and brown tousled locks when he connects to you, his angular nose pressed into the patch of hair that covers your mound, that first tentative kiss to your sex delicate and heady. The soft pressure of his flat tongue has your eyes rolling back when he starts to lick up and down, savoring the deliciously sweet taste of your arousal. Desire forging through your body with a deep buzzing intensity. 

“Oh fuck! If we get caught— Ah!Shit. Dave— Baby, that feels amazing—” You purr in what you hope is a hushed tone, tilting your pelvis just so, a dire need for a climactic release. 

Dave’s tongue moves in slow circles, teasing and flicking at your clit. His ministrations causing a slow tingle to build in your lower abdomen, steadily increasing in strength as he goes. 

“Ma’am, how’s everything going in there?” The store attendant asks, completely unaware of the lewdness taking place on the other side of the current. 

“Mmhmmm! Great! The dress is p-perfect!!” Your voice shoots up an octave when Dave inserts two fingers into your fluttering pussy in one quick thrust, moving them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your aching clit. 

“That’s so great to hear. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to holler.” She says before you hear the clicking of her boots retreating. 

You are squirming and quietly moaning, your knees nearly buckling as the fiery pleasure gains momentum, completely lost in the blissful sensation.

“You hear that, Baby. She said don’t hesitate to holler. Doing so good for me�� I can never get enough of you!” His fingers hitting that delicious little spot that makes your toes curl, over and over again. 

“Dave— don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. 

He senses the tension building in your body, your walls seizing up around his deft fingers, intensifying his movements, his tongue lapping at every inch of your folds as your arousal runs down his hand. 

“Baby, I'm coming.” You say right before your jaw goes slack, a silent whine only noticeable to you and Dave fills the small space. Your vision dusted in white, a euphoric sensory cloud of light bursting behind your eyes. 

Dave catches you when it becomes too much to stand, whimpering at the loss of his fingers seated so firmly inside you. 

Your skin is dewy. Glowing under the small dressing room light. The beads of sweat running down the length of your neck, sliding down the slopes of your breast, migrating somewhere below the fabric of the dress. 

Dave catches a few salty drops, his tongue trailing over your clavicle makes you aware that he has removed himself from the underside of the skirt. 

You taste the brininess and the sweet tang of your arousal when he licks into your mouth. Zero time to catch your breath, his tongue tangling effortlessly with yours. 

“Hmmm— I take back what I said earlier. I love the way you taste— only flavor for me!” He says smirking against your tingling lips. 

“You are such a menace. But I love you for it.” You pull him in for one last chaste kiss. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, then bends to pick up your discarded panties, stuffing them in his front pocket. 

“Seems like it would be wrong to not buy the dress after that little move you pulled.” Giggling as you begin the process of undoing the back zipper. 

“Knew that would help sway your decision.” He says with an impish grin and wink. 

*

Your reservation has come and gone. 30 minutes to be exact. Misery and frustration fill your veins as you stir the tiny straw in the watered-down concoction. The cocktail-soaked cherry, normally your inaugural sprinkling of how well the drink was mixed, now lays overlooked and forgotten at the bottom of the glass.

The bartender, who checks in with you like clockwork every 10 minutes or so to see if you needed a refill albeit your obvious lack of consumption from the original drink he made, has shown zero annoyance over the fact that you have taken up space in not one, but two chairs at his bustling bar. Your small clutch placed in front of the empty seat reserved for your husband who was supposed to meet you here an hour ago.

*

Dave and you had made your way back to the hotel after purchasing the dress, giving yourselves plenty of time to get ready for the evening Dave had planned out.

It was hard to keep your hands off each other. a magnetic effervescence had you contemplating whether to call off the reservation all together despite Dave’s ecstatic adamancy to make it to the reservation on time. Both of you managed to work against the intense pull, only sharing shy glances and brushing of limbs standing side by side in front of the bathroom mirror while getting ready.

Dave didn’t shy away from flattering you as he helped zip you in, causing you to fight against tears that threatened to ruin the dramatic makeup that paired perfectly with your dress.

I love you. You are so beautiful. How did I get so lucky? I can’t wait to get you out of this dress later.

Dave’s hand molds to yours, a corner of his mouth lifted as you eagerly drag him from your hotel room. Taking advantage of the privacy the small offshoot hallway provides from the main corridor of the floor, he draws you back to him and without hesitation he kisses you with a fiery tenderness. 

“Alright. We need to go.” He says, breathless and not all that convincing. 

“Do we though? We could just swipe the key, make our way back inside, order room service— you can get me out of this dress. See what I may or may not be wearing underneath.” You murmur against his smile, your tongue sensually gliding over the underside of his upper lip causing him to release a heavy sigh, as if he really wants to do exactly just that. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Sweetheart. And as enticing as all of that sounds— amuse me and go along with what I have planned. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back here and I can slowly undress you.” He counters, leaving you little room to dispute his well thought out plan for the evening. 

“Alright, Mr. York. We'll play by your rules.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Dinner. Then straight back here—“

A soft buzzing cuts you off. Dave’s body tenses against yours, releasing you from his hold to retrieve his phone from his black slacks. 

“I need to take this— it’s work.” His demeanor completely shifting from his usual sweet carefree self to closed off and mysterious. 

“Okay. Call them later then. They can leave you a message.” You reach for his hand to continue to make your way down to the restaurant. He pulls away, promptly taking a few steps back, his focus still on the number flashing on his phone screen. 

You’re not sure what hurts more. The fact that Dave is putting work first once again or how he so quickly recoiled when you reached for him. 

“I can’t. I need to take it.” He says, finally looking at you with pleading eyes, and you hate how much you so willingly give into his need to brush off the plans he was only moments ago so eager to get to. 

“Dave— Fine.” Releasing a heavy sigh into the narrow hallway, tightening your grip on the small purse that holds your phone, lip gloss and key card, doing your best to mask the resentment and defeat simmering just below the surface. 

“I’ll be quick. Go grab us a seat at the bar and I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.” He doesn’t give you an opportunity to get another word in, turning to let himself back into the room. 

The bottom of your dress floats in the air, kicking out with each step you take, making your way to the main hall of the floor in the direction of the elevator. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone yet again. Suppressing your swirling emotions for the time being.  

Dave’s hushed voice echoes down the walls. Never actually making back into the room before answering the call. Out in the open. Zero care that his wife is still within earshot. 

“Hey, Ashley… Yeah, she just left. I told her to just wait for me at the bar.” 

You stop dead in your tracks. The swish of your dress is now still at your feet, hanging in its normal wearing state. Your blood runs cold as your brain rapidly tries to digest what you just heard. 

Your heart clings to how easily Dave had been so present and affectionate since this morning. That sinking feeling of your suspicions being revealed. I knew this whole day was too good to be true. 

Everything feels like it’s narrowing. The hallway. Your vision. Your airway. Smaller and smaller. 

Something compels you to keep moving. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone at the bar, away from this man who you no longer find recognizable at this moment. 

*

“Excuse me. Can I get a Scotch, neat, side of water please?” Dave’s whereabouts are no longer unknown to you, leaning an elbow onto the bar as he orders himself a drink, his other hand resting on the back of the chair that has kept you comfortable while you wait. 

“Sorry, that took longer than expected.” Dave apologizes, sealing it with a kiss to your cheek. 

You hum a lackluster response. Gnawing at your bottom lip as you focus on the dilapidated napkin you’ve been rolling and unraveling, folding and unfolding for the umpteenth time. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, his hand moves to rest on your back but now it’s your turn to recoil from his touch, leaning forward before he’s able to make contact. 

“Yeah— I’m great.” You say flatly, only briefly looking at him to deliver your annoyed smile, then back to the crinkled napkin that’s now serving as an absorbent to pooling condensation. 

“Here you are sir.” The bartender interrupts, placing the single malt and ice water on the bar, Dave nods his thanks. 

You don’t have it in you to pry or question his tardiness. So you continue to sit in silence, watching Dave out of your peripheral properly dilute his drink so it’s suitable for sipping. 

“You’re not wearing your ring?” He points out to your bare ring finger then takes a light sip of the diluted scotch. 

The fingers of your left hand pause, fanning out so you can inspect the observation yourself. The usually adorned finger is stripped, lacking your wedding band and engagement ring.  

“Oh— I must have forgotten to put it back on after we went to the pool…” You hadn’t realized how naked it felt all day, the fingers of your right hand soothing over the indent skin, recalling when you had tossed the jewelry haphazardly into your bag yesterday. 

“You don’t think these strangers will get the wrong idea?” You sense an attempt at humor in his voice, only he has failed to read the room. His government skills not sensing you have zero interest in Dave’s untimely decision to be a humorist. “A beautiful woman, alone at a bar, without her wedding rings— Don’t want—“

“Excuse me— can you put my drink on his tab? He’ll be taking care of it, along with your generous tip.” You alert the passing bartender. You swivel your barstool just enough to reach around Dave’s solid form to grab your purse, then swivel in the opposite direction to stand. You tuck your purse under your arm, before delivering the irritation that has finally begun to boil over. “I think the only stranger confused about our marriage is you, Dave.” 

“Wait— Where are you going?” His hand gently clasped around your upper arm, halting your departure. 

You glance down at where his hand holds you, his thumb actively moving in soft circles over your skin, trying his best to distract and diffuse the air between you. Unfortunately, too little too late. 

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you, Dave— for a fucking hour. I’m going back to the room.” You pull your arm from his grip and leave without another word. 

Dave somehow manages to catch the same elevator, but you don’t bother acknowledging his presence as he stands on the opposite side of the small metal cabin. The other riding passengers don’t suspect you two even know each other or the emanant rift that is unfolding between you, just two lone hotel guests sharing a lift to their designated floor. 

2 stops allow for the other guests to get on to their respective floors, leaving only you and Dave left to continue the ride to the final stop. 

The striking silence is met with electric chords spilling from the small speakers in the elevator. The familiar tune feels like an old friend you’ve been reacquainted with after months apart. Those first few lines wrap around you, embracing you fully— I’ve missed you so. The chorus drawing your gaze to where your husband stands slouched against the mirrored wall, looking equally as somber as you feel, his eyes already drawn to you in the same manner. 

A smile tugs at your lips, a fleeting moment of remembrance to that night so many years ago. That night where Dave was more than just a stranger in a bar. He was your future. Your home. Dave without a doubt was the best thing to happen to you. 

The memory of meeting Dave is interrupted by a soft ding and the doors slowly unveiling your intended destination. 

You stalk towards the room with a graceful backbone, a beautiful facade to how you truly feel inside, keeping yourself together with each poised stride. Dave takes his position two steps behind, vigilantly in tune with your body language. 

There’s a sense of relief that overcomes you the second the door closes and the lock clicks. No longer needing to keep a composed demeanor to prying eyes. No longer allowing the hurt to fester and torment your heart in a stealthily manner. 

They flow furiously once they start. Tears streaming down your face. Silent sobs cracking in your throat. 

You move about busily, grabbing and tossing, too lost in your own blurry thoughts to even notice Dave standing there watching you. 

“What are you doing?” Dave asks, perplexed by the way you’re flinging item after item into your suitcase that lays open on the bed. 

“You’re a smart man, Dave. I’m sure you can figure that out.” Grabbing a drawer’s entire contents and dropping it messily into your bag. 

“I get that you’re packing. Why are you packing is my concern.” He takes a timid step closer towards the streamline process of you moving about. 

“I’m going home. I’ll catch a ride to the airport. Book a new flight when I get there. I can have Jacey pick me up when I land.” A plan you had thoroughly developed before Dave had arrived at the bar. 

“Wait— you’re going home? Why? What’s going on?” He steps directly into your path, hindering your progress. 

“I don’t know anymore, Dave. I thought this was what we needed. Some time away together. Away from work. Away from our normal lives. Just us reconnecting. But it seems like this whole thing was just wasted effort.” You try to wipe the tears, but they just continue to fall. 

“Baby, you’re not making any sense right now.” He knows he should allow you space, but the urge to pull you into him is stronger. 

“It’s been months. Months of you working long hours. Months of missed dinners and late nights at the office. Months of being alone at night wondering if you’re okay and when you’ll be home. Months of worrying that something is happening between us and trying to figure out how to fix it.” Each convulsive gasp for air you struggle for fans across Dave’s neck. His arms tightening around you, every word slicing through his chest. 

“Fuck—“ He murmurs, his cheek pressed into the side of your head, your tearful confession not anything he expected to hear tonight. 

“If you didn’t want to c-come with me— I would have u-understood.” Your shoulders jostle in Dave’s arms, your own arms hanging at your side, still holding a few loose garments in your fists. 

“What? No! Baby, I wanted to come. I want to be here— with you.” Dave pulls back, enough so you can see the sureness in his eyes. 

“What about her? Wouldn’t you rather be here with— h-her?” Your voice cracks at the thought of Dave with someone who isn’t you. 

“Her? What are you talking about?” 

“Ashley— She’s the important phone calls you’ve been taking. The work that can’t wait. She’s why you’ve been so distant with me for months.” It feels like glass the minute it leaves your mouth, shattering across your tongue, nearly choking on the tiny little shards. 

“Honey, you think I’m having an affair?” A nod is all your weary state can give. An affair— it’s the only thing that makes sense to you right now. 

“I heard you talking to her several times since we got here, Dave. The last time being when you told me you had to take an important call and you would meet me at the bar before our dinner reservation.” 

You’re not sure what you expect him to do now that he’s been caught. Confess to his actions. Tell you everything from the beginning. Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. It was a mistake, it will never happen again. 

What you don’t expect is to see a single tear fall down his handsome face. To see a look of rich tenderness in his eyes. Warmth in his touch as he wipes away the wet worriment painted over your face. 

“Baby— Fuck, I’m so sorry. To say that this trip so far has been stressful would be an understatement. Nothing I had planned for this trip has gone right— even after months and months of preparation. And you’re right, they weren’t work phone calls— not all of them at least. I’m so sorry for making you feel like I didn’t want to be here— I do. I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.” 

“Show me what?” You ask him. 

“Come with me so you can see for yourself. And if you still want to go home afterwards, we’ll leave tonight.” Dave’s head tilts, his eyes searching yours hoping to relieve any reservations you still might be internally feeling. 

“I look like a blubbering mess right now.” You use what you now realize are a pair of socks to wipe any streaks of makeup smeared on your face. 

“No you don’t. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says, his lips molding over yours are a sobering reflection of his love for you. 

Not much else is said on the trek back down to the lobby, allowing Dave to take you to wherever this mysterious place is. 

There’s a nervousness about him, his jitters, while subtle, are loud and obvious. Holding his sweaty palm against yours. His other hand actively fidgeting in his pocket. Head tilt back, then forward, stretching his neck from side to side. 

You lean into his shoulder, tucking your free hand under his arm, hoping to ground him a bit. It helps, you feel him relax instantly into your touch. His lips pressing to the side of your head, Thank you. 

“Dave, where are we going?” You ask as you walk in an unfamiliar area of the hotel. 

“Almost there.” He says, his fingers squeezing in small bursts against your hand. 

It’s a long hallway covered in an elaborate wallpaper with rich details of floral patterns and bold hues. It's dimly lit due to the fact that there’s zero windows, the only light is given by the mid century style sconce fixtures lining the walls. Potted plants strategically placed around sculptures and empty velvet chairs. 

You’re met with two large wooden doors as you approach the end of the hall, but it’s the woman standing in front of them that has your attention. She’s beautiful, actually she’s stunning. Her smile is so warm and inviting, beaming at you as you and Dave walk closer to where she stands. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting diligently for your arrival. 

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley.”