#and even if you know it’s not always personal and it’s just how whatever it is manifests

[chosok-amo]

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, cōck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

[niilue]

—when vi finally speaks, it’s not just her words you hear, but the weight of everything she’s too scared to lose.—

part i.

cw: female reader, vi x reader, angsty, jealousy, emotional hurt, hurt-comfort, vi’s emotional struggle, vulnerable vi, mention of caitvi's relationship, slow burn, spoilers s2. this is long writer's note: guys this is long!! i didn't even know how to do this part, i tried to make it as canon as possible to vi's character, and remember this is fiction, not hate <3-

vi didn’t move immediately after ou left. she stood there, in the middle of the alley, listening to the sound of your footsteps fading away and feeling like with each one, something inside her broke a little more. your words still echoed in her head, louder than any punch she had ever taken in the ring.

"why are you acting like this is personal?"

she had said those words reflexively, without thinking, in an attempt to protect herself. but now, as she remembered them, all she felt was a sharp pang of shame. she had seen the pain in your face when she said them, had felt the weight of your emotions and how your words had been filled with anger and something deeper, something vi couldn’t quite understand.

"why did it matter so much to her?"

it was the only question she could ask herself as she stood there, motionless. she had faced fights, betrayals, even death, but she had never dealt with something as confusing as this. she had never had to look at someone and realize she didn’t understand what they were feeling.

caitlyn approached, breaking the silence with a tone that seemed to carry more judgment than compassion.

“vi…”

“not now, cait,” vi replied automatically, with a harshness that wasn’t aimed at her, but at herself.

but caitlyn didn’t stop.

“vi, you have to let her go. it’s clear that this… whatever it is that’s going on between you two…”

“you don’t understand!” vi raised her voice, turning toward caitlyn. her eyes were red, full of frustration and something caitlyn hadn’t seen in her before: fear.

caitlyn raised her hands in surrender, but the damage was already done. vi felt the explosion of emotions inside her, a chaos of unanswered questions that pushed her to act, to move, even though she didn’t know where to go.

"why does she care so much?"

vi started walking aimlessly, her footsteps echoing in the empty streets of zaun while her mind raced. the image of your face, of your eyes full of tears and pain, wouldn’t leave her alone. you had said you were nothing, that you would never be anything, but even so, your words had been full of something more: broken hope, a love that seemed too strong to ignore.

"why does she look at me like that?" vi thought, clenching her fists. she wanted to hit something, wanted all that noise in her head to stop. but she couldn’t. your words were still there, like an echo that wouldn’t fade.

“i never asked her to stay,” she muttered to herself, her voice heavy with self-defense.

but as soon as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

vi stopped in a dark corner, leaning against the wall as her breathing turned erratic. the streets around her were empty, but inside her, everything was full of noise.

“she’s the one who decided to stay,” she whispered again, trying to convince herself. but she couldn’t.

every time she tried to come up with an excuse, your image came back to her mind: you, taking care of her on the days when she didn’t even want to get off the floor. you, following her steps even when she yelled at you to leave her alone. you, looking at her like there was still something in her worth saving.

"why did you do it? why do you care so much?"

vi closed her eyes, her hands trembling as she tried to recall every word you had said. you had mentioned the darkest moments, the days when she punished herself in the ring, the days when alcohol was her only companion.

you had said you were there. that you had always been there.

vi felt something inside her break. you had been there, yes, but she had never seen it that way. she had never allowed those things to matter because… because if she did, she would have to face something she wasn’t ready to feel.

"why did you do it?" she murmured, as if speaking to you, though you weren’t there to hear her.

the answer came slowly, like a current breaking through the chaos in her mind. you hadn’t done it for her. you had done it because it was what you felt. because you wanted to save her, even when she didn’t want to save herself.

"you took it personally because it was always personal."

vi felt the air leave her lungs. it wasn’t just that you cared. it was that you had always seen something in her that she couldn’t see in herself. and now that she finally understood, now that the pieces were falling into place, you were gone.

she closed her eyes tightly, letting her head fall back against the wall. tears began to stream down her cheeks, hot and silent. she didn’t try to stop them.

"i’m such a coward."

that was the only conclusion she could come to. you had been there, enduring her worst, taking care of her when no one else would, and she had ignored it all. and when you had finally laid your feelings bare, when you had exposed the full weight of what it meant to love her, vi had responded with doubt, with silence, with words she now knew she should never have said.

"why are you acting like this is personal?"

because it had always been personal.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

vi turned the corner into the alley and saw you. you were sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around your knees, with your hair falling over your face, hiding your eyes. she knew you’d been crying. she knew because she recognized that posture, that way of curling up when the pain consumes you and you don’t know how to keep going.

vi took a deep breath, forcing herself to take a step toward you. then another. and another. her boots echoed softly against the damp ground of the alley, but you didn’t lift your head. not until she finally spoke, her voice low and tense:

“i’m here.”

those two words made you lift your head, though slowly, as if every muscle in your body weighed too much. your eyes, swollen and red, met vi’s, and she felt something inside her crack at the sight of all the pain she’d caused.

“why?” you asked, your voice broken but sharp enough to cut deeper than any shout.

vi swallowed hard, looking at the ground before forcing herself to meet your gaze again. her hands trembled at her sides as she tried to find the right words. but there weren’t any.

“i can’t leave you like this,” she admitted at last, her tone so low it was almost a whisper.

you laughed, but it was a bitter, joyless laugh. “you couldn’t leave me like this? that didn’t seem to matter when you let me spill everything i was feeling, and you didn’t do anything.”

vi pressed her lips together. she couldn’t defend herself from that because it was true. she had left you alone, not because she didn’t care, but because she didn’t know what to do with what she felt. because she was afraid.

“i didn’t know how to react,” she confessed, her voice still tense. she took another step toward you, though you didn’t move. “i don’t know how to handle this… how to handle you.”

your brows furrowed, your eyes shining with a mix of disbelief and anger. “and what does that even mean, vi? what the hell does that mean?”

vi took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair, tugging at the short strands as if that would help her think.

“it means i care about you,” she finally said, and though her voice was low, every word came out with an intensity that seemed to fill the entire alley. “it means you matter to me more than i know how to handle.”

the weight of her words hung in the air between you, and vi lifted her gaze to yours, searching for some sign that it wasn’t too late. but there was no response on your face, only a mix of emotions she couldn’t decipher.

“if i really mattered to you, you wouldn’t have done this,” you said, and your words were like a direct blow to her chest.

vi clenched her fists, but she didn’t look away. she knew you were right. but that didn’t make it any easier to face.

“it’s not that simple,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to hold herself together. “not after what happened with caitlyn.”

the mention of her name made your expression harden, and vi noticed.

“what does she have to do with this?” you asked, though you knew the answer might not be what you wanted to hear.

vi closed her eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the truth hit her before forcing herself to speak. “cait… made me believe i could trust someone again. that i could be more than a broken fighter.”

your chest tightened at her words, but you didn’t interrupt.

“and then, when things got bad, she left. she hit me, insinuated i was a monster, and walked away,” she continued, her voice cracking slightly at the end. her eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in her before: fear. pure, absolute fear. “it wasn’t just what she said or did. it was… that she made me think something i’d never believed was possible. and then she took it away.”

vi’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath for too long. “i don’t know if i can trust someone like that again. i don’t know if i can let myself feel that again.”

her words fell over you like a weight, but you didn’t let your expression change.

“then why are you here?” you asked, your voice filled with pain and defiance. “if you can’t trust anyone, why do you keep coming back to me?”

vi lifted her head quickly, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. she took another step toward you, this time lifting a trembling hand, though she didn’t touch you.

“because it’s different with you,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, there was something in her tone that made it sound louder than any shout. “because you saw me when no one else did. because when i wanted to destroy myself, you wouldn’t let me.”

vi lowered her hand slowly, her shoulders sagging as her voice softened even more. “but you scare me too. because with you, i can’t pretend. and i don’t know if i’m ready for that.”

the silence that followed was deafening. you could see the internal struggle in her gaze, the way she was caught between wanting to move forward and the fear that kept her anchored to the past.

finally, you let out a shaky sigh, turning your eyes away. “then i don’t know what you want from me, vi.”

vi pressed her lips together, her eyes filled with something that looked like a silent plea. “i want to try. even if i don’t know how.”

your chest ached as you listened to her, but you couldn’t just give in. not after what you’d seen, after what you’d felt hearing her call her “cupcake” as if nothing you had done for her mattered.

“this doesn’t erase what you did, vi,” you said, your voice low but firm, trembling under the weight of the emotions you had tried so hard to hold back. “it doesn’t change how i felt when i saw you call her that, like… like i didn’t mean anything to you.”

vi blinked, her face contorting into a pained expression. her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but you raised a hand, stopping her before she could start.

“you don’t get it, do you?” you continued, your words laced with restrained anger. “it’s not just the nickname. it’s what it represents. it’s how it makes me feel, like everything i did for you wasn’t enough.”

vi opened her mouth, but her voice broke before any words could come out. finally, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to respond. “i didn’t mean for you to take it that way. it wasn’t because you don’t matter to me.”

“and how am i not supposed to take it that way, vi?” you shot back, taking a step closer to her, letting the intensity of your words fill the space between you. “you always say you don’t know how to handle this, but it seems so easy with her.”

vi shook her head quickly, her eyes filled with something that looked like panic. “it’s not easy with caitlyn. it never was.”

the mention of her name made your teeth clench, but you forced yourself to let her continue.

“with her it’s… it’s different,” vi admitted, her words clumsy but honest. “cait was always… what i thought i needed. someone who made me feel like i could be more than what i am. but with you…”

she trailed off, her gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again.

“with you, i feel exposed. and that scares me because i don’t know if i’m made for something like this.”

you stood in silence, your breathing shaky as you processed her words. the anger burning in your chest still lingered, but there was something in her tone, in the way her hands trembled at her sides, that made your defenses start to crack.

“that doesn’t make it hurt any less, vi,” you finally murmured, your eyes shining with tears you refused to let fall. “but at least now i know why.”

vi nodded slowly, swallowing hard as if admitting all of this had drained every ounce of energy she had. she took another step toward you, her voice lowering even more.

“i want you to trust me. i know i don’t deserve it yet, but i want to try. i want this to mean something.”

for a moment, the weight of her words filled the space between you. it wasn’t a perfect promise. it wasn’t an immediate solution. but it was something.

you took a deep breath, looking away for a moment before locking your gaze back onto hers. “then show me, vi. because if you ever make me feel like i’m not enough again… i won’t stay.”

vi nodded again, more slowly this time, and though her eyes still held uncertainty, there was something new in them: determination.

you didn’t say anything else. you turned toward the alley’s exit, your footsteps echoing softly against the ground as you walked away. vi didn’t stop you this time, but she didn’t take her eyes off you until you disappeared into the darkness.

she stayed there, motionless, her chest tight and the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. she knew that this time, words wouldn’t be enough. she knew she would have to show you that you could trust her.

for the first time in a long time, vi felt like she had something to fight for.

[parfaitblogs]

state of grace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your cat has taken liking to your friend with benefits, and you begin to battle with the consequential feelings. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff (18+ for suggestive content) tags: established friends with benefits. reader has a cat. your cat likes him more than you :(  avoidant!reader for like a teensie second. it's okay happy ending. the happiest possible ending actually. fade to black. word count: 1.9k a/n: sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things. like a cat. :) im a dog person. idk why i wrote this.

Seventeen times.

That is how many times Spencer Reid had found residence at your apartment in the past month alone, taking up the space on the other side of your bed. Thirteen of those times he had stayed the night. Six of those times, he had come for sex. The other eleven? He had come because you needed a friend. 

Or, rather, your cat did. 

You had discovered you weren't any more complex than your average man, at the end of the day. Human beings are at their core created to love and be loved, and by extension, to want and be wanted. You wanted Spencer, and you were wanted by Spencer. For both your friendship, and the intimacy your relationship provided. 

But you did not love him, and he did not love you. 

Cat's are anything but fickle creatures. A lot of your best friendships were centred around whether or not your cat developed a liking to the person or not. Oftentimes, your fleeting relationships came down to the odd sixth sense the animal had for disliking the worst people. That, and your one night stands were never a crowd favourite within the walls of your apartment. And yet; Spencer Reid. 

He was nothing short of charming. In a sort of dorky way, yes. But whatever socially romantic skills he lacked, he most certainly made up for by giving you the best of just about everything in bed. A small part of you wants to claim it's human instinct to know how to worship the person meant for you, but the logical reason is probably his eidetic memory knowing exactly what he's doing after a singular trial run. Entertaining the thought of being his soulmate was not a wise choice.

He most certainly was your cat's, though. The Ragdoll always jumping down to greet him the second he stepped foot in your apartment, usually resulting in the break of a kiss and a five minute intermission before the two of you could do anything. 

At first, it was an inconvenience. Your cat had never taken such a liking to a person you'd brought home before, and it was jarring to watch a man you were partially trying to undress, stop everything to pet your cat. Now, it is simply endearing. You've stopped trying to steal Spencer's attention before the cat does, and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer's priority list will always be the feline, then you. 

Today was, seemingly, no different. Despite the dull ache between your legs and the fact that this visit had started as something as obscene as Spencer calling from his work bathroom to ask if he could come over after for he was, and you quote, in dire need to touch you (among many other things), whatever those needs were, were put on hold. 

You smile regardless, leaning against the edge of your couch as he crouches down to meet Po — yes, like the panda — his hand immediately reaching out for the cat to run his head along. 

Spencer's head lifts to look at you. "Morgan thinks Po isn't a real cat, and we've just got a name for your—um—" his brain catches up to his mouth mid sentence, and he's stammering his way to silence. 

"Please tell me you defended my cat's honour," you retort.

"I did! I even showed him the photo I took of him while you were in the shower last week. He thinks it's a different person's cat."

You shake your head in disapproval. "Unbelievable. Your coworker thinks we've named my pussy."

"That's just Morgan."

"I wish Po could speak English. Then he could hear this nonsense, and stop loving you more than me," you grumble, and Spencer's lips twitch up into a smile, as he situates himself on the floor, the cat climbing into his lap.

"Actually, he technically can. Cat's can understand up to thirty-five words in whatever language you train them in. Also, when they meow, they begin trying to mimic the sound of certain human words. It's their vocal tract that prevents them from literally speaking English," he explains.

But, you're too invested in the way his long fingers are delicately running through the cat's hair, to both respond, and really pay any attention at all.

You had had fleeting thoughts about real feelings for Spencer two months ago. Brushing them off as loneliness and your need to satiate the hopeless romantic within you, you'd forgotten about it up until this recent week.

He'd been over every single day, sometimes for sex, oftentimes for a movie and dinner (which was usually a bowl of pasta you had overestimated while cooking). And every single time, you'd developed an overwhelming anxious pit in your stomach when watching him interact with Po, your heart fluttering the entire time, mind running rampant on domestic thoughts you should be squashing. 

Should be, but weren't. 

You'd tried to put it down to the motherly instinct you had over the animal. Seeing somebody else treat him with as much love and care as you did was endearing — it wasn't a Spencer Reid specific trait. Yet, here you were. 

"I feel like the benefits of this relationship have changed," you say, seating yourself in front of Spencer on the floor, Po lifting his head to look at the person behind the sudden movement, before he let it rest back on Spencer's thigh. 

"To what?"

"My cat," you huff, and Spencer laughs.

"He is my favourite benefit thus far," he muses. 

"The feeling is definitely mutual," you nod your head to Po, whose eyes were now shut, seemingly quite comfortable disregarding all your personal plans and taking Spencer's attention.

"Animals don't usually like me," he comments. "I don't know why Po is different."

Oh, you had a few ideas why.

"Maybe he's exercising the keep your enemies closer life motto," you offer, and Spencer's eyebrows shoot up in faux offence. 

"This is unadulterated love," he protests. "He does not think of me as an enemy."

"That's what he wants you to believe," you hum, pushing yourself up on your legs. "Well, since plans have been rudely interrupted, do you want some dinner?" 

"Sure," he answers, though his attention is back on Po. Clearly so, for he says, "I'll get to our original plans after we eat, don't worry," almost absentmindedly.

It's the kind of thing that makes you forget you're in the room with the dictionary definition of a nerd. You know it's only because sometimes he says what he is thinking without thinking. It doesn't do anything to help the ongoing internal battle about your feelings for him. 

Or maybe he does know exactly what he's doing.

"You should get a cat," you say, heading into your kitchen to find something for the two of you to eat. "You seem to like them enough."

"Why? I have yours."

"I'm not going to be around forever," you reply, unthinking. "I mean, one day we're gonna have to end this because the other has found someone they want to be with. Properly. It wouldn't be fair to keep a friendship."

He falls silent, and when you lift your head, you see he's staring at you with an almost confused frown on his face, which triggers your own confusion to appear. His scratching of Po's head has been interrupted, and you're starting to question what was wrong about what you had said. 

Sure, you're pretty sure you have feelings for him, but as far as you knew, they were one sided. Right?

"I didn't—I thought—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, then continues. "I thought that had changed this past month."

"What do you mean?"

"I just—I've been here for things other than sex a lot. I thought you knew I liked you, and you were subtly trying to tell me you liked me too. I'm starting to sense I misread that."

For a profiler, he was incredibly awful at reading you. 

"Yeah..." You slowly nod your head, but it's the deepening of his frown that has you rushing to add, "I mean, I—I do. Like you. I'm kind of embarrassed that was obvious. But I didn't think you liked me outside of having sex with me. I wasn't trying to communicate my feelings. I was trying to hide them."

"Oh," he falls silent again. "So the times I’ve been here in the past month weren’t makeshift dates?"

"They weren't intended that way..." you trail off. "Did you see them as dates?"

"Kind of, I guess," he's back to running his fingers through Po's fur, just to keep his anxious hands busy. "They don't have to be, if you don't want them to. I just thought this feeling was mutual and we were... I guess, dating."

"The feeling is mutual," you quickly correct him. "I know that now. I didn't think we were dating because I didn't think you liked me back. Changing our relationship kind of needs to be a conversation."

"Right," he breathes out, an awkward smile painting his lips. "Is this the conversation, then?"

"I guess?"

"So now we're dating."

"If that's what you want," you nod, head feeling a little fuzzy.

"Is it what you want?" he presses. Always the gentleman.

"Maybe," you muse, leaning forwards against the kitchen countertop. 

He's watching you, and for a second you let the silence fall over you, fearful that you've just discouraged him enough to ruin things between you. He carefully takes Po off his lap, the cat running into your room the second his paws hit the hardwood floor, and he's standing up to move over to you. 

"I don't like maybe," he frowns. "Yes or no?"

You blink, realising he was evidently too anxious of your genuine response to have any recognition to your poor attempt of a joke. 

"Yes, Spencer. That's what I want," you're breathless as you speak, and you're thankful for the relieved smile that stretches across his lips.

"That's what I want too," he answers. 

"Yeah, I figured." Your second attempt at a tease lands, and he huffs a small laugh, which warms your heart. "Do you still want dinner?"

He had somehow gotten closer to you throughout the awkward enough conversation, and he was sliding his arms around your waist. Something he had done many times before, yes, and yet this time it was feeling much more intimate, and your heart was thrumming against your chest a little harder than usual. 

"Maybe it can wait?" he offers, ducking his head down, lips ghosting over your own. "I don't have a bothersome cat keeping me preoccupied from you, now."

Despite yourself, you poke a finger into his chest and say, "Don't insult Po."

"I'm not. Just merely stating an obvious fact."

"I'll call him back in here to preoccupy me."

"He has selective hearing. And he likes me more than you."

Your lips drop into a frown, lower lip jutting out, and Spencer is quick to try and kiss it off within seconds of noticing it. 

"I'm sorry. That was mean. I promise he doesn't like me more than you," he says, though his voice is too amused to be entirely sincere. 

"That was mean," you agree with a firm nod. "You're very mean to me, Spencer Reid."

"I know, I'm awful. Can I make it up to you, sweet girl?"

Well, when he asks you like that.

"Mm..." you hesitate, but he's already guiding you around, walking you backwards, through your apartment and towards your bedroom. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hands that were around your waist hike your shirt up, his lips still kissing against your skin despite the intense multitasking he was forcing upon the two of you.

"Thank you."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[gojosprettyprincess]

Kento’s favorite position will always be fucking you in a mean mating press where he had your body forcefully folded in half by his, because there’s just something so raw and intimate about having your bodies and soft skin pressed up against each other in such a filthy manner. Both of your sweaty bodies melted into each other’s as he pounded you deeper and deeper into the soft mattress with such neediness and desperation. Every time he’d possessively thrust himself into you, it had the entire bed creaking and the mattress sinking lower and lower because of his overpowering strength and weight. It’s almost crazy how he’s practically crushing you with his muscular body. The way he’d manhandle you and bend your legs into your body was so inhuman and fucked up but obviously based on the countless times that he had wrecked your little pussy and stretched your tight walls soo widely to hug his cock in such an ideal way that was only meant for him, in that exact familiar routine of a position. You were very much used to it by now.

The way his damped, tousled blonde hair gently brushed against his chiseled face captured your attention—God he’s so beautiful, no renaissance painting could ever be compared to Kento's face. It was a literal masterpiece. God you couldn’t wait to start a family with this man because you already know you’d have the most cutest babies. He stared down at your fucked out expression that he fucking loved seeing so much, so pretty and alluring. All dumbed down and stupid just from his cock. It never fails to captivate his soul each time he's making love to you. He could stare at you for hours.

You weren’t the most flexible person but of course, Kento always managed to manipulate and manhandle your poor body effortlessly in whatever position that he desired. He’s not mean during sex but he’s definitely not the sweetest either, Especially after he returns home from a frustrating and tough day at work, his mind consumed with stress and pent-up desire and his cock twitching in his pants with heavy, thick balls filled with seed that he’s been storing up to stuff into you with, after he comes from work.

It wasn’t even a second after you greeted him, that honeyed tone in your voice humming his favorite tune, “Kentooo, you’re back!!”. Barely two minutes had passed and in the blink of an eye, you were trapped beneath his large, muscular frame with his aching, swollen length buried sooo deep between your tight walls. his mushroom tip kissing the tender, sensitive spots that made you soo mindlessly dumb, it had you forgetting about the little rule you had about no sex until he’s well fed after work because as his devoted housewife, you also labored diligently to prepare dinner for him.

What if it gets cold?!!

Well, Kento sure doesn’t give a fuck because he’s way too hungry for something else.

His black and yellow tie is loosely dangling over your face as the gentle waft of his minty cologne which you had sprayed on his chest earlier before he went to work, drifts in your nostrils, making your mind hazy and had your pussy pooling even more slick around his veiny shaft. “Good God, fuck this pussy is perfect darling, sooo perfect almost as perfect n pretty as you” his husky voice echoes with admiration, the outline of his bulging veins on his arms straining through his rolled-up sleeves, showcasing the raw strength he had as he gripped onto the sheets besides your head for sheer stability as his tired eyes—visible with exhaustion and teary, lazily stared into yours.

“Kento–“ you cried out, your nails digging into his beefy forearm as you looked up at him with pleading eyes that sent his cock throbbing embarrassingly. Fuck it took everything in him to restrain himself from not getting you pregnant with his kids right now.

“Yes, my love? Tell me what you need darling, m’here for you”. He whispered tenderly, he flashed a charming smile at you before placing a quick, affectionate kiss on your ankle that has been thumping against his huge shoulders the entire time as he ruts his hips into you animalistically.

“Missed you ken!, so so much” your heart beating with desire and love as his chest smushed your soft breasts against him. Beads of sweat glistening from his hairline, threatening to drip onto your face as you move your hands up to wrap them around his neck. A genuine smile spread across his face due to your performance of affection.

“Missed you too my love, God you were clouding my thoughts so much sweetheart, couldn’t stop thinking about you and this pretty little pussy today.” He confessed to you in his deep, sexy voice before smashing his soft lips onto yours. Your nails violently dug into his clothed back that was fortunately shielding him from the nasty, red marks you were plotting to leave. Both of you groaned into the kiss, your spit and saliva mincing together lewdly to the point where it was steeping out of your mouth. His swollen lips feverishly melded against yours, making it practically impossible for you to breathe but you didn’t mind one bit. It all just felt so delicious. His glossy, pink tip skillfully pokes against your sensitive g-spot, making your toes curl in your socks at how good he’s making you feel. God, he was so perfect. His huffs of golden, blond pubic hair tantalizingly grazed against your sticky clit— rubbing it unintentionally, making your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head as he assaulted your lips. your tongues now entwining and swirling together disgustingly. The kiss was so sweet and affectionate, it made your heart fluttered.

His grunts and moans filled the room like a symphony. it was nothing but music to your ears. Kento was perfect in every single way possible. He was such a man, not just any man. He's a gentleman, his masculine presence would be overwhelming for any soul that has never experienced what it'd be like to encounter a real man.

You’d do anything for him, you loved Kento in a particular way where it would be so fucking offensive to the person who founded feminism.

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.

word count: 10.7k

author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!

Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."

Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.

All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.

But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.

Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.

Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.

If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.

You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.

You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.

You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.

You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.

Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.

But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.

She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.

To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.

You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.

It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.

And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.

No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.

Brian.

Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.

She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.

The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.

Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.

But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.

It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.

But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.

Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.

Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.

Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.

But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.

Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.

While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.

The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.

But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.

Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.

Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.

The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.

When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.

There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.

That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.

But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.

The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.

She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.

And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.

She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.

Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.

But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.

She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.

She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.

So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.

She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.

At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.

During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.

And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.

It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.

She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.

The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.

She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.

And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.

Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.

She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.

It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.

And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.

She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.

But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.

Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.

She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.

Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.

You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"

Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"

You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.

She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.

You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.

Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.

Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.

You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.

She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.

"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.

Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."

Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"

Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.

But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"

"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.

Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?

But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.

She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.

The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.

"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.

You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."

The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.

She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.

Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.

Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."

But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.

Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"

Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.

Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."

Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.

She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.

Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.

Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.

Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.

She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.

She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.

First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.

She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.

And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.

She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.

The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.

The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.

You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.

She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.

The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.

She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.

And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.

She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.

It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.

If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.

She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?

At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.

She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.

In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.

If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.

If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.

You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"

Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.

She should've said no. She wanted to say no.

But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.

And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.

That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.

What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.

But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.

But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...

Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.

Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.

"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."

It won't be the same without you.

Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.

You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.

"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."

The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.

She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.

She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.

She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.

___

"What about this one?"

Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.

The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.

It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.

You were dressing up for him.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.

She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.

It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.

The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.

Did Brian? She doubted it.

He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.

He didn't know you, not like she did.

"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"

Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.

Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.

"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.

"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."

Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.

"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.

Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.

She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.

"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.

Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.

Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"

Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.

She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.

"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.

Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.

She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.

"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.

"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.

The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.

"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.

You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.

As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.

She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.

Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.

The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.

She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.

Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.

You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.

"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.

Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."

Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.

She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.

She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.

Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.

You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.

"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.

You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.

Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"

Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.

"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."

She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."

You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."

Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.

___

The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.

Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.

People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.

You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.

"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."

Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.

The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."

"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"

Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.

He didn't deserve that smile.

Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"

She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."

If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.

You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.

You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.

Brian.

He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.

You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.

Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.

You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.

You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.

She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.

At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.

But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.

Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.

Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.

"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.

She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."

She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.

You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"

She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."

You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.

By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.

The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.

Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.

And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.

Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.

Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.

So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.

The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.

You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.

She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.

It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.

Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.

So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.

Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.

It was rage.

Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.

But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.

It was a problem. A huge one.

The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.

And still, she couldn't look away.

She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.

Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.

She wanted to scream.

To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.

But she didn't.

Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:

You're not supposed to feel like this.

So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.

And still, she couldn't look away.

Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.

A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.

When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.

Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.

You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.

"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.

Tara felt something snap.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.

She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.

Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"

Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.

"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."

It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.

You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"

You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.

The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.

But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.

Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.

He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.

He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.

How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?

Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.

Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.

Tara nearly saw red.

She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?

How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?

It was insulting. Infuriating.

She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.

All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.

His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.

Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.

Because this wasn't about him.

It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.

This was about her.

Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.

The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?

Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.

His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.

She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.

It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.

It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.

She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.

This wasn't about him.

But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.

No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.

And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.

His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.

She should've.

But she didn't.

Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.

Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.

And she let him.

Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.

Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.

It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.

And yet, she let it happen.

Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.

But it didn't.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.

When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.

What had she done?

Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.

Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.

Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.

She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.

You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.

She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.

You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?

Nothing.

Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.

She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.

Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

[werevampiwolf]

More general boob stuff

Some people have really big or dark nipples. This is fine. But if your nipple suddenly gets bigger or darker, you should get that checked.

Having a "donut" keyhole breast implant surgery can cause your nipples to grow. Something to be aware of if you plan on getting one.

There are more than one type of breast implant surgery and breast reduction surgery. They leave different scars, and how feasible they are depends on how big your boobs are before and after surgery

If you get breast reduction surgery, you might have to have your nipples grafted. This is normal. Some breast shapes, such as long tubular breasts like mine, make it difficult or impossible to maintain a blood supply to the nipple after surgery without the grafting. No blood supply equals dead tissue. Very bad.

If blood comes out of your nipples, get that checked. If you're currently breastfeeding and your baby likes to bite, it might just be caused by that but you should still get it checked. If you're not breastfeeding, you really need to get that checked. It might be cancer or something else bad.

As stated above, people, including cis men, can lactate. However, if you randomly start lactating and you are not pregnant and haven't been pregnant recently, you should get that checked. It might just be hormonal or due to overstimultion of the nipples, but it can also be caused by a tumor. Certain medications and health conditions can also cause it, but you should still get it checked.

Breast cancer can include the tail of spence, AKA "armpit fat", because it's part of the breast tissue. My grandmother's breast cancer was there.

If you get nipple piercings, you need to clean them, like any other kind of piercing. You should probably not use a loofah around your nipple piercings. Also, it's probably not a good idea to have metal nipple piercings in when it's extremely hot or cold out, or if you're pressing your chest against a hot or cold surface. (I have never had nipple piercings, but I do have a good understanding of thermoconductivity, and i know people with them.)

Trans Boobs, Guy Edition (Also applies to AFAB enbies)

Lots of trans guys have boobs. Some trans guys have extremely large boobs. This is fine. Having boobs doesn't make someone a woman, regardless of size. And no, a trans guy getting his breasts removed isn't a "tragedy" or whatever terfs are saying now, nor is it mutilation, any more than other kinds of surgery are mutilation.

Not every guy with boobs binds. It might be because of a lack of desire to, or for medical reasons, or any other number of things. Either way, it's none of your business if someone else doesn't bind.

Binding unsafely can fuck up your ribcage and render you unable to bind in the future. Bras can also do the same, especially if they're too tight (that's what happened to my ribs. I was required to wear a bra 24/7 and it was too small. I still have an indented line all the way around my ribcage where the band was.)

You can't always tell if a person is a trans guy from top surgery scars. There are cis men with gynecomastia who have scars like that too.

Some guys don't have nipples after top surgery. It's likely either personal choice or a failed graft, and regardless, it's none of your business

Even after top surgery, most guys aren't completely flat-chested. Most cis guys aren't flat either. Fat trans guys might well still have "moobs", just like any other fat guy. This is also normal.

Trans guys can still get breast cancer. If you've had all of your breast tissue removed, it's a lot less likely, but still possible, just like anyone else who's had a mastectomy. You should still self-check regularly, especially if you have a personal or family history of breast cancer.

Bonus for cis guys:

you can get breast cancer too. You should also do a regular self-check. In case you don't know how, have a diagram.

Bonus for trans ladies:

you can also get breast cancer, especially if you're on or have been on HRT. Having an estrogen-based hormone system (whether "natural" or HRT) does increase your chances of developing breast cancer, which is why people with breast cancer often are placed on estrogen-blockers. If you end up having to stop taking estrogen or even get a mastectomy due to breast cancer, it doesn't make you any less of a woman, just like any other woman in the same situation. (You should also do self-checks of your testicles if you have them, but this is a Boobs Post, so I'll leave it at that.)

So yeah, breast self-checks are for everyone because anyone can get breast cancer.

Things about boobs that everyone should know

Because I just keep finding out people don't know these things!

Most boobs "sag."

Actually, on that note: very very few people have the stereotypically perfect breasts that are round and perky and don't touch your ribcage/belly. Here is an entire gallery of non-sexualized, perfectly normal breasts. Here is another one, but in one image. There's an incredible range of size and shape!

Also related: very few people fit those molded foam-cup bras. Because very few people have a boob that shape. "Then why are those kinds of bras everywhere??" Because they're cheap to make and they hide your nipples.

Your "armpit fat" is probably not armpit fat. It is probably your tail of spence, and you have lymph nodes there. Some people have a bigger or smaller tail of spence, and it has very little to do with how fat you are or how big your boobs are. (Some bras can press on it or pinch it uncomfortably, like balconettes.)

When you lie on your back, your boobs will go into your armpits. That is true of EVERYONE WITH BOOBS, with the exception of some implants. Boobs are squishy! This also means that like, lying on your side will cause them to flop over. If that's uncomfortable when you're trying to sleep, there is such a thing as "sleep bras."

Lots of people's boobs get bigger and/or painful before their period starts. Some people gain an entire cup size every month.

Whether or not you wear bras has no effect on "sagging." The one "study" on this that was written about everywhere extremely badly done. The one exception: If you do the kind of exercise that has you jumping around/jogging a lot, and you don't wear a supportive-enough bra, it's possible you can injure the cooper's ligaments. But also: that would hurt, a lot.

Bras also have no effect on whether you get breast cancer.

Everyone has one boob that's bigger than the other. It's just a matter of degree.

The size of your boobs has nothing to do with whether or not you've had sex???? I'm stunned that there are people that believe this, but I've heard multiple people say they had relatives who absolutely believed this--refused to buy teenagers the correct size bra because "only sluts wear D-cups," or insisted a thirteen-year-old was "fast" because of breast growth during puberty...good lord.

It's possible for AMAB people to breast-feed--they have the same mammary glands AFAB people do! Some hormonal issues can cause people (both AFAB and AMAB) who haven't given birth to lactate, but also there's a few cases where transgender women have been given the same hormones that AFAB people's bodies make during pregnancy/lactation, and voila! Breast milk!

(I very intentionally didn't go into bra sizing with this post, but yes, if you hate your bras, you are probably wearing the wrong size and/or style for you. That's a much more finicky topic though, so I'm just going to point out that the letter doesn't mean anything about boob size by itself, D isn't big, and Victoria's Secret's "fittings" are garbage. For more info, go to the subreddit for r/abrathatfits, or try their size calculator.)

[madewithangst]

SVT + subtle acts of love

This is HIGHLY inspired by Jana's prompt

PAIRING: seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader FORMAT: drabble/headcanon WARNINGS: none?

🍒Seungcheol

Guiding you with a gentle hand on the small of your back. He's definitely the type to protect you at all costs—no question about it. He’ll make it clear to everyone that you’re HIS, but still respects you deeply. While Scoups often gets portrayed as the possessive, alpha type, the truth is, he’s more of a big softie with still a touch of gentlemanly charm.

😇Jeonghan

Fixing your clothes or hair. Knowing Jeonghan, who always has the prettiest hairstyle, he also pays close attention to how you look. Not in an overbearing or toxic way, but because he understands the little things—like how it feels when your blouse is unbuttoned, your bangs are out of place, or your makeup gets smudged. In a way, he becomes your personal "appearance police," always looking out for you.

🦌Joshua

Randomly giving you flowers. This man is a living uwu. We all know how pricey flower bouquets can be. With your hectic school/work schedule, receiving a bouquet always makes your heart swoon—but it's not just the flowers; it's the thought behind them. Joshua always makes sure to think of you, and with his means, why not spoil you with the most beautiful flowers he can buy?

😺Jun

Giving you food without asking. Remember that Teen Vogue interview where they played truth or dare with snacks on the table? Yep, this is totally inspired by that moment—Junhui was too busy mukbang-ing. But honestly, he gives off this vibe wherein whatever he snacks, you snack too. Especially after his trips to China—goodness, the amount of food he brought back just to share his favorite treats with you!

🐯Hoshi

Grabbing your hand and swinging it back and forth. As an introvert myself, physical touch is something I'm deeply into. Hoshi may look loud af on TV and in stadiums, but when the spotlight and cameras are off, that's when his introverted side kicks in. He recharges with cuddles and every bit of physical touch he can get from you. He loves doing the gesture of swinging your hands back and forth when you're out in public—it's his way of channelling his energy and finding comfort in your presence.

🐈‍⬛Wonwoo

Pulling out the chair for you. Another man that is a living uwu. With the world we're living in now, it's rare to find a gentleman like Wonwoo. It’s a small but meaningful gesture that shows he values your comfort and wants to make you feel special (bonus: he knows the gesture makes you swoon).

🍚Woozi

Writing you a love letter and hiding it for you to find. With a mind that never rests, and being in love with you only fuels his creativity. The boys joke that his song lyrics are getting too personal and too cheesy, so some of them get rejected. Clearly, the inspiration is you. So to channel his overflowing emotions, he turns to writing love letters, a practice you adore.

⚔️Dokyeom

Humming a song to calm you down. It started when you were having nightmares while he was away on tour. Luckily, it was daytime where he was, so he was there to comfort you with a phone call. He sang you to sleep that night, and since then, he’s never stopped singing for you especially when you need him most.

🐶Mingyu

Making your lunch to take to work/school with you. This man was born in this world to cook for you. That's it. He's the team leader in the kitchen department, but who can blame him? The guy can cook! He knows you need an extra minute of sleep, so he adjusts your alarm and takes care of the smallest tasks on your to-do list, like checking off "make lunch" for both of you.

🐸The8

Paying complete attention to you. Doesn't matter if he's in the middle of reading, painting, or even eating (especially eating), Minghao will turn his entire body toward you, giving you his full attention. He’s a man who believes in the importance of deep connection. So talking is very essential in your relationship. Whether you're ranting about work, sharing thoughts on the latest anime, or asking for fashion advice, he's always all ears.

🍊Seungkwan

Remembering something you told him. He has this remarkable ability to remember, which is probably a skill required when you're a big pop star. Even the smallest details of what you've shared with him are carefully stored in the file cabinet of his mind. He'll bring up something at the most unexpected moments, showing you how deeply he listens and values every word you say. It’s a quiet yet powerful reminder that you matter to him in ways you might not even realize.

🐼Vernon

Waiting at the door to come greet you when you get home. We all know Vernon and his naps, right? The boys know him all too well. That's why they couldn't believe it when you told them he's always there to greet you at the door when you arrive home (unless he's not home). He likes to nap on the couch when you're not home, so if he's napping, he'll wake up at the rattle of the key in the door. Eating? He'll run towards the door. Showering? Obviously impossible, but you'll still hear his loud voice from a distance. Baaaabe~

🦦Dino

Giving you a massage. Lee Chan is built to make others smile, and he pours that energy into every gesture. You were the one who started giving him massages because you noticed how his Hyungs always playfully tackle him, leaving him a bit worn out. Now, giving you massages has become his way of showing care, and he does it with a gentle touch, always focused on your comfort. It’s his quiet way of returning the favor, making sure you feel relaxed and appreciated, just as he always does for you.

a fun fact nobody asked, these three boys in the pictures are my holy trinity Thank you for the wonderful prompt @creativepromptsforwriting ✨

[ladylokianna]

The nearness of you

The main blame for this one-shot lies entirely to Queen Gorgo and her line "your lips can finish what your fingers have started".

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader (i'm not used to use the first person p.o.v. mainly because in English i usually mess everything up by trying to fit verb tenses together so i hope everything is comprehensible). 

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Fluff but a little smut towards the end, nothing too explicit 'cause i'm not good at writing it. Fairly ooc Aemond, obviously. But, as I've already said, I really like a softer Aemond, and I like the idea that, with the right person, he would totally show his feelings (after a lot of convincing, of course, as we all know how lacking in affection and love our guy is, and it would take him quite a while before he would let himself go).   

Beta reader: my sister, but like me, she's too obsessed with Aemond and i'm afraid she is not entirely objective. Whatever. Enjoy.

***

Wrapping yourself in your heavy velvet dressing gown, you quickly went back to bed after adding a couple of wooden logs to brighten the fire in the huge fireplace, watching Aemond sleeping peacefully in the dim glow provided by the candles and the burning fire.

He lies prone, his arms folded under the pillow and one leg slightly bent towards the middle of the mattress. His slender body, chiselled by years of training, is relaxed, his features softened.

Despite the fact that the two of you have been married for a long time and that you know every single millimetre of his body, shyness sometimes leads you to blush in front of him, as if you still were the inexperienced young maiden of your wedding night.

You stretch out a hand, at first caressing gently his scarred cheek with the knuckles, paying attention to not hurt his wounded eye, then stroking his head with caring touches, enjoying the sensation of the silky strands between your fingers. He is so distant from the unflattering portrait that your aunt made of him as soon as the news of your betrothal was spreaded through the realm, who depicted Aemond as a "monster ready to feed you to his dragon at his first bad day".

A bit introvert, with a closed-off and apparently unfriendly character, maybe sometimes grumpy but definitely not a monster, Aemond is always caring and gentle with you and the few people he trust and love. Otherwise, you had learnt that his usual demeanour is just a façade, that the real Aemond is the one hanging with you in the library, flying with Vhagar or laying in your marital bed. But all is fine as it is, you surely don't want to change or fix him in any way: after all, what's wrong with him to fix? You love him as he is, and people needs to be loved as they are, not as the world would like them to be.

You move your hand down slowly along his shoulders, feeling under your fingertips the scratches you remember leaving him with the nails during the night, marks that you could find again on his shoulder blades and down his muscular back, on his narrow, jerky hips, marks that goes alongside with older ones earned during his strict sword training. If you close your eyes, you can easily recall the sensation of his muscles moving beneath your touch and the heat of his skin against yours, his hands ceaselessly travelling on your body and his weight as he hold you firmly still against the mattress with the absolute need to feel you trembling beneath him, to hear you screaming his name on each deep and precise thrust of his hips.

Your gaze follows the trail of your nails even further, on the roundness of Aemond's buttocks, on which you suddenly no longer have the courage to stretch your hand, despite the fact that only few hours earlier you had grasped them with all your strength to pull him as closer as possible to your core so he could sink deeper into your walls.

"We'll end up keeping the whole fortress awake... i can stop if it's too much, mh?" he'd chuckled out of the blue, teasing you a little after a loud cry escaped your mouth.

"Don't you dare." was your response, hissed in his ear and making him laugh heartily. "My word, Aemond, if you stop now, i'll make you pay for it."

"Oh, would you? I'm almost tempted to stop right now just to see how you will make me pay for my disobedience."

Shooking your head, with your hand still steady right above the dimples at the bottom of his back, you furtively check if Aemond is still asleep, surrendering to the urge to repeat the same gestures of that night: taking a deep breath, your hand lingered on the smooth skin of his bare ass, savouring that feeling for a while before squeezing it gently.

"Your lips can finish what your fingers have started."

You gasp surprised, blushing like you're again that little girl caught stealing the pastries set to cool in the kitchens of your father's castle, noticing the smirk painted on Aemond's lips and his wonderful eye pointed at you, clearly amused and flattered by your attentions.

"I thought... Gods... i thought you were asleep... how long have you been awake?"

"Hm...a while. Let's say since i felt your fingers on my face." he hummed, noticing your reddened cheeks. "How come that we're married for a long time yet you still blush over me? Oh, look at you... don't be shy, darling. You know you can touch whatever you want, whenever you want."

Blushing was the least of it, since a glance from him was often enough to set you on fire.

"Keep going though, i was enjoying it."

Yeah, of course he was. "What a little rascal you are."

With a wide smile Aemond turns on his back, offering his whole being to your gaze, to your will.

"Come darling, come to me." whispers, stretching his arms towards you and guidind you on top.

His skin felt so familiar and warm it hurt your heart. Moving a little, you adjust yourself on his pelvis before running your hands over him again, and again, and again, until suddenly you can feel his yearning running through his veins like a fire, bringing his blood to the boiling point, flushing his skin: you can sense it by the way his manhood is already leaking against you. With his breathing more strained, Aemond pulls himself up to sit, his muscles tensed at every single touch on his body, letting you taking him again as his hands flattened against your spine, drawing you as closer as possible.

"Don't be shy, you can do what you want to me. I'm yours."

[tetragonia]

Let It Roll

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

JJ Maybank would give anything, but he won't give up on you. He'd say anything, but not good bye.

warning: uh, angst? they're fighting.

note: I took the title and the summary from Train's song, Let It Roll and Words. would be nice if you take a listen!

words: 1.5k

It had started weeks ago, small things piling up like the sand that collects on a boat until it makes everything feel heavier. JJ had been distant, disappearing without a word and dodging questions when he came back. You’d catch him staring off into the distance, his jaw set, shoulders tense, but whenever you’d ask what was going on, he’d just brush it off with a laugh or say something evasive.

At first, you tried to be understanding. JJ wasn’t the kind of person to open up easily, and you knew he had a lot on his shoulders—too much, really, for someone so young. But as days passed and he kept pulling further away, the frustration grew.

You’d text him, and hours would pass before he’d reply with something vague. You’d make plans, and he’d show up late or sometimes not at all, leaving you with the sense that he was slipping through your fingers, like sand you couldn’t hold onto.

Tonight was supposed to be different. He’d promised to meet you by the docks after sundown, a plan he’d made himself. You were excited, even hopeful, thinking this would be the night he’d finally open up about whatever was weighing on him. But as the sun sank and the stars filled the sky, there was still no sign of JJ. An hour passed, and then another, until you were left alone, hurt gnawing at you as the breeze grew cold.

When he finally showed up, his face flushed and eyes stormy, he mumbled an apology. It was the same routine—vague promises that didn’t really ease the sting of waiting alone. You’d reached your limit, and suddenly, everything you’d been holding back came spilling out.

“You’re here now, but for how long, JJ?” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “I’ve been waiting for you to let me in, to talk to me instead of shutting me out, but you keep disappearing. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“You’re always doing this, JJ,” you continued, your voice wavering as you tried to keep steady. “Pushing everyone away, saying it’s no big deal, that nothing gets to you—but it does. And I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you pull further and further away?”

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly taken aback. “Look, I’m doing my best here, okay? It’s not like you understand this life, this… mess.”

“Then make me understand,” you pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep pushing me away.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched tight, and shook his head.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “You don’t get it. I’m not good at this—at… needing someone. I don’t know how to just talk it out, alright?”

You took a shaky breath, fighting the ache that had settled in your chest. “I don’t need you to be perfect, JJ. I just need you to be here. With me.”

He looked down, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of everything was pressing down on him all at once. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence between you grew heavy, filled with every unspoken word and missed moment.

"No, I... I can sort this alone."

"There you go again!" you were frustated.

He looked at you, his blue eyes clouded, jaw clenched. “I’m trying, alright? I don’t know how to—how to do this stuff like you do. You know me. I mess up, I get it. But you act like I’m not here, like you’re waiting for me to say it’s over so you don’t have to.”

The accusation stung, but maybe it was true. Maybe you had been waiting for him to let you go.

“I don’t know how to keep this going if it’s always going to feel like this, JJ. I don’t know if you even want me here. I can’t be the only one fighting for this.”

“I don’t want you to fight for it alone!” his voice broke as he took a step forward. “You think I don’t want you here? That I don’t think about you every second of every day? I’d give anything to fix this—anything, alright? Just not… just not this.”

“Not what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not goodbye,” he said, his voice softer now, but his tone stubborn, like he was digging his heels into the ground and refusing to budge. “I can’t say it. I won’t.”

Your heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions. You wanted to let go of the anger, but you couldn’t ignore the hurt.

“JJ, sometimes it’s not enough just to want something. We need… more. I need you to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on inside instead of just running off when things get hard.”

“I don’t run,” he shot back, his gaze steady and filled with something fierce. “I stay because of you. Because I don’t want to let you go. I know I’m not great at the talking part, but I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to tell you that I’m not giving up, even if you think I should.”

Your eyes stung, and you blinked back tears, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. You wanted so badly to believe him, to trust that he wouldn’t push you away again, but it was hard. You’d been here before—on the edge of leaving, only to be pulled back in by the sheer force of your feelings for him.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ll say anything you need me to say, do whatever it takes to make this right,” he murmured, his voice softer now, pleading. “But I won’t say goodbye. Not to you.”

There was a desperation in his words, a crack in the armor he always wore. JJ was staring at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground, his face tense and unguarded. It was rare for him to let you see him like this—raw, unfiltered, his defenses dropped.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining with his as you tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. You didn’t have the strength to walk away from him, not when he was looking at you with that fierce determination, like he’d rather burn than let you slip away.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, the silence wrapped around you both. He brought your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “We can figure this out, I promise. I just… I need you to believe in me. In us.”

The air was heavy, filled with unspoken promises, but as you looked at him, really looked at him, you could see it: the way his gaze softened, the way he was holding on to you like you were his lifeline.

Slowly, you nodded, squeezing his hand. You didn’t have the answers, and maybe neither did he. But for now, you were both here, grounded by the weight of everything you’d fought through to get to this moment. And it was enough.

As you stood there together, the tension between you faded into something warmer, something hopeful. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but you knew he was right — you weren’t ready to say goodbye, either. Not tonight. Not yet.

[askshivanulegacy]

Posts like these always strike me as ... off-key somehow.

As a writer and an artist, I began posting my work because it was there.

I draw for myself. I write for myself.

I post because I CAN. Because my work is available and there's no reason not to. Because I can have a neatly organized portfolio that I can share if I ever want. Because I just like scrolling through my thumbnails on my art sites or my summaries on A03.

They show progress and achievement.

I don't need anyone else to tell me what I've achieved.

Two decades ago, well before A03 was ever a real thing, when I was doing a lot of my late night reading and thinking, I realized something foundational.

Your stories - my stories - connect you with the reader. For a short moment in time, you are the same. You have the same thoughts and feelings and goals and dreams. That author you're reading understands you on a level you might never be able to articulate to anyone, and you understand them. That means there's a person, somewhere on the planet that identifies with your most secret feelings.

And that's true for every story. And that's true whether you can say anything to the author about it or not.

And that means every story is worth sharing, even if just one person out there loves it, even if they never say so. It's worth it, for that one, silent person.

You don't need people to tell you that you have an impact for that impact to be very real.

And that's beautiful. It means everything.

The other piece of creation is that you, as a creator, cannot outsource your happiness.

There's nothing wrong with encouraging engagement, but you simply have no say in it. It's not something you can control or influence. Whether you post or don't post, it will not affect what other people do about it.

There is a harmful trend of creators deciding they NEED engagement. They become addicted to it and suddenly the only reason they create is for attention. The only reason they post is for attention. And because they've outsourced their happiness but can't control it, they crash and burn if they don't get whatever levels of engagement they've decided they want.

You, as a creator, need to find internal motivation. You need to develop the basic strength to be satisfied with your work. You need to develop a healthy relationship with your work.

Yes, it's a crying shame that readers/viewers do not bother to provide feedback. But you also cannot allow the actions of other random people to dictate what you do. You will ALWAYS end up disappointed. They will never perform up to your standards.

There is at least one person out there who was changed by your work, and that means something, even if they haven't said so. It's more important than sitting on your creations for no real reason other than someone you don't know not doing something very specific.

You can always do what you want with your stuff. If you don't want to share, then it's a choice. But is not sharing because you're bitter about unspecified randos really how you want to do it? Are you going to let bitterness dictate what you do? Or are you going to make your decisions for yourself?

You can only ever make an impact and you can only ever get feedback, however rare, by sharing.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[f1amour]

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 NO ONE NOTICED — CARLOS SAINZ

[social media au + some real life]

pairing | carlos sainz x mexican!reader

face claim ★ danna paola

content warnings | age gap (reader is 22) angst, suggestive content

authors note | not spell checked. based off no one noticed by the marías. if anyone would like a part two with a happy ending let me know <3 posting this to start off some manifestation that carlos wins the vegas gp please just one more win with ferrari 🤞🏼

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liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, landonorris, bellahadid, dulcemaria, and 842,496 others

yourusername monza gp was amazing as always. now off to my home for a little break 🇲🇽🤍

➥ view comments below

user1 she ATE every single outfit at monza

user2 girl might as well post carlos in the second slide we all know that’s him😭

alexandrastmleaux pretty girl 💓💓💓

yourusername please that’s all you 🤍

carmenmmundt hermosa! can’t wait to see you

yourusername reuniting so soon i love you😭

user3 kind of new to the fandom but how does she know so many wags??

user4 she’s a singer and occasional youtuber who was invited to sing the national anthem of mexico at the mexico city gp in 2021. it’s been rumored she has a fwb situation with carlos but never been confirmed even though she’s been spotted in his garage at multiple races

user5 carlos needs to make it official atp she’s his biggest supporter despite him constantly saying he’s not in a relationship and doesn’t want to be in one

user6 our girl deserves better if he wont appreciate her then let her find someone who will

♥️ yourusername liked this comment

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SEPTEMBER, 2023

You walk close behind Carlo as he makes his way back inside the house after having a relaxing day at the beach he’d saw the dms from random people about you liking a certain comment “It was an accident. I thought I was liking Carmen’s comment and I don’t know my thumb slipped or—.”

“An accident? You responded to Carmen way earlier that comment was made hours later. Just stop lying for once in your life, yn!”

“No that’s now fair, Carlos. You say I lie all the time? I lie for you! I don’t want this anymore. I want something real…that’s the truth.” Your eyes well up with tears overcome with emotions you sit on the bed feeling deflated.

Carlos sighs and sits beside you, “Y/n…we said from the beginning this would be—.”

“No feelings attached only sex because with both our careers being busy a relationship would not be healthy for us. I have that memorized, Carlos. I know we agreed to that and it was going well,” You quote what he had said to you the night after the México City Gp in 2021 where you two had spent the night together.

“I thought I could have sex with you and have no feelings for you but how can I not? You…you always know what will cheer me up. You are the first person I call or text in the morning even if I’ve had a busy week. You know exactly how I take my tea or coffee, you kiss me with a passion that makes me believe you love me too, you hold me like you never wanna let go…how can I not fall in love with you?”

And there it was. The three words Carlos had been trying to avoid from you not because he didn’t feel the same way but he knew his life and your would ever be stable for a relationship. Among other things he just knew this may not end right if you got into a relationship but now looking at it, this situationship was ending now.

“Y/n…I don’t feel the same way.”

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SEPTEMBER, 2023

liked by yourusername, user1, user2, user3, and others

smoothoperator_updates carlos has won the singapore gp!!! this is a huge accomplishment after redbull dominating season so far. congrats carlos! 🏎️

➥ view comments below

user1 anyone else see yn like this post? why was she not there😭

user2 yn in the likes because she unfollowed carlos…my heart is breaking

user3 they definitely ended their relationship or whatever it was after the monza gp just a few days later she unfollowed him even though he still follows her

user4 y’all go check f1gossiponthepaddock recent post…carlos is horrible for that

f1gossiponthepaddock spotted! carlos sainz cozying up and kissing mystery brunette at a club celebrating his singapore gp win. sources at the part said he never left her sights and was very hands on. quite a fast rebound after being spotted with y/n y/l/n just a few weeks ago.

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NOVEMBER, 2023 • PODCAST INTERVIEW

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yourusername posted a story !

slide 1 tan lejos de mi, te sigo pensando. me canso llorando.

carlossainz55 posted a story

slide 1 i wanted to stay, i wanted to be there. i wanted to hold you, but i was afraid. i should've told you.

[maxarchive]

Listen to the full interview here.

Now, just as the championship was starting to get to a really tense point around Austin, there was this big controversy about driving ethics between you and Lando. The drivers had a big conversation with the FIA after that race about the guidelines and it felt in some ways that it was a consequence of what had happened in Austin. How did you feel about that? Did you ever feel like they were singling you out?

You know, honestly, I don't, even if they would have done or did, I, first of all, I don't care because I drive to what I think is possible and what is allowed in the rules. And if the rules are written like that, I will use the rules. I'm just not the type of person that I think, if that would have happened to me the other way around, you know. There is then other people commenting on, other drivers commenting on that were not involved in that whatever incident or whatever you call it. I don't think I would have been the person then to complain so hard because I would just think to myself that, okay, if that's the rules, that's how we do it instead of screaming that we need to change the rules. Because the problem is, if you make less rules and then something happens, then they will start screaming for more rules. Now we have the rules, maybe not perfect, but it will never be perfect. Because if we get to a certain rule set, there will be another incident where someone is not happy about and then they start screaming that the rules are not correct again. It's the same in football. If there's a foul and there are some clear rules about certain things, it's not always that the right decision is made on it, or is it a penalty given or not? Or was it offside or not? That's why you can never, at the end of the day, do it right. Do I think that consistency in the penalties can be better? Yes, for sure. But that only comes with, I think, stewards that are paid, you know, professional stewards. Not that I think that the stewards that we have right now, you know, they're doing their very best to what they have, you know, but I do think that, you know, in a sport like this, like you see in other sports as well, that when you have a paid board of stewards, I think it just works way better.

You said something very interesting there about the rules that you were always driving to the rules. And that's the fundamental point. I think no one said in Austin or thought that you'd done anything against the rules. But there was this particular kind of defense, you know, the kind of race to the apex, trying to be ahead and all the rest of it that people are talking about now. Do you think that just taking a step back from that particular incident, do you feel that that's the right way to go racing? Would you choose to do it that way if those weren't the rules? How would you like to do it?

Like I grew up with go-karting, where it's not about who is ahead of the apex or not. I think every driver is anyway a little bit different. I remember from go-karting as well with some, you just knew that if you went around the outside, you could hang it around the outside. And with some others, you couldn't because they would push you off. And I think you need a little bit more freedom on that. Because when... When it's that clear rule that you need to be ahead or alongside fully to the apex, you will create other issues with that, right?

So would you naturally want to give someone room on the outside on the exit if you were racing?

Well, me personally, I don't race like that.

You don't... What, sorry, what do you mean?

Well, it's like when I... So when I race with someone, I would... Well, he will not be able to overtake me around the outside.

Okay. Why?

Because that's how I grew up racing.

Okay. So you always think it's okay to go to the edge of the track and force someone off?

Yes, but I've raced against other people in go-karting that would give me space. You know, it's like, it's just a driver-related thing, that some drivers are just a bit more passive, you know, in racing. And that's just how they are. And some I know that even in F1 I can't hang it around the outside because they will push me off. It's just, it's like a bit more of like a racing, I would say, instinct.

So I think if you were to play the devil's advocate, how would someone ever overtake you? Because you will always go to the inside to defend.

It depends on the track layout. I think the main problem is that when you have so much tarmac on the outside, you, even if you lock up a little bit, you just run a little bit wide. But on old-school tracks, you normally never really have these kind of issues because it just doesn't happen because people are a little bit more tentative on the brakes. Also, the guy that is trying to overtake knows that if he makes a mistake and locks up, he's in the gravel and his race is done. You know, so that's what I think is the problem is the track layout is letting us do these kind of, like, you then have questions with some moves. Where if you go to, like, Suzuka or even Red Bull Ring in turn four, the downhill right-hander, where sometimes, you know, it's very rare that there is any, like, question mark move that has been done there because if you make a mistake and you brake too late, you go off in the gravel and you're penalized anyway. And I think we have to try and go back to these kind of things that when a driver goes off the track, there's a harsher penalty with just natural, like, track limits.

So you would never give someone in the outside room on the exit of the corner if you were racing?

Well, that's just normally the case, yeah.

Yeah, okay, cool.

And, of course, when the track is naturally the limit with the gravel being there, then no one even want to go around the outside because they know that. So you then try to go for a cutback or, you know, set yourself up in a different way.

[landhoe-norris]

The thing with Lando, that I don’t understand, is how everything he says or does is constantly blown out of proportion and twisted to make it seem worse than it is. He’s not the only driver who acts in the heat of the moment, yet he’s one of the few who gets crucified for it every single time.

Remember back in Monaco in ‘21 or ‘22 (I really can’t remember), when he lapped Ricciardo, his own teammate, and gave him a small wave—a gesture that clearly meant “thank you for letting me by without any trouble.” Instead of seeing it for what it was, people completely misinterpreted it. Lando was accused of mocking Ricciardo, called a snake and a bad teammate, and even received death threats. Over a wave. A moment of acknowledgment somehow turned into a crime.

What’s frustrating is how this treatment isn’t consistent across the board. Compare this to Liam Lawson flipping Checo off in a race recently—a far more direct and provocative gesture. Fans laughed it off, called him a “legend,” and moved on. But when Lando does something as harmless as a wave, it’s analyzed to death, criticized, and turned into an excuse to attack his character.

It feels like no matter what Lando does, people are ready to twist it into something negative. If he’s honest in interviews, he’s labeled “arrogant.” If he jokes around, he’s “disrespectful.” And if he’s frustrated after a bad day, he’s “entitled.” It’s as if he’s never allowed to just be himself without someone jumping to the worst possible conclusion about his intentions.

Lando isn’t perfect—no driver is. But the way he’s singled out for things that others are praised for is exhausting to watch. It’s like people are waiting for him to slip up, ready to drag him down at any moment. He doesn’t deserve that. None of them do.

Maybe it’s because he’s always been open and honest, which makes him an easy target for people who want to twist his words or actions. Or maybe it’s because he’s popular, and people are quicker to tear down someone they see as successful. Whatever the reason, it’s unfair and unwarranted. Lando’s been a consistently strong driver and a decent person who doesn’t deserve the constant backlash he gets.

I don’t know what has to change for this to stop - actually I know exactly what has to change for this to stop. People need to change. Media needs to change, and social media needs to change.

People need to stop holding him to a higher standard than their favourite drivers while simultaneously wishing for him to fail. It’s hypocritical to demand perfection from him while cheering on others for behavior that is often far more controversial. The medid need to stop running with narratives that Lando has never given them. Time and again, stories have been spun to paint him as arrogant or disrespectful, feeding into the toxicity that surrounds him. And social media needs to stop amplifying this negativity. Platforms that could foster meaningful conversations instead magnify toxic behavior, allowing hate and unfair criticism to spread unchecked. Clips are taken out of context, moments are exaggerated, and echo chambers of hate are created. Lando, like every driver, is human—he’s allowed to have moments of frustration, humor, or honesty without being vilified for them.

Lando has shown time and again that he’s a talented driver and a genuine person. He's shown time and time again why he's on the grid, and that he is one of the fastest there is, and that he genuinely deserves to take up space in F1. He's growing as a driver from year to year and he’s only going to get better. It’s time people recognized his growth, talent, and hard work instead of tearing him down at every opportunity.

Lando is McLaren, and he is F1, just as much as Leclerc is Ferrari and Verstappen is Red Bull.

[cringefail-loser]

you are completely missing the point of the original tweet. She is not mad that there aren't other women in the dressing room, she's mad that she's not being treated the same as the other women in the dressing room. You have no proof that she's "getting off" to trying on bras or to being treated like a cis woman. It's very very clear that she simply wants to try on a bra, an experience that most cis girls get to have at a young age.

"[She] could’ve ordered online. It takes 30 seconds to measure yourself.

If you have breasts, you know how hard it is to order a well-fitting bra online. You usually have to buy a couple in a few different sizes, just to find the right one. It's not an easy process! My chest is on the smaller side, and it's still difficult to find the right one. Also, not to mention the experience that comes with bra-shopping in person! It's fun to go to the store and look at all the bras and find the right one for you that comes in your size and is in your favourite colour.

"Real women don't get upset that there's no one else in the Victoria's Secret changing rooms."

If you read the tweet, you'd notice that the woman who made it had to wait for the staff to remove all the women from the changing room. It's not like there just so happened to be no other women in the dressing room, they quite literally isolated her from the other women. Also, I'm sure that if you were forced to be away from the rest of the women in the changing room for no apparent reason, you would get upset too.

"I mean can you even imagine how fucking awkward that situation was for the women [she’s] sexually harassing and [she] doesn’t ever stop and go what the fuck am I doing?"

Oh I'm sure she knew how awkward it was. Imagine being ostracized for that, being called out for being trans in front of a bunch of people who probably didn't care in the first place. This same situation could happen just the same to a cis woman with a deep voice and a more masculine facial shape and build. You all would complain about how misogynistic it is for the VS staff to treat a woman like that. And you know what? It was already misogynistic! This trans woman could have just as likely been a cis woman with masculine features, and the staff had decided to separate her from everyone else just because of her features. THEY QUITE LITERALLY ASSUMED SHE WAS A TRANS WOMAN JUST BECAUSE OF NON-FEMININE FEATURES.

"Also as usual how does [she] know those women are 'cis'?"

You're right! She has no proof that these women in the changing rooms are cis women. But neither did the staff. As said previously, they just decided that she's trans, simply because she "looked like it". You terfs are always the ones to say "we can always tell", but here you are admitting that you can't just always tell. You ADMITTED that some trans women look like how society expects cis women to look.

"Maybe they just thought [she] was your run of the mill male predator?"

If they genuinely thought that, they probably would have kicked her out for being "creepy". But that didn't happen. They understood that she was there just to shop for a bra, but didn't want to let her in for whatever reason. (Most likely transphobia, but y'all always write that off as something that's not real, so I'm not even going to bother entertaining that idea.)

Non-Tumblr users weren't kidding when they said that you all have piss-poor reading comprehension.

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[chithereader]

stir crazy / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2k

genre: fluff/angst if you squint

cw: omniscient pov, hotch being vulnerable

“My agent has been asking me for the manuscript but it’s just not ready yet. And I’ve still got my day job that keeps me busy enough,” It’s a quiet day at the BAU. No urgent cases or serial killers, just a few feet worth of case files. Leaning against Reid’s desk, Rossi, Emily and boy genius himself have been talking about the next big David Rossi book.

“Oh c’mon, I see you typing away in your office and writing in that little notebook of yours– which I know is for your drafts by the way,” Emily teases. Rossi shrugs it off with a soft smirk and looks to the boy genius who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes. 

“Nothing to say, kid?” lowering his head to catch the young man’s preoccupied eye but Reid’s sight is incredibly glued far away. 

It took Reid a good 6 seconds to realize he’s kid before he shakes himself out of the trance and answers, “Well, considering the hours he’s spent typing on his personal laptop as opposed to the office computer and adding the minutes he allots on the jet to jot down on his writing notebook– assuming he’s writing in a similar format to his previous books–  I’d say….you’re actually well into the third chapter of your manuscript.” 

Still with his eyes trained on whatever caught his attention in the first place, Reid unsurprisingly impresses Rossi again because he is indeed a little over halfway into the third chapter.

But Rossi and Emily instantly become interested with what or who Reid has been staring at for the past minute, noticing that even when going off on his boy-genius tangent, his stare had been focused somewhere else. 

Reid jumps in his seat a little as the two level their heads on either side of his to see where his gaze has been glued. He had been so focused on figuring out the worrying sight and what caused it that he hadn’t noticed how much of him wasn’t aware of his surroundings. 

To their surprise, they’re met with a seemingly everyday sight: Hotch, in the pantry, stirring his coffee. And by everyday, they mean that to any passerby they’d think this is incredibly normal. Nothing at all out of place or out of character. 

But to the trained eye- to profilers who also spend almost everyday with the man, they slowly see what Reid must have seen. 

Hotch is stirring his coffee. But he doesn’t even put sugar or creamer in his always black coffee. 

He’s doing it absentmindedly. Literally looking lost in his head. Hotch is a busy guy, a busy boss guy, with millions of things to think about, but Hotch is never absent. His movements are always purposeful, precise, and calculated. Never lacking and never excess. 

Hotch has his head tilted down and to the side. Like a perpetually confused puppy. One of the things that make Hotch Hotch is his posture. His rigid, firm posture. Back always so straight, hands always clenched, jaw always tight– Hotch is never just there, his presence alone is commanding. 

And worst of all, Hotch’s hair is neat. Too neat. Okay, Hotch’s habit of being neat -with his pressed suits and shined shoes no matter where he is- naturally extends to how he styles his hair. Over the years, he’s learned to gel it out of his face for both convenience and aesthetic. But this neat- this neat looks a little too flat and ruffled at the same time. Like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times in a matter of minutes. 

So Rossi and Emily finally understand. The two share a look of understanding, while Reid looks up at them with curiosity and a little worry. 

“Do you guys think he’s.. okay?” Reid asks quietly with a little grimace. He looks between the two, trying to figure out what they’re thinking, “I mean it has been exactly 12 minutes that he’s been stirring nothing into his coffee.” 

“12?!” If Emily had any sort of drink in her mouth, she surely would have spat it out all over Reid–for which he is silently thankful she doesn’t because as much as he adores Emily, he’s just not mentally prepared for… well that. 

Finally, there’s movement in the pantry. Unaware of his colleagues now watching his every move, Hotch wakes up from the trance he was trapped in and quickly retreats back into his office with his now-cold cup of coffee. 

Knowing that Rossi’s the only one to easily get through to Hotch, Emily and Reid turn to look at him, wordlessly nudging him to check on the poor man who spent 12 minutes stirring his painfully plain black coffee. 

Raising both his hands as he stands from where he was leaning, Rossi surrenders “Alright alright! But I am not telling you rascals what he tells me in confidence.” pointing at the doe-eyed pair. 

Rossi lets the possibilities run through his head as he walks up the stairs to Aaron’s office. Maybe Jack’s having trouble with that one kid again– what’s his name? Or maybe Jack’s having trouble with Mothers’ Day coming up. That’s never been easy. But the stirring and staring into space and the hair? What could possibly– Knock knock. 

Rossi doesn’t even wait to hear Aaron’s voice. He pushes the door open to be greeted with the sight of Aaron finally looking a little more him: writing on his desk knee-deep in case files. 

Aaron looks up for a second and continues writing reports, “What can I help you with, Dave?” Putting extra pressure on penning that last period before closing the case file and grabbing another to open. 

Dave stays quiet for a bit and takes in the sight. Looks fine to me. But his silence halts Aaron’s writing and he looks up to Dave who’s just studying him by the door. 

“You know you can sit right?” Aaron stoically jokes. 

And a joke?! Dave finally cracks and sits down to say, “Boy genius just watched you stir your coffee for 12 minutes which we all know is black. Your hair’s messy and too fixed at the same time, you were standing in the pantry just minutes ago glaring into nothing. And you were slouching with your head tilted to the side.” 

“Honestly whatever it is, it’s none of my business but you just scared two members of your team and I think this may be the seed of doubt in your leadership skills because you’re finally not a robot.” It was obvious that Dave was trying to play it cool, masking concern with humor and sarcasm. 

But Aaron is a painfully private guy. He’d think it over for days before he decides to open up or seek advice from a close friend. Only he has thought about it for days and not saying anything’s been driving him insane he genuinely feels like he could implode at any second. 

Aaron takes one big breath and through clenched teeth he grumbles out, “It’s a she.” Finally staring Dave straight in the eyes, he clarifies, “the it in whatever it is is a she.” 

Realization and more worry hits Dave at the same time which Aaron clearly sees on his face. But Rossi quickly recovers and gives Aaron a soft, comforting smile, “Well what’s so bad about your she that’s got you so shaken up?” 

In Dave’s head, he’s already preparing responses for the worst: 

She doesn’t approve of my job. Well she can suck it. This is who you are. 

Jack doesn’t like her. Aaron, the one thing I like about kids is that they give it to you straight. I think you should take that as a sign

She’s not comfortable with the age gap. She’s way older. She’s way younger. I’m scarred in more ways than one. I’m not sure I still know how to– 

Aaron could see the increasing concern in Dave’s face, “I just–” he started. 

Dave’s thoughts were cut short by Aaron’s voice, thankfully because his mind was starting to reach the point of no return. Anticipating Aaron’s explanation, he leaned forward in his seat trying to read Aaron’s expression. 

“A few months ago, I’d stay here. After a case, when I know my son’s fast asleep and Jessica’s with him- I’d stay here.” Dave kept quiet, intently listening and trying to piece together where this could possibly go. 

“I would choose to stay here and finish reports, make a dent in the never-ending pile of case files because when I’m focused on helping others, I don’t have time to think of how alone I am.”

Before Dave could try and quell this ‘alone’ sentiment, Aaron quickly follows it up “I love my son. And he’s always been more than enough. And I have the team but… you guys have people to come home to. Arms to fall into at the end of a grueling day.” 

“For the longest time, since Haley.. I haven’t allowed myself to feel. To want. And if I’ve just been honest then it’d be known, I want to be loved. All that I carry, I drop all of it at the door and then there’s just this exhaustion that hits me. And all I want is for someone to hold me.” 

Dave takes all of this in, feeling an immense amount of love and sadness for his friend who deserves nothing but happiness but hasn’t for the longest time allowed himself the one thing that can give him that. 

“I know you think that getting into a relationship makes you a bad father, splitting the only time you have left with someone else instead of your son. But the truth is Aaron, Jack’s growing up. He has his sleepovers, camps, and football now. Soon he’ll leave for parties and college, and as much as he adores you he’ll have his own family.”

“I know. And then I’ll be alone.” Aaron’s voice starts to sound rough. Like this fact’s caught in his throat and he can’t speak. Dave studies Aaron and considers all the things he knows are holding Aaron back.

“So give it a shot.” Dave insists. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just set a date, and show up.” 

Aaron looks at Dave pointedly, “You make it sound easy–” “You make it sound hard.” 

Aaron appears to recover. He smoothes a hand over his tie and straightens his back yet again. In an instant, he’s back to looking stoic and stern with brows furrowed and eyes glaring.

He’s not used to being vulnerable, even in the privacy of his own office. Feeling like an open book for others to read makes goosebumps trail up his spine- in a bad way. Dave quickly reads this and decides to lighten the mood. 

“So…. when will we meet her?” Dave asks smugly. 

“Funny.”

“I understand.. your concerns. But I don’t think you’d be so worried about it if you weren’t already serious about her. So, what’s really going on with her?” 

Aaron thought he could get away without revealing much about her. He’s uncomfortable enough talking about himself, and all the more protective he is when it comes to you. Especially as someone who wants to keep your little world away from the harshness of everything else–

He sighs. He knows Dave is relentless and as payback for his concern, he decides he has to give Dave something. 

“I don’t know. Really. I don’t– I told you one day I’m tiring myself out so I don’t have to come home and process my empty bed as empty..”

“Now I’m tiptoeing in my own kitchen so as to not disturb this crazy singing person washing my dishes while my kid wipes the plates. And I watch them for god knows how long, instead of going up to my office to attend to case files whose deadlines are a bit too close for my liking.” 

“I don’t know,” Aaron shrugs. A soft, weak smile grows on his lips at the memory of you.

Dave stands from the seat, a knowing smirk on his face, “Hmm.” Teasing Aaron as he walks to the door and grabs the handle. 

“I think you’ll be just fine, Aaron. Just fine.”