#and is constantly in the mood to flirt with anyone

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Can you write about na beakjin as bf headcanons maybe a little nfws too

Imma do it for u bestie don’t worry 😌🫶

Na Beakjin bf headcanons

🖤 Emotionally Guarded, Hopelessly Devoted

He’s not good with words. He won’t say “I love you” unless you’re asleep or not looking — but he shows it constantly. Walking on the outside of the sidewalk. Pulling you behind him when a crowd gets too tight. Standing silently beside you like a shield.

He listens harder than anyone ever has. You could mention your favorite drink once, and it’ll show up in his hand every time he sees you. He notices your habits, your moods, even your silences.

Quiet jealousy. He won’t pick fights, but if someone flirts with you, he goes cold. Stops speaking. Later, pulls you into a deeper kiss than usual, gaze unreadable, voice low: “Mine. You know that, right?”

Zero PDA, but in private, he’s needy. He stiffens if you kiss his cheek in front of others, but behind closed doors, he wraps himself around you in bed like a blanket. Face buried in your neck. One arm over your stomach. Won’t let go until you’re asleep.

He gets pouty when you don’t initiate affection. He won’t say it — he’ll just sulk in silence. But the second your fingers slide into his or your hand brushes his back, he softens like clay.

He doesn’t just like your scent — he’s addicted. He’ll pretend it’s a coincidence that he steals your hoodie, but he sleeps with it every time you’re gone. He’ll pull you into a hug and inhale like he’s trying to anchor himself.

He touches you like you’re fragile, but looks at you like you’re his anchor. Thumb brushing your cheek. Hand cradling the back of your head. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s quiet and broken just for you.

Protective without permission. You won’t even know someone made you uncomfortable until Beakjin stares them down from across the room. He doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t have to.

He lets you play with his hands. They’re always cold, veiny, and big. You’ll mess with his fingers, and he’ll act like it’s annoying, but his eyes go soft, and he never pulls away.

🔞 NSFW — Soft Filth, Controlled Chaos

Slow, controlled, and obsessive. He starts gently — almost reverent — but if you tease him too much, he flips. Hands pinning your wrists, jaw clenched, voice low and dangerous: “You think I won’t fuck you until you cry? Keep pushing.”

Big on marking. He likes seeing the bruises. Finger-shaped prints on your thighs. Bite marks on your collarbone. Not because he wants to hurt you — he wants to own you. Quietly. Permanently.

Quiet in bed, but intense. No loud moans — just labored breaths, gritted teeth, and your name rasped against your skin. Occasionally slips — a low, “So fucking pretty when you beg” — but immediately shuts up after, embarrassed.

He stares the whole time, not just at your body, but at your face. He wants to see how you fall apart. How far can he take you? How wrecked you get just for him.

Pretends not to care about aftercare, but spoils you. Wipes you down gently. Pulls the blanket over you. Holds you against his chest, heartbeat thudding steadily. But if you bring it up later? He shrugs, “You looked like a mess. Couldn’t just leave you like that.”

[victorluvsalice]

We return to the Chill Valicer Save on Fall Friday, with another, shorter update featuring the gang back to their usual routines -- namely, taking care of the farm and getting those shelves filled at the store! Let's get right to it, shall we?

-->First things first though -- adorable kitten times! Alice and Smiler both met our new arrivals Shock and Surprise last episode, so it was Victor's turn to get introduced to the kittens! A process that took longer than anticipated, because of course adorable kittens have to do adorable kitten things, and that often involves hiding under couches and rolling over and running around all over the shop while their poor owner waits patiently for the "Wait For Pet" interaction to finally complete. XD Oh, Sims 4 pets... Shock and Surprise, you're lucky you're cute. :p

-->While I was waiting for the kitten nonsense to complete, though, I did notice that we still had an unwelcome visitor hanging around -- Temperance! Despite having been thoroughly cowed by Victor's bizarre idol last time, she was still in the back yard talking to the local specters instead of properly fucking off. I plopped the bizarre idol back out for a bit while Victor got to know the kittens, and she FINALLY took her leave. Off with you, ghost who is the "big bad" of the Paranormal stuff pack and yet is somehow less annoying than Guidry himself.

-->With Temperance banished and the kittens introduced to all the various members of the family, it was time to get started on the day properly! Smiler was already busy editing their new fashion vlog so they could get it out while the trend was still hot -- once that was done and the video posted, I sent them out to the greenhouse to get Bugs and Elmer the garden-bots out and running while Victor and Alice enjoyed some breakfast (buttered crumpets and chicken chimichurri skewers respectively). The bots got busy watering and weeding while Smiler started harvesting all their herbalism stuff and plasma fruits --

Only to be attacked by bees. Darn things apparently objected to Smiler picking their chamomile today. *shakehead* Fortunately the injuries were minor, and Smiler managed to pick up Gardening Level 6 from their harvesting, so that was good! (And it's not as bad as what MIGHT have happened -- I foolishly went into Build Mode to try and move some of the seed packets the gnomes had left behind during Harvestfest while Smiler was getting the bots ready, only to remember too late "SHIT THAT MIGHT AUTO-HARVEST THE PLANTS INTO THE HOUSEHOLD INVENTORY." Fortunately I was lucky and all the produce stayed on the vine, whew. A narrow escape!)

-->While all that was going on, Victor went around the front to check on Toothy the cowplant -- and found their bin knocked over! A final "fuck you" from Temperance as she left, or the result of an angry townie? The world will never know... Fortunately, it wasn't a big deal -- Victor just picked up the bin, sorted through the trash pile for parts, then recycled it and all the other crap in his inventory for bits and pieces. Keeping the farm nice and eco-friendly! :)

[rafesproperty]

Thinking about how Rafe would treat you each season…

Bro was tweakin’ the whole show 😭 Good luck with the mood swings

Also can you tell S2 Rafe is my fav and owns my entire heart? Ok? Ok.

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Season 1 Rafe treats you horribly. Never there for you even tho you are always there for him. Always thinking about himself.

He can be nice behind closed doors but the second you are with him and his friends he’s cold. He almost acts like you guys aren’t together but if one of his friends flirts with you he throws a tantrum. Also he gets mad when you don’t give him enough attention but he ignores your messages for days.

He snorts cocaine in front of you even tho it makes you uncomfortable… but he doesn’t really care as long as he gets his high. He asks to snort it from your thighs or cleavage as well. If you say no he’ll keep asking until you say yes just to shut him up.

If you’re being all annoying asking him to drive you home he’ll just smear some on your gums.

“Shit. Alright, c’me here baby,” he mumbles and you sit on his lap as he grabs a tiny bit of the powder and uses his fingers to open your mouth. “There you go, baby, good fuckin’ girl.” He chuckles and kisses you. You instantly melt into the kiss, feeling as if the drugs effect melts your body. You’re on top of him the entire night, cuddling up to him, straddling his lap, purring when he kisses you. You’re just so good to him, so devoted when you’re in this state.

He never lets you snort it tho. And he won’t do it again for a long time. He doesn’t want you to be addicted like him.

He calls you in the middle of the night and demands you come over when he’s in the mood. He’ll pick you up but won’t give you a ride home so you’re either staying or walking alone.

He yells Kiara looks hot at Midsummers when you’re right next to him. You’re angry at him but he doesn’t care.

Probably constantly breaking up and getting back together when he has one of his breakdowns and needs you. So he seeks you out. Cries to you about his dad. Cries to you about your relationship. Promises to do better. And you always take him back.

He takes you on motorbike dates, goes way over the speed limit tho.

You are there when his dad kicks him out, he takes his sadness and anger out on you. You are there when he kills the sheriff, and you’re not running away, not telling anyone, you’re keeping your mouth shut. For him. You do a lot of things for him.

Season 2 Rafe aka the most unhinged psycho you’ve ever met is actually nicer to you (worse to everyone else… but nicer to you). He keeps you safe. Never lets you walk alone at night. He basically never ever leaves your side, when he does it’s to do something he doesn’t want you to see.

He keeps you away from Ward and Barry - especially Barry. Until you actually meet Barry and find out he’s cool and funny asf. Rafe is pissed at first but Barry is the only guy he’ll let you hang out with (only in his presence, tho).

Barry starts calling you “Mrs. Country cluuuub.”

Never lets you do drugs again. Not even a little bit. He feels bad for what he did before, smearing it on your gums when you didn’t even really know what he was doing. He won’t admit it out loud, tho. He just won’t allow it again.

He needs to touch you constantly. Hand on your back or your thigh at all times. Holding you close to him. He needs to know feel you’re there.

He swears he’ll buy anything you damn want with the gold.

He still gets mad when he doesn’t get your attention but this time he’ll just take it. He’ll force you to give him attention if he has to. Sometimes he’ll rile you up and piss you off just so that he’s your main focus.

He seeks you out for comfort when he comes to your house all bloody and beaten… whether the blood is his or not is a mystery. He’ll open up to you, he’ll talk about his dad and you’ll comfort him with sweet words, he gets so used to it. Addicted. His dad never listened to him. No one ever listened to him. But you do. He may be in love with you.

He’s possessive. Won’t let you talk to other people, will break anyones bones if they look at you the wrong way. You’re his. And he’s slowly starting to realise that he is yours, too.

“I’ll take care of you. Shit, I’ll fuck up anyone who tries to hurt you, got that?”

He’s harsh about everything he doesn’t like and especially to people he doesn’t like. You better not get in the way when he’s really angry.

He hates it when he makes you cry, but if he’s already pissed off he can’t stop himself from yelling. He never hurt you tho. Maybe a few bruises from gripping your wrist with too much force but nothing intentional.

His eyes soften when you flinch one time. That being the only time he actually somewhat calms down.

Not many peaceful moments with him given how little chill he had in S2 😭 BUT if you guys are just talking, playing with eachothers fingers in the dark and you start talking about your future he melts. You always include him. In all the details and in all the plans. He loves you. He’s sure of it now.

Wheezie absolutely adores you, she gossips about Rafe with you all the time. You guys play board games and he’ll scoff and roll his eyes but Wheezie will force him to join. For 5 minutes. Then he’s like “Fuck this bullshit” (he’s losing) and he leaves. You and Wheezie laugh at him.

He tells you everything, he tells you about how he shot Sarah, how he tried to drown her, how he almost killed Pope, how he hates these fucking Pogues so much and wants them all dead… he’s never saying it calmly, his pupils are dilated, he’s shaking, his words are mixing, he has this look on his face… sometimes he’s so scary. But you never run away from him.

His obsession with making his dad proud slowly turns into an obsession to make you proud. To make you happy. To make sure the gold is fucking yours and anyone who tries to take anything away from you two dies.

I seriously can’t stress enough how Rafe is always obsessed with one person only and does absolutely everything in the world for them. And his focus changes from his dad to you. You’re his priority now. He’ll protect you, not his dad. He’ll make you proud, not his dad. You. You. You.

Season 3 Rafe is an obsessed man. Spoils you. Takes you on fancy dates all the time. Gets you anything you like or anything he likes.

Gets you hot dresses that he’ll rip the same day. You’re actually angry because you liked that dress so he’ll just buy it again.

He doesn’t really know how to express his emotions so he’ll just constantly buy you expensive things just because he can and he’ll keep you close, cuddle you, kiss you, squeeze your waist. Physical contact all the time, basically.

You don’t really fight anymore. But if he does make you angry you’ll wake up to princess treatment the whole day. Food, clothes, jewelry, his attention, anything you want, you got it.

“Can we get a dog?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

… almost anything you want.

You are his priority, always. Always focused on making you secure, safe, happy, proud, satisfied. You don’t have to ask for anything, ever. He’s got you.

Constantly shielding you with his body when you two go out, keeping you close, thumb drawing little circles on your back, his attention on you the entire time.

He’ll take you on boat drives and just chill and make out with you out on the open ocean.

He’s so madly in love with you.

He’s loyal, pushing other people away from him, and he expects the same from you… tho you usually don’t even get the chance to. He’s scaring anyone away the second they look at you.

He doesn’t care about Ward anymore, all he sees is his pretty girl who’s been with him the whole time, through everything. His girl. That didn’t push him away when he was on his lowest. His girl, who didn’t run away from him when he killed people. His girl who makes him feel so warm and fuzzy it actually keeps surprising him.

He wants to marry you, give you everything he has, pay you back for always having his back.

[evieelyzabethh]

"lacy"

⭒"i see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear"⭒ Arcane characters when jealous {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞ slight angst but they all have a happy ending, kissing, and the usual stuff (slightly pervy Jayce)

♞Vi♞

♞Making Vi jealous is a terrible game. She is about that action and absolutely loves to fight, nothing beats that flow of adrenaline as she chases someone down to bash their face in. I feel like she would also get a bit mean. Jealousy is a nasty thing, it bites, and she bites back harder. The pit it creates in her stomach tries to swallow her whole and sometimes she wants to bring you down with her

♞She doesn't understand why you would want or need the attention of anyone else when you have her. Chiefly at the beginning of your relationship, it would cause a rift, intention or not. Vi doesn't have a proper education, she’s constantly guilt ridden about her childhood and her sister, she's broke, and an absolute hot mess. She's already constantly questioning why you're with her in the first place and the last thing she needs is some random coming up and flirting with you and you even bothering to dignify their presence with a response.

♞She would go dead silent, brushing you off for what feels like weeks, stewing in her increasingly negative thoughts. She doesn't even think you're cheating, but she feels like it's only a moment of time before you realize there's something better out there. Always the one to make the wrong decision, she pushes you away for a bit. She's very short with you, brushing off your attempts to make peace, playing a mean game to see if you're gonna give up on her so she can use it against you. This is definitely her biggest red flag.

It's dark and rainy out, rain pelting at the ground, seeping and sliding into its cracks to rehydrate the already soft foundation. It was supposed to be a calm night out at the Last Drop involving a few drinks to get Vi out of her current terrible mood, bookended by an unstable walk home as you both barely support each other under your weight and constant fit of giggles. Instead, Vi was a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved into her pockets, her head down rather than putting her hood up to keep her head dry from the rain. Every time you approach her, she slightly leans away. At first you thought it was an accident, maybe she was trying to avoid stepping on a rock or into a puddle, but after the umpteenth time it happens, the message becomes clear. She's avoiding you. As argumentative as she is, you may even be worse. "What the fuck is your, problem?", you bark, the alcohol in your veins curving the embarrassment of passersby clearly tuning into the argument they think is about to break out. "You've said some choice things and have been awfully rude these past few days, and I really don't appreciate it, Violet." But she doesn't have it in her to make a big scene. It's definitely the alcohol, because she's genuinely scared that if she starts a screaming match with you right now, she'll cry. She turns to you swiftly, hair dripping wet, stray dye rolling down her cheeks and down the slope of her nose. You had just dyed it together a few days ago, back before she decided to be mad at you for who knows what reason. "Look at me", she grabs your chin before you even get the chance to break eye contact with her. Petty, pissed, and unable to jerk your face out of her grip without giving yourself whiplash, you close your eyes. This pisses her off even more. "What, you don't have any more charity work left in you? You can giggle with what-his-face for hours, but you can't even look at your girlfriend?" That gets you to open your eyes, at first confused as to what the hell she was talking about then glittering with amusement that causes her to immediately let go and continue her fast paced walk back home. She isn't far enough to escape your light voice, cheery with the realization that you finally broke her down and occupied with what you think is the silliest thing in the world. "Oh, my gods, you're jealous about that guy from last night! Vi, you're so ridiculous, I don't even remember his name." And she is still teeming with anger, but that anger will dissipate soon after that last admission. Once you sober up, you don't find it as funny, but she's at your every beck and call trying to convince you it won't happen again.

♞After a little while together, she feels more stable in the relationship. Trust, she still gets jealous, but it usually looks like a smirk on her face before she pulls you into a heated kiss in front of whoever is bothering her. She makes a real show of it too, prying open your mouth to slip her tongue inside, her hands squeezing your sides and hiking up your dress, knee pressed firmly in between your legs. She continues long after the person leaves, before shrugging and sarcastically wondering where they possibly could've gone off to. You often scold her for this. You've never been to jail, and you'd hate to go for a public indecency charge.

★Ekko★

★Ekko doesn't really get jealous, like out of everyone I think he would get the least jealous so most of this section would be about his complete lack of jealousy. He doesn't believe in getting into relationships without trust first and it's because of this confident trust that he wouldn't get jealous. If anything, he wouldn't be jealous as in feeling like your relationship was in danger but jealous when it comes to your time. Like he would get slightly pouty if he felt like you were spending too much time with your friends, and it was significantly cutting out of your time together. Even then, he wouldn't really act on it.

★Ekko would be a "I don't care what my girlfriend wears, I can fight" kinda guy. Especially because he likes picking out your outfits, he does it with the intention of showing off the goods. He likes looking at you, he knows the world likes looking at you, he sees it as doing a favor to society. He is the first to tell you your tits look scrumptious in that top.

★Same concept with you being approached or flirted with. If they have the gall to do it in his direct presence, he has a great many words to say about it, but if he's watching it go down, he likes to watch it happen. He'll get involved as soon as he gets the feeling you are uncomfortable, but for the most part he sits amused a few feet away laughing at the glances you give him as the conversation goes on.

★I feel like if anyone was to get jealous, it would be you. Ekko spends a lot of time with a lot of different people which leaves space for certain people to not know that he's spoken for. I think he would be less aware of this than you. You are always at the forefront of his mind; he cannot fathom giving his attention to other people. Especially because he talks about you so often, he makes it quite clear that he is not single and when people choose to ignore that fact, he doesn't notice.

Warm light flitters into your shared room through half open blinds that reveal the orange and yellow that the blue sky had faded into. Ekko had just gotten home eager to strip down into some old, tattered tee shirt and some boxer shirts. Instead, he was met with a slightly agitated girlfriend, and he notices this immediately. He gives you space at first, greeting you at the door and asking you how you were and listening to your expectedly short answer. He only lasts a few minutes of this passive aggression before sliding beside you on the couch, sliding his arm around you and pulling you in close. You reluctantly lean in, trying to ignore how inviting he smells and how warm he feels. "Baby," he draws out, scooping you completely into his arms to straddling your thighs over his waist, his large palms remaining on your upper thigh. He's trying to whittle down your resolve and it is working. "Don't you wanna tell me what's wrong?" You rolled your eyes. "I've already told you what's wrong." He thinks it's cute that you're jealous. He likes the way your arms cross over your puffed chest, and you furrow your brow to try and appear serious but all you look like to him is a rabbit about to thump its foot. "And I have already told you, I am completely yours." It's cheesy and he knows it and he amps it up by scattering kiss all over your face, even as you try to evade his touch. "I don't doubt that, it's just..." He derails your sentences as his kisses move lower and his hands get more adventurous, exploring your upper thigh and the curve of your ass and the small of your back from underneath your shirt. "Hey!", you snap, "I'm being serious, Ekko." He pauses, withdrawing his hands to the fat of your hips and, reluctantly, his lips from your neck. "I'm listening, baby." "I've told you I don't know how many times that I do not like that girl. She is all over you." His mouth opens to try and protest, but you cut him off. "I can literally smell her perfume on you." He gets slightly defensive at this. "You don't think I'm cheating on you, do you?" A look of hurt flashes across his eyes. "Of course, I don't, Ekko. I'm not questioning you; I'm questioning her. I know she knows we're together and she just doesn't care, and you don't shut it down. Why else do you think she kept you out this late? What were you two doing?" Nothing. A whole lot of nothing, actually. The girl you were referring to, Thalara, had been a topic of conversation before. She was new to the commune, which landed her the benefit of the doubt with you, but it's been months now and she still hasn't laid off. Ekko, ever trusting of his people, never assumed malintent, but you saw right through her. You cup his head in between your hands, looking him in his eyes to make sure that the message is clear. "I love you, and I'm not mad at you, but she's pissing me off. You need to make it very clear that she needs to leave you alone or I will send the message for you." And you meant that. He makes it very clear to her the next day that he has absolutely no interest and comes back to you the next day beaming in accomplishment.

★Jealous you turns him on so incredibly much. Whatever you say goes, he is not one to turn you down when you're in a jealous mood.

❂Jayce❂

❂I feel like you would both get jealous, but he would get far more jealous than you do. While he is far from someone who would tell you to change what you're wearing, he does try and tag along with you when you're wearing something low cut. Like babe, what do you mean you don't want him to join girls night? Are you sure you're not cold?? You must be cold; your ass is hanging out, why won't you take his jacket?? Please take his jacket!!! Because of this he walks behind you, making it much harder for those undeserving to stare at you like he does.

❂While he loves showing you off at fancy events, ain't shit funny if you look too good. If you're lucky enough to make it out the house on time (he insists on helping you zip up but then gets confused which way zippers go), being there is a struggle. He likes staring at you and did not have the forethought to think other people would enjoy staring at you too. Let someone make a comment too, he is glued to your hip for the rest of the night.

He waits anxiously for the stupid gala to be over. Had he been more of a drinker, he would've been content to have a few glasses of the fancy champagne they brought around, but he hates the ethanol aftertaste it leaves behind and that is the last thing he needed after already feeling nauseous. He was trying so hard for you, he knew he had to give you your space, and he knew you were excited to go out to his Hextech showcase to show your support. He's being bitter and he hates it, he hates biting his tongue while watching you giggle with a councilman and the fact that he feels like a petulant child watching some other kid play with his toy He's been getting better with his jealousy, honest! That's why he's self-aware enough to know that his urge to go after you, sling you over his shoulder, and carry you home himself is childsh and silly and that you would chastise him over it as he looked at you like a kicked puppy. Gods, this was stupid. But he puts a smile on his face anyway, making his way over to you from the balcony he was just standing on, and sliding his hand on your shoulder. You look over at him, startled for a second, but relax when you see his amber eyes and slightly gapped smile. And then you say the magic words. "Oh, I was just about to go looking for you. Are you ready to go?" He cannot say yes fast enough. After he has you all to himself, he is insatiable, kissing you deeply as soon as you step foot in the carriage taking you home, losing balance and nearly sending you both toppling onto the floor of the moving vehicle. The seats are awkward and not long enough to properly lay you down, but he's too desperate to care about the discomfort, his hand cradling the back of your neck to make sure you are as comfortable as you can be. He's ruthless, the force of his kisses knocking the breath out of you and you can never catch up. You're almost dizzy, his desperate whispers nearly going through one ear and out the other. "You love me, right? Me and only me? You don't need anyone else.", and he's trying to find your zipper again, but his hands are clumsy and cold, and it only serves to arch your back further into him, not that he's complaining. When you do come to your senses, you giggle, running your nails through his hair as he looks up at you with wide eyes. "How long have you been holding that in." He looks at you sheepishly, fighting the urge to hide his embarrassment in the crook of your neck. "All night." You shake your head at his ridiculousness, pulling him in for a slower kiss, properly savoring the moment, before pulled away to peck his nose. "You are the only one for me, handsome, I don't know how many times I have to say it." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "A few more times wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes and ask if he wants a collar, and he does not look as adverse as you expected.

❂He is so incredibly unhinged when it comes to jealousy. He doesn't act on it, but his mind goes to wild places. In a modern AU, if you dare not reply to a text in ten minutes he's asking, "What position he got you in?" Even worse, he knows he's being senseless, it's his way of asking for reassurance in a joking way. It's so absurd, you don't take him seriously which slightly frustrates him because he wants you to reaffirm him on what he already knows.

❂He gets really pouty when jealous too. He'll usually try and thrust himself into his work to occupy his mind and get it back to a rational place. Viktor calls you immediately because he ends up talking to him about it and he thinks the entire ordeal is unreasonable and doesn't have time to be asked at the ass crack of dawn "I know she loves me, but what if (insert insane scenario here)." He is a chronic overthinker and sometimes you just have to shut his brain off.

☽Viktor☾

☽Viktor is another one who doesn't get super jealous, but when he does, it usually stems from insecurities surrounding his leg. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes, especially as his condition gets worse, he gets frustrated that he can't do the things as easy as he used to be able to. However, he is entirely too proud to admit it or act on it. You probably wouldn't even notice, to be honest, and he wouldn't want you to.

☽I think he would absolutely throw himself into work when jealous. He's already at the lab damn near day and night, but unlike usual when he'll try for conversation here and there and be more lively, he's throwing himself into it out of necessity. It is one of his pride and joys, when his ego takes a hit, work is his refuge. This, of course, hardly ever works because he does not get good work done when it's being forced. He'll usually end up staring at the photo he keeps of you at your desk and feel lonely.

☽He'll invite you around to his lab more, though he is uncharacteristically stiff and rigid. He's trying too hard to focus but he just can't. His leg is tapping furiously beneath the table, he's biting the inside of his cheek, his hand is running through his hair every couple minutes. Things just aren't computing like how he wants them to and he hates it. His pride is a double-edged sword here, jealously is Jayce's thing. He thinks he is leagues above it and he gets frustrated with himself when he feels that green sickness in his heart.

☽He would be the type to address it head on. Once again, he's very analytical. He will tell you what exactly got him upset, why exactly it upset him, be very clear that he isn't blaming or upset at you, and silently hope you go overboard with affection for the next few weeks for the sake of his ego. After he does, he likes to ignore it even happened. Him? Jealous? You must have him confused with another ridiculously attractive, impaired, Czech-accented man. Jealous isn't even in his very extensive vocabulary, he has no idea when or why you dreamed of this completely fictitious scenario. He wouldn't try and gaslight you that it never happened, but he is petty enough to get selective hearing when it comes to mentions of it

For the first time since...ever, Viktor is home before the sun goes down. To say it catches you off guard is an understatement, so unused to the doorknob jiggling before the wee hours of the morning, you had a knife in your hand before you heard his keys in the door. You had been making dinner, and the smell alone makes his heart skip a beat. He hardly ever gets a warm dinner and for a minute, he deeply regrets being in his lab all the time. He slides off his shoes and loosens his tie as he pads over to you in the kitchen, wrapping one hand around your waist and the other gripping the counter for support. "You're home early.", you chirp, turning around to face him to peck his lips. "I was just making dinner, you want a taste?" Though he would never say no to that, you already have the spoon to his lips with a hand under to catch anything that might fall before he can even answer. He indulges, of course, and as the warm liquid soothes his throat, he hates that lab even more. Soup is one thing; but warm soup is to die for. "It's delicious, tchotchke." You smile as you turn back around. "Any reason you're home so early." He looks back the new ceiling fan you called Jayce over to put up and lets out a sardonic chuckle. He understands why you called him; he'd need to get on a ladder to put it up and have to abandon his cane for however long it took to hold the thing up and take care of the wiring. He wouldn't be able to balance himself and if he came down, the fan was coming down with him, probably on top of him. And yet, he still would've rather done it himself than you call Jayce to do it. "Yes, but it's admittedly a very stupid reason." You cannot fathom this. You remove the pot from the stove and onto a folded cloth on your counter and desert the stove. "Did something happen?" And he can't handle the look of concern on your face over something he knows to be trivial. "It's just that..." when he realizes he can't put it off any longer, he sighs. "I got jealous of Jayce." Had it not been for the serious look on your face, you would've burst into laughter. Those words had never fallen out of his mouth in that order before. "I know it's absurd, but it started when he put the fan up and it bothered me more than it should. I don't like that there are some things I can't do around the house, and it's been this way my whole life, but it's different with him. He's just always "the guy" and I hate the thought of him being "the guy" to you. It's irrational and a leap in logic, I know, but I hate it." And even better than pity, you just smile at him. In a way it's better that you want to laugh at him, he wants to laugh at him too. The thought of Jayce replacing him is maybe even more of an impossibility for you than it is for him. "So, next time I should just call a guy." He chuckles. "Yes, please."

☼Mel☼

☼I feel like she would be very calm about her jealousy, but also have a slight inclination to anger, albeit a silent one. She doesn't fear the betrayal of a potential cheating, but rather the embarrassment. If she were to see you get too chummy with someone, rather than approach you, she would watch from afar to see what you'd do. This is also a big reason why she usually doesn't take action herself; you never disappoint her when it comes to letting people know you're taken.

☼She is a bit clingier when jealous, but more than that she would insist on doing more couple things together. If she feels it is not known enough, she will make it known that the two of you are together. This often means gifts like expensive jewelry that only she could afford you, a new outfit that conveniently matches with one of hers, or even just letting you borrow bags or earrings of hers. It's her way of scenting you almost. She's too classy to try and "stake her claim" in a more showy way, so she does it in a more inconspicuous way.

Waking up alone wasn't something you were completely unused to. Mel was a very busy woman, and you were content with the nights you had together and rare mornings. These mornings were made extra bearable when you woke to a box on your nightstand, wrapped in a silk ribbon with a note in your girlfriend's handwriting slipped under the bow. 'From my heart, to my darling', it read, a lipstick mark beneath where she had signed her name with an elegant flick of her wrist. Perhaps just as eager to be opened as you were to open it, the ribbon fell loose as you gently picked up the box. It was too small to be a dress and too large to be a ring but large enough to contain maybe a fancy watch or a necklace, but judging by her unusually clingy demeanor last night, you had a feeling you could pretty accurately guess what was inside the ornate jewelry box. Unsurprisingly, within it lay a gold and pearl necklace, pearls that must’ve been rare due to their black hue rather than their usually pale pearlescent coloring.  The chain felt light in your hand, the heaviest part sinking into your palm as you stared at. Your first initial and an M. No matter which way it was taken, the M to be her first name or her last, the possessive message was clear, not that you minded. Mels smile was bright when she saw you for the first time that day, and even brighter when she saw what decorated your neck. She excused herself from the councilmember she was talking to before walking over to you, practically gliding on air. She takes your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist then your knuckles then pulls you by your hand into her. "I take it you're enjoying your gift?" Your hand still in hers, she spins you, taking you in at all angles for the first time that day. "It's beautiful, but I can't help but wonder what inspired the decision." She knows you know exactly how she works, and she doesn't mind admitting she's jealous. "Am I wrong to give my pretty girl a gift?", she says, mocking the comment you received last night. She rolls her eyes and her face gives away her impending rant. "Am I wrong to give a pretty girl a compliment? I still can't believe he said that to you last night. He only did it to piss me off, you know." You bite your lip to hide your laughter, but it eventually slips from you. "I hope I'm more entertaining than Salo was last night." She can't even feign annoyance, not with the sound of your laughter filling her ears and her name around your neck. She laughs herself, with how much the two of you talk shit about the man, you'd think anything he did could never affect her, but she had been biting her tongue since last night. "Shall I list to you all the ways you're better than Salo?" She waves the idea off nonchalantly. "No, my darling, I should hope I never need an ego boost that desperately."

☼You would definitely get jealous far more often than she does. She's gorgeous, smart, well spoken, rich and affluent, and perfection embodied in a person, there is much to be jealous of. Especially as someone who is on the council where part of the job is being great at sweet talk, I feel like you would get your feelings hurt sometimes. You catch more flies with honey, and she may be the sweetest honey there is. She does tease you for your jealousy though, she finds it utterly adorable.

☼She wouldn't allow you to be jealous long. She is very good at reading you and your emotions, she seems to always know exactly how you're feeling. You couldn't even hide it from her if you tried, she'll always find a way to corner you and help you talk your feelings through. She tries very hard to make sure that you can never question who she loves the most.  

[halfmoonaria]

the cost of hate

pairing: tara carpenter & gp!fem!reader

summary: tara always knew you drove her crazy — she just never expected it to go this far

warnings: smut 18+ / NSFW content (explicit sexual content), angry sex, alcohol intoxication.

author’s note: this was a request and turned out extremely long so buckle up.

Tara wasn't sure when exactly you became her nemesis.

It could've been the time you called her "Tinkerbell with anger issues" in front of the whole group — completely unprovoked, by the way.

Or maybe it was the fact that you always showed up to group hangouts exactly eight minutes late. Not seven. Not ten. Eight. Like you were trying to be casually inconvenient on purpose.

And somehow, you always had an iced coffee in hand and sunglasses on, even if it was dark outside, looking like you were arriving for an interview you didn't need to prepare for.

Whatever the origin story was, all Tara knew was that you were insufferable. Loud, cocky, always smirking like you were the punchline to a joke only you found funny.

And worse? You flirted with everyone. Constantly. Half the time you weren't even saying anything particularly charming — just leaning too close, dragging out compliments, tilting your head like you were always three seconds from kissing someone just because you could.

And people loved you for it. Chad thought you were the funniest person alive. Mindy treated you like some chaotic little science experiment she'd adopted. Anika had actually said the words "I think she 's kinda iconic" once, and Tara had nearly choked on her drink.

She didn't get it. She didn't want to get it.

You were the kind of person who made her blood boil and her eye twitch. She'd convinced herself that every time you opened your mouth, it shaved at least a day off her lifespan. You always had to have the last word. You always pushed the exact button you knew would get a reaction.

And worst of all, you did it with that face — that smug, slow-smiling, resting-brat expression that made Tara want to throw something heavy at you. Preferably a chair.

She'd tried ignoring you. She really had. But you made it impossible. You talked too much, laughed too loud, spread out across the couch like you paid rent there, and had the nerve to act like she was the uptight one whenever she snapped at you. You acted like everything she said was just part of some game you were both playing — like you didn't even take her seriously.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because sometimes, late at night, Tara would catch herself replaying your dumb little one-liners, thinking of all the better insults she could've said. And sometimes, she'd spend way too long trying to decide whether you actually meant it when you told her she looked "surprisingly good" that one night in her new jeans.

She told herself it didn't matter.

Because you were not funny. You were not charming.

And if anyone thought otherwise, they were probably just under the influence of your freakish ability to spin basic, mediocre nonsense into something that sounded clever. It wasn't wit. It was volume control and eyebrow raises. That was your whole personality — speaking like you were narrating a scene and reacting like you knew you had an audience.

Tara hated that you always acted like you had the upper hand. Even when she was clearly, objectively winning an argument, you'd throw out some offhand line like "You're cute when you're wrong" and somehow — somehow — everyone would laugh like you were the second coming of George Carlin. It made her want to scream. Or hit you. Or both.

You always took up space without asking. You sat on counters like chairs didn't exist. You interrupted people with questions no one asked and nicknamed her things like "Captain Cranky" or "Tiny Terror," depending on your mood. There was never a day you didn't have some quip ready, like your entire goal in life was to make her feel just annoyed enough to snap in front of other people.

And the worst part was how good you were at pretending it was all harmless. Like she was the only one taking it seriously. You'd look at her with that stupid half-lidded stare, eyebrows lifted, head tilted like you were trying to figure her out. Like she was the one being weird.

God, it was infuriating. You were infuriating.

And yet, somehow, her brain had decided you deserved this much mental real estate. Which wasn't fair. Because she didn't like you. She wasn't even curious about you. She just... needed to understand why you bothered her so much.

Yeah. That was it. She was just trying to understand you.

Which is totally normal.

Totally sane.

Totally not bordering on a hyperfixation.

Tara blinked, the sun catching the edge of her vision as the sharp buzz of lunch chatter brought her back into the moment. She was sitting on one of those uncomfortable benches in the quad, elbow resting on the table, a half-eaten sandwich in front of her that she'd mostly forgotten about. The group was scattered around her — Mindy sprawled with her laptop open even though no one believed she was doing homework, Chad snacking on something loud, Anika sipping from a thermos and pretending she wasn't eavesdropping on everyone at once.

And you — of course — were across from her, leaned back like the bench was a recliner, sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Your mouth was moving, which meant Tara was already irritated.

"...I'm just saying," you were saying, mid-rant about something that had nothing to do with anything, "if I wanted to scam someone, it'd be super easy. Like, I could sell people fake concert tickets and just vanish. New name, new identity, new city. Easy."

Chad looked genuinely impressed. "Wait, you've thought about this?"

"I have a backup plan for my backup plan," you said, proud.

Tara didn't look up from her phone as she muttered, "Yeah, the plan is called 'being an idiot with too much confidence.'"

Anika pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. Mindy glanced up, half-interested, just in time to see your face twist into that annoying little smirk you always pulled when Tara spoke.

You leaned forward slightly, tapping the table with your fingers. "Aw, don't be mad just 'cause your only backup plan is murder."

Tara looked up at that — slow and unamused. "If I ever do commit murder, guess who's at the top of the list?"

"Oh, I hope it's me," you said without missing a beat. "You thinking about me in your darkest hours is kind of hot."

Mindy muttered a faint Jesus Christ into her drink. Chad quietly asked Anika what the hell was happening.

Tara rolled her eyes and went back to her phone, but her ears were hot. And unfortunately, she knew you noticed that. Because you were watching her. Still.

Always.

Tara told herself she wasn't going to engage again. She had already given you one line — that was one too many. But you were still there, grinning like you'd just won something, like her irritation was a gift, and it was taking everything in her not to throw her sandwich directly at your stupid face.

God, she hated you.

She hated the way you always found a way to make the conversation about yourself — like you were the main character and everyone else was lucky to exist in your orbit. She hated your fake-deep takes on random topics, your smug little shrugs, and how you somehow got away with doing absolutely zero schoolwork but still passed everything. She hated how you never used a phone case. She hated your handwriting. She hated that you had a fanbase in school like this was a Netflix original.

And most of all, she hated that you always sat across from her.

"Okay, but if you had to pick someone in this group to survive the apocalypse with," Anika was saying, gesturing dramatically with a carrot stick, "who would it be? And you can't say me, because obviously I'd carry all of you."

Mindy snorted. "You? You panic when the WiFi goes out."

"I have emotional strength," Anika shot back.

"Emotional strength doesn't reload a crossbow," Mindy said.

"Wait, wait—" you leaned forward like you were about to say something important, which already annoyed Tara, "—do we mean zombie apocalypse or, like, nuclear winter? Because that changes everything."

Tara didn't even look up. "Why do you sound like you've practiced for both?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Why do you sound jealous?" That earned a soft laugh from Chad. Tara glared at him.

Mindy was already shaking her head. "This is why you two can't sit next to each other. It's like watching a romcom written by sociopaths."

"Excuse you," you said, hand on your chest. "I bring levity to this group. I'm the charming one."

"You're the delusional one," Tara muttered.

Chad leaned back. "Speaking of delusion — is everyone still going to that party Friday night?”

Tara finally looked up again. "You mean the one at that junior's house? Josh-something?"

"Josh Valera," Mindy supplied. "He was in that weird film class last semester. Wears too much cologne. Thinks Letterboxd is a personality."

"That's the one," Chad said. "Apparently he's got a pool and like five kegs."

Anika perked up. "Five?"

"Two of them are root beer, but still," Chad added.

You shrugged. "I'm going. I like chaos.”

Tara rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. You are chaos."

You grinned at her again. "Flirting already? Slow down, Carpenter. Buy me a drink first."

Tara didn't respond. She just reached over and stole a grape off your tray.

You blinked. "Hey."

"Shut up," she said, chewing slowly.

You didn't argue. You just gave her that look — the one that made her want to throw you into traffic. Or maybe into a wall. Hard to say.

Tara turned back to the group, pretending like the grape theft had ended the interaction, but her thoughts didn't exactly follow. Her fingers tapped absently against the table as Mindy and Chad started debating whether keg root beer was a crime or a revelation, voices blending into background noise.

She wasn't even sure she wanted to go to this party.

It wasn't her scene. Too loud, too messy, too many people trying to be seen. She'd already told herself she might flake. She had a paper she could use as an excuse. A headache she could fake. A completely made-up allergy to chlorine if anyone asked about the pool.

But now you were going — and somehow that made her want to not go even more, and also want to go twice as hard just to make sure you didn't say something so dumb no one could recover from it.

That was the thing about you. You made her feel like she had to be there. To monitor the chaos. To fact-check your nonsense in real time. And sure, yeah, maybe parties were a little more fun when you were around — but only because watching you try to dance and hit on people like a malfunctioning dating sim was basically free entertainment.

She wasn't going because of you.

Obviously not.

She was going because she was invited. Because all her friends were going. Because maybe she deserved a night out after surviving another week of your voice echoing through every goddamn group hangout like a mosquito that wouldn't die.

Totally normal reasons.

Mindy was saying something again, something about outfit coordination or theme or whatever, but Tara barely caught it. Her eyes flicked back across the table where you'd gone back to talking with Anika — animated, leaning in, saying something Tara couldn't hear but that made Anika snort.

You looked relaxed. Stupidly relaxed. Sunglasses still pushed up on your head, like you hadn't even noticed the sun or the way it bounced off your smile or how annoying it was that you smiled that much.

God, Tara hated people like you. The kind who didn't try and still got attention. The kind who didn't care and still got invited to everything. The kind who never shut up — ever — but somehow never got told to.

And now you were going to be at the party too.

Great.

Because of course you were. Of course you'd show up, talk too loud, drink too much, and somehow still end the night with everyone thinking you were fun. And Tara would have to deal with it. Like always.

Totally fine.

She could survive one night. As long as you didn't say anything too stupid.

Or try to talk to her.

Or exist within her peripheral vision.

___

Tara didn't even know why she was standing in front of her closet like that. Like she was frozen. Like any of this actually mattered.

It wasn't her first party. Wasn't even the first one this month. She knew exactly what to expect — same drinks, same music, same people. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She wasn't standing there for any reason at all, really.

Still, she'd been flipping through the same six hangers for almost ten minutes.

She wasn't overthinking it. She just didn't feel like hearing some dumb comment about how she wore the same shirt every time. Not that she cared what Mindy said — Mindy had zero taste and even less room to talk — but still. It wasn't about the top. It was just... the principle.

She grabbed a black crop top. Put it on. Looked at herself. Took it off.

Not because she didn't like it. She just didn't feel like dealing with it right now.

Tried something else. Looked fine. Took it off again.

God.

She tugged her hair into a loose ponytail, held it there for a second, then let it fall. Stared at herself in the mirror. Walked away. Came back. Tried on the black again. Threw it on the bed.

Her phone buzzed. Again.

The group chat was full-blown chaos now — Mindy sending voice notes nobody asked for, Chad trying to be funny and failing, Anika suggesting shots before they even left the dorm. Tara rolled her eyes. She opened the chat, typed something halfway, deleted it, then checked her lockscreen out of habit.

And of course, your name was sitting right there. With another voice note. Two, actually.

She played the first one, not because she wanted to hear it, but because it auto-played when she tapped it. That's what she told herself anyway. Not like she was listening. Not like she replayed it when it cut off halfway through because she didn't have her volume up.

She didn't even laugh. Not really. Just that weird half-smirk thing she did when she was trying not to give anyone credit for being funny.

Whatever.

She tossed her phone across the bed and sat down next to it with a dramatic flop she'd never admit was on purpose. Let her head fall back. Closed her eyes.

This wasn't her being weird. It was just her getting in the right headspace. That's all. Normal pre-party stuff. Not dread. Not anything serious. Just the kind of minor, manageable irritation that came with the territory.

People were going to be annoying. The room was going to be too hot. Someone was going to spill beer on her shoes again. And yeah, maybe you'd be there, being loud and smug and pretending like you didn't love hearing your own voice. But so what? Tara could handle that.

She always handled that.

And if she didn't, it wasn't like anyone noticed.

She'd gotten good at that — at faking it. At keeping it light. Whatever the opposite of spiraling was, that's what she did in public. Kept things casual. Played it off. Made the right faces. Said the right things. The trick was not to stop moving. Not to let people look for too long. Not to give anyone time to ask questions.

And if something slipped — if her voice cracked, if her hands shook — well, that's what alcohol was for.

It made things easier. Smoother. People didn't ask why you were acting weird if you were drinking. They just laughed and passed the bottle and told you to take another one. And Tara? Tara could always take another one.

She never had to explain anything if she was drunk.

It was a cover. A convenient excuse. And sometimes, yeah, it worked a little too well — like when she woke up still in her jeans or couldn't remember who had walked her home. But that was part of the deal. Part of the plan. She'd rather feel nothing at all than have it spill.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and rubbed her hands over her face.

Tonight wouldn't be different. It wasn't going to be some dramatic thing. Just another night where she drank enough to not think too hard. Just enough to laugh too loud and say something kind of mean and not care if you looked at her like you wanted to say something back.

Just another night. Same as always.

That's what she told herself as she pulled on her jacket and stepped out into the dark. She didn't rush. Didn't think too hard about it. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a second, she just stood there, her hands buried in her pockets, the quiet pressing in from all sides. Not a calm kind of quiet — not peaceful — more like the kind that made her feel too aware of everything. Her breath. Her pulse. The buzz in her ears that hadn't gone away since last week.

She started walking.

The streets were mostly empty. A few cars passed. Somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing way too loud, maybe already drunk. She didn't look. Just kept moving. It was muscle memory at this point — her feet knew where to go, even if her mind wasn't really in it yet.

She used to put music on for walks like this. Something loud, something fast. Something to drown things out. But now she didn't bother. Now she liked the silence better. Or maybe she just didn't want to give herself the chance to start assigning meaning to lyrics again. She hated when she did that. It made everything feel too obvious.

So she walked in silence. Past the same corner store, the same flickering streetlamp, the same crooked fence that probably still hadn't been fixed. Her fingers itched for a cigarette even though she didn't smoke. She was just used to the image — used to pretending she was the kind of person who'd do that. Careless. Detached. In control.

By the time she turned onto the right block, she could already hear the music. Not loud enough to be annoying yet. Just enough to feel like a warning. Like a reminder of what came next.

She didn't slow down.

The house wasn't far. Just a few blocks down — she could already hear the thump of music by the time she reached the corner. That same playlist they always used. That same vibrating bassline that never quite matched the beat. Someone had left the front door cracked open, and warm air hit her in the face the second she stepped inside, carrying with it a wave of voices, sweat, perfume, and cheap alcohol.

Same as always.

She didn't stop at the entrance. Didn't hesitate. She shoved her hands in her pockets and headed straight for the back — toward the kitchen, toward the glass sliding door with the broken lock, toward the corner that had somehow, over time, become theirs.

Mindy spotted her first.

"Tara!" she shouted, like they hadn't spoken that morning, already tipsy and holding a Solo cup with something suspiciously pink inside. She lunged in for a hug Tara barely returned, then immediately started talking about something she didn't really understand. Chad followed, grinning wide and already pulling her into one of those awkward side-hugs he gave everyone, like he was too big to fully aim.

And then there was you.

You leaned back against the counter like you owned it, one eyebrow raised, drink in hand. You didn't even say hi at first. Just let your gaze drag up and down her outfit — slow, deliberately unimpressed — before you spoke.

"Wow," you said. "She changed out of the hoodie. What's the occasion? You get drafted?"

Tara blinked once. "Wow," she repeated, tone deadpan. "That was almost funny. You've been practicing, huh?"

Mindy laughed. You grinned. Chad muttered something about not starting again.

But it was too late. The ritual had begun.

Tara took the drink Mindy offered, clinked it lightly against yours in some mock toast, and took a long sip without breaking eye contact. It tasted like something toxic, but she didn't flinch.

The circle closed around her again, just like it always did — warm, messy, loud, familiar. Anika slid in beside her and started complaining about the DJ. Mindy was yelling about rules for flip cup that no one asked for. Chad had already disappeared, probably looking for food. And you... you stayed exactly where you were, always within arm's reach, always with something to say.

It felt normal.

Same as every other night. Same drink in her hand. Same laughter around her. Same practiced smile on her face, tight but believable. And if she stayed moving, stayed distracted, stayed loud enough or quiet enough or just enough of something — then no one noticed anything at all. Not even you. Who noticed everything.

Anika was halfway through telling the story — apparently Chad had knocked over a whole drink onto the stereo setup earlier, and they all thought the music was going to short out and ruin the night. Mindy kept cutting in to dramatize it, claiming Chad had "shrieked like a toddler," and Chad, who was now camped out by the snacks, shouted back through a mouthful of chips that it wasn't that loud.

You half-listened, swirling the last of your drink around in the cup. Your focus kept drifting back to Tara, who had slouched into the armchair next to you without much enthusiasm, tapping the bottom of her cup against her knee like she was counting down the minutes until she could leave.

"Yeah, you missed it," you said finally, tossing it casually in her direction. "You took so long getting here we were about to send out a search party."

Tara didn't answer right away. She shifted a little in her seat, tapping her cup once more, before muttering, "Sorry people have other shit to do besides drink themselves stupid."

You smirked at the sharpness in her tone. That was the thing about Tara — she always bit back, even when it only made it worse for her.

"And here I thought you were just busy picking out an outfit," you said, resting your elbow lazily against the back of the couch. "Took you forever and you're still the worst dressed one here."

Mindy barely looked up from her phone. "Okay, but to be fair, Y/N would say that no matter what she wore."

You clicked your tongue like you were hurt, but Tara beat you to it, lifting her cup and aiming a lazy smile at Mindy.

"At least someone around here has taste," she said, clinking her drink lightly in Mindy's direction.

You eyed Tara's outfit again — black jeans, black top, black jacket. Somehow three different shades.

"Taste?" you echoed, eyebrows lifting. "You're wearing two different blacks right now. You look like a printer error."

Tara exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "Right, because I should take fashion advice from someone who thinks jean shorts are business casual."

The reaction from the group was instant — a few low laughs, Mindy muttering something under her breath you didn't catch. Tara just shook her head like she was so done, but you could see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she was holding back a smile she didn't want to give you.

Still, she couldn't leave it alone. She never could.

"You know what?" you said, straightening up like you'd just remembered something crucial. "At least I show up on time. Not everyone's gotta wait around pretending to enjoy freshmen karaoke because someone can't figure out how to use Google Maps."

That one hit — a few more chuckles around the room. Tara narrowed her eyes, shifting forward in her seat.

"It's a five-minute walk," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Even you could find your way here, and you still get lost inside a Target."

You gasped like it was an outrage, slapping a hand to your chest. "Oh my god. I got lost one time."

"Three times," Anika corrected, not even looking up from the cup she was fiddling with.

You turned your betrayal onto her with a dramatic glare. "That's because Target is a maze. They do it on purpose. Like a trap.”

Tara was already leaning back, tipping her head against the wall like she was exhausted by your stupidity. "You're just dumb," she said sweetly, smiling over the rim of her cup.

You smiled wider, teeth and all, like you had been waiting for it.

"Yeah?" you said. "You got an F in Health class, Tara. You're basically a public hazard."

It was immediate — a loud snort from Mindy, Anika covering her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her laugh. Tara, for once, didn't have anything fast enough to say back. She just gave you a look — all narrowed eyes and simmering annoyance — and took a long, deliberate sip of her drink instead.

You leaned back into the couch, pleased, letting the laughter fade around you. Tara was still glaring at you from behind her cup, and you shot her a wink just to twist the knife a little deeper.

Like always — you got the last word. And like always — she hated you for it. God, she hated you.

She hated the way you acted like you didn't care, like nothing ever touched you. She hated the way you could tear her apart without even raising your voice, how you never got rattled no matter how hard she tried to knock you off balance. How you smiled at her like you liked seeing her lose.

She hated your mouth — sharp and quick and always moving — and the way you dressed, like you didn't even try but still somehow won. Tight black tube top stretched over your chest, low-slung jeans clinging just right, a little messy, a little dangerous, a lot hotter than she could stand to admit.

Tara let her gaze slide sideways, just for a second. You were leaning back against the kitchen counter now, a red solo cup dangling carelessly from your fingers, grinning lazily, legs crossed at the ankle like you couldn't have been more at home. The hem of your jeans was frayed, the belt slung low across your hips, the sharp lines of your body slouching there like it wasn't killing her.

You looked like every bad decision she had ever barely survived. And you knew it.

Tara took another long sip of her drink, swallowing down the burn. She told herself she was just annoyed — just irritated by you — that the flush creeping up the back of her neck was from the alcohol, not from the way you kept laughing, easy and bright, with everyone except her.

Not because you looked good.

Not because you made her want something she was supposed to hate.

She tapped her cup against the edge of the counter again, harder this time, trying to shake it off.

Trying to ignore the way you shifted your weight, the way the band of your belt caught the low light, the sharp gleam in your eye every time you caught her looking.

God, she hated you. And if she didn't, she was going to have to start lying a whole lot harder.

Tara cracked an eye open at the sound, her gaze dragging over you — slow, irritated, and just a little too heavy. She could already feel the alcohol blooming hot under her skin, prickling at the back of her neck, tightening in her chest like it wanted to crawl out. Definitely more than she usually drank. Way more.

But what was she supposed to do? Stand here stone-cold sober while you — in all your smug, infuriating glory — kept shooting her that half-smile like you knew you were winning just by existing?

No chance.

She shifted her weight, letting her shoulder knock loosely against the cabinet behind her, and took another sip even though she didn't want it. The liquor was starting to taste stale. Bitter. And it still wasn't working. Still wasn't shutting off the sharp, gnawing awareness of you — standing there way too close, belt catching the light, black tube top doing absolutely nothing to not make her night worse.

She blamed the red in your eyes on the alcohol too. Had to. Because the alternative — that you were already three steps ahead of her, soft and glassy and loose-limbed and still managing to make her look like the idiot — was something she wasn't about to deal with tonight.

You caught her looking again. Of course you did. You tilted your head just slightly, a silent challenge, your fingers toying lazily with the rim of your cup.

"Just you and me then, princess," you said, smirking around the rim of your cup.

Tara scoffed, hard, eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that."

You blinked innocently. "No? What about...Pissy Missy?"

She made a face like she just swallowed something sour. "Worse."

You grinned wider, pushing off the counter to face her more fully. "Snappy?"

She shot you a look that could've cut glass. "Try again and I'm breaking your nose."

You lifted your free hand, pretending to think it over, pretending to take it seriously. "Mmm... Crankzilla?"

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples like the very sound of your voice was giving her a migraine.

You pushed yourself up onto the counter with a little hop, drink sloshing slightly in your hand but somehow you didn't spill a drop. You perched there like you owned the whole damn room, legs swinging loosely, head tilted just enough to seem amused, still grinning, refusing to let up. "Tantrum Tot?"

Tara let out a short, humorless laugh. "You are the last person who's allowed to call me that."

Your smile turned sly. You leaned in just a little — enough to make it annoying, enough to make it clear you were doing it on purpose. "Mean Bean?"

Tara actually recoiled like you'd slapped her. "I will literally throw you out the window."

You laughed under your breath, couldn't help it. "So that's a no?"

She shook her head, looking half-ready to murder you, half-ready to laugh. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol making everything feel looser around the edges — the thrum in her veins, the heat crawling up her neck — or just you being a stubborn, smug little shit, the way you always were.

You looked at her, feigning disappointment. "Guess I'll just stick to 'princess.' You seemed to like that one the best."

She let out a sharp, disbelieving breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan — and nudged your knee with her hand as she stepped past you to grab another drink. "God, you're insufferable."

But her mouth twitched at the corner when she said it. Just barely.

And you caught it.

Of course you did.

Your eyebrows lifted, slow and smug, and you tipped your cup toward her like a lazy kind of toast before taking a sip — dragging it out just enough to make sure she noticed.

Tara rolled her eyes, whipping her head to the side like she could physically shake you out of her sight. But it was too late — you'd already seen it.

The tiny, reluctant pull of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Like she hated you, God, she hated you — but sometimes you were just... so stupid, it scraped a laugh out of her before she could stop it.

Not a full laugh — just a quick breath through her nose, a barely-there twist of her mouth — but enough to make you catch it.

And enough to make your smirk deepen.

You leaned back against the counter a little more comfortably, soaking it in, almost like you were proud of yourself for chipping away at her.

Which, of course, you were.

The room around you buzzed louder — people laughing, shot glasses clinking together somewhere across the kitchen. You turned your head lazily toward the noise, watching as a group gathered by the kitchen island, shouting numbers and already spilling cheap liquor across the counters.

Your gaze shifted back to Tara, a lazy spark lighting behind your eyes.

"Let's take a shot," you said, voice low and smooth, like you were suggesting something way worse.

Tara blinked at you, like she genuinely thought she had misheard. "What?"

You shrugged one shoulder, your smirk never dropping.

"Scared you can't keep up?"

This time, the laugh actually escaped her — a short, incredulous sound, almost more like a scoff.

"You wish," she said, shooting you a look so sharp it could've taken your head off if you were standing any closer.

You pushed off the counter, setting your drink down without a second thought, already moving toward the mess of bottles and half-filled glasses at the island.

You didn't even have to look back — you could feel her eyes burning into your back, feel the weight of her decision hanging thick in the air.

For a second, you thought maybe she was going to be stubborn — dig her heels in and refuse, just to spite you. But when you slowed up near the table, pretending like you hadn't even noticed she hadn't followed yet, you heard her exhale sharply.

You didn't have to look to know she was giving in.

You grabbed two shot glasses from the cluttered island, ignoring how sticky the counter had gotten, and poured quickly — a lazy, messy hand on the bottle.

You very obviously tipped a little more into hers, the clear liquid sloshing closer to the rim, before sliding it across the counter toward her spot without a word.

Tara caught it, narrowing her eyes immediately — but she didn't say anything. She just adjusted her grip like she was already planning how to get you back later.

You grinned, picking up your own glass, and tilted it toward her expectantly.

"C'mon," you said, nudging the rim of yours toward hers. "Don't be rude."

She rolled her eyes but lifted hers too, clearly ready to just get this over with — but you didn't let it stay casual.

You smacked the two glasses together a little harder than you should have, enough that a splash of alcohol flew up and splattered across her hand and wrist.

"Asshole," she laughed — real this time, but quick and rough like she didn't mean to let it out — wiping her hand absently on the side of her skirt.

You shrugged, pretending like it hadn't been on purpose at all, and tipped your glass up.

Tara followed a beat later.

The tequila hit her tongue hot — too hot.

Not the smooth burn she was used to — the kind that melted into your chest and stayed there — but something sharper, harsher, like her whole mouth dried up at once and she was still somehow drowning.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed it, scrunching her nose instinctively after.

She'd taken shots a hundred times before. But right now, it felt... different.

Maybe it was the amount she'd already had tonight — more than she usually would've touched.

Or maybe it was the way the room spun a little when she tipped her head back down, how everything felt just slightly off-balance, like the floor under her feet was shifting.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were standing there, cocky and stupid and smirking at her like you knew she was going to keep saying yes to every little thing you dared her to do.

Maybe it was that.

Either way — she wasn't about to let you win again.

You were already reaching for the bottle again, tipping it over both your glasses without even asking.

You didn't even look at her — just poured like it was obvious she was going to stay.

Tara moved automatically at first, grabbing her glass to pull it away — but she hesitated halfway through. Her fingers tightened around the rim instead, her mouth tightening too, like she couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

She was shotting with you. Standing next to you — just you — out of her own free will.

Nobody forcing her, nobody dragging her by the wrist, nobody making a joke or daring her into it.

She could have walked away fifteen minutes ago. Hell, she could have never said yes in the first place. But here she was.

And the worst part — the part that made her want to throw the shot straight in your face — was that it didn't even feel completely insufferable.

It should have. God, it should have.

Instead, there was a lightness to it. A weird, easy kind of tension that didn't make her want to throw a punch — not really. Just... knock your stupid smirk off your face a little.

You caught her staring, of course — because you always caught everything — and shot her a look like you were already laughing at her inside your head.

You smirked wider, raised your glass, and clinked it against hers again.

"Cheers, princess," you said, all slow and mocking.

Tara narrowed her eyes — but when you both tipped your heads back and took the second shot, she was smiling.

She hated it.

But she smiled anyway.

The first shot was already starting to hum under her skin — or maybe it was the second, she didn't know. She told herself that was why she was still standing there with you. Why she hadn't already shoved past you and disappeared into the crowd.

It wasn't because it felt good — leaning there, beside you, the air crackling faintly between your arms whenever you shifted too close. It wasn't because of the way you kept glancing at her, like you were waiting for her to crack first.

It wasn't because the tiny part of her — the tiny, traitorous part — kind of liked it.

No.

It was just the alcohol.

That's what she decided as she placed her empty shot glass back down, a little too hard.

That's what she decided when her head swayed slightly, and the room tipped for a second too long before steadying.

When the blurry edges of the world made it easier not to think too hard about anything.

You were leaning your hip lazily against the edge of the folding table now, one foot hooked behind the other, like you didn't have a single worry in the world. One hand still cradling your drink, the other tapping a slow, easy rhythm against your thigh.

You were too relaxed.

Too comfortable.

Like standing next to her wasn't supposed to be the most aggravating part of your night.

It made her jaw clench — and at the same time, her stomach twist in a way she didn't really want to name.

She didn't realize she was staring until you turned your head, catching her again — always catching her — and cocked your eyebrow slightly, like you could read every thought she hadn't even figured out herself yet.

You didn't say anything for a second — just kept leaning there, easy and casual, like you didn't notice the way she was barely keeping herself upright. But then your smirk deepened a little, sharp and taunting.

"Want to dance?"you said, tipping your head toward the living room, where the music was still loud and heavy.

Tara almost laughed in your face.

Almost.

But the alcohol made the floor feel softer under her sneakers.

It made the flicker of lights around the room seem farther away, easier to ignore. And it made the idea of saying no — of staying here while you went off and smiled at someone else — feel unbearable.

So she rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "fuck you," and shoved off the table to follow.

The bass was pounding when you reached the middle of the room, people already packed tight enough that there wasn't really much space to move properly.

You didn't seem to care. You just spun around to face her, stepping backward into the crowd and waiting, daring her, with a tilt of your head.

Tara hesitated — but only for half a second.

Because fuck it. It was just dancing.

And it was definitely just the alcohol making her heart trip when your hand brushed lightly against her wrist.

You didn't grab her. You didn't even really touch her again.

You just started moving, lazy and easy, like you knew she was going to fall in step with you eventually.

And the worst part — the part that made Tara want to rip the stupid black tube top off your body — was that she did.

The music was loud enough to drown everything else out.

The lights blurred. The people around you blurred. And suddenly it was just you.

The way you moved. The way your jeans clung low on your hips. The flash of your belt buckle when you twisted just right. The way your shirt stretched tight across your stomach, showing off every sharp line of you.

Tara's mouth went dry. And just like that, the anger was back.

Because of course this was happening. Of course the second she let her guard down for half a second, you had to go and be hot.

She blamed the alcohol. She blamed the shitty lighting. She blamed the way the air felt sticky and electric. She blamed everything — except herself.

Because there was no fucking way she was actually starting to want you.

Tara moved half a beat off from you, just enough to look casual — just enough to hide the way her eyes kept flickering up, catching on you every other second.

The lights kept shifting overhead, blurring everything in flashes of purple and red, but somehow you stayed sharp.

The slope of your neck when you tossed your head back, laughing at something someone said behind you.

The way your shirt bunched and stretched with every shift of your hips.

The way your fingers hooked lazily through your belt loops, casual, cocky, like you owned the whole fucking room.

It all felt like slow motion.

Too vivid. Too loud inside her own head.

Tara gritted her teeth and forced herself to move, let the music drag her along so she didn't freeze up completely.

Because she could not let you catch her staring. She could not give you that satisfaction.

But even as she danced — even as she made herself sway to the pounding bass — her hands curled into fists at her sides.

She wanted to slap herself across the face. Or better — slap you.

Because you weren't even doing anything. You were just existing — just breathing and smiling and moving like you didn't have a single thought in your stupid, pretty head — and it was wrecking her.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair that you could get under her skin like this without even trying.

And it made her furious.

Furious that she couldn't look away.

Furious that you looked so good under the lights, all effortless and smug and just a little wild.

Furious that her pulse stuttered every time you shifted closer.

Furious that a tiny, traitorous part of her — deep, deep down — almost didn't hate it.

Of course this was happening. Of course it was.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen it coming — not really. Not with the way you hovered around the edges of her life now, like a bad habit she couldn't kick. Not with the way the bickering had started sounding less like hatred and more like a language only the two of you spoke.

But this — this heat licking up her spine every time you so much as shifted in her direction —

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It couldn't happen.

Not when she hated you.

Not when she'd spent months convincing herself you were a mistake — a fluke — an accident she was smarter than to repeat.

You were cocky. You were smug.

You were a walking disaster, and you didn't even try to hide it.

You made her want to scream into her pillow and punch holes through walls and maybe — maybe —pull you closer by your stupid shirt and kiss you until she forgot how much she hated you.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because if there was even the smallest chance she could want you — even for a second —even with the alcohol burning through her bloodstream and the lights spinning overhead —then everything she thought she knew about you — about herself —was a lie.

And Tara Carpenter didn't lose.

She didn't fold.

She didn't want things she wasn't supposed to want.

Especially not you.

Her head buzzed — heavy and slow — like she was moving a few beats behind everything else. Every noise — every shout, every laugh, every thud of bass — felt a little too loud, rattling inside her skull like a marble in a glass jar. She blinked hard, trying to clear the static clouding her brain, but it only made the lights streak across her vision worse.

She caught herself swaying a little where she stood, the floor tilting under her feet, and scowled hard at nothing.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides — like maybe she could squeeze the dizziness out of herself if she tried hard enough.

Great.

Exactly what she needed.

As if this wasn't already a fucking disaster.

The music thumped louder, vibrating up through the soles of her shoes, knocking against her ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone bumped into her shoulder, laughing, a drink sloshing over their hand, and Tara barely managed not to stumble sideways.

She realized she wasn't even really dancing anymore — just standing there, stuck, her pulse pounding too close to the surface, her breath coming quicker than she wanted.

Everything felt too hot. Too close. Too slow and too fast all at once. She needed to move.

She needed to get away from you — your stupid mouth and your stupid smirk and your stupid eyes.

Without thinking, she spun on her heel and pushed away from the crowd, her boots scraping hard against the sticky floor.

The bodies around her blurred together, all sweat-slick skin and flashing lights. She shoved her way through without caring, elbowing past groups hunched over drinks, sidestepping half-hearted apologies she barely heard.

The smell of cheap liquor and something burnt clung to the air, thick enough to choke on. Every step felt heavier than the last, like her boots were sinking into the floor, dragging her down.

She squinted through the chaos, trying to find somewhere — anywhere — less suffocating, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides.

Her eyes caught on a worn-out couch shoved against the wall, sagging in the middle, a mess of abandoned jackets and empty cups piled onto one side. It was barely any quieter over there — the music still thudding through the walls — but it was better than standing around like an idiot.

She stumbled her way toward it, weaving through the crowd, her shoulder clipping someone's arm without so much as a sorry. By the time she dropped onto the couch, the seat gave a tired creak under her weight, and she let herself slump back — her legs sprawling.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the dizziness to settle, the roaring in her ears to die down.

The world kept tilting anyway.

She hated this.

Hated the way the night felt like it was slipping out of her hands.

Hated the heat clinging to her skin.

Hated you for making it worse without even trying.

She didn't even hear you approach — not at first.

But she felt it — the shift in the air, the invisible pull of you stepping closer.

That same stupid electricity sparking just from you being near.

Tara gritted her teeth, dropping her hands back onto her knees like she hadn't noticed anything at all. Like you weren't already there, lingering behind her, all smug and cocky and impossible to ignore.

She barely had time to slump back before you caught up, dropping down onto the couch beside her like you belonged there.

Your voice was low and stupidly smug in her ear.

"What's wrong? Can't keep up?"

Tara flipped you off over her shoulder without even bothering to look at you.

The motion was sloppy — her middle finger wobbling a little in the air — and she hated how you immediately laughed under your breath like you thought it was cute.

She scowled harder at the wall in front of her.

God. She hated this.

You didn't let up, of course.

You just shifted lazily closer, sprawling back like you had all the time in the world, your knee knocking against hers.

"What," you teased, voice low and impossible to ignore, "not used to anything outside of Beethoven?"

Tara whipped her head toward you — or tried to — but the whole room lurched sideways and she had to slam a hand down on the seat cushion to steady herself.

You laughed — actually laughed — and it was so stupid and smug that Tara couldn't help it.

A tiny, treacherous snort escaped out of her before she could stop it.

She immediately clamped her lips together, furious at herself — but it was too late.

You'd definitely heard it.

And worse, you were already grinning like you'd just won some invisible game she didn't even realize she was playing.

Tara cracked her eyes open again — a mistake — and immediately caught you staring right back at her.

Her chest tightened, too hot under her skin, and she tried to look away — but it was already too late.

Your eyes locked.

The air between you stretched tight — tight enough to snap — and Tara felt her own gaze flicker down, stupid and uncontrollable.

Straight to your mouth.

God, your lips were glossy — pink and wet under the shitty lights — and she hated that she noticed.

Hated the way the thought hit her like a punch:

That she could just lean over and kiss you.

That she could wipe that stupid fucking smirk right off your face with her mouth.

The thought should have mortified her.

Instead, it just burned — angry and wild, crackling in her chest like static.

She didn't chase the thought away. She didn't even try. She just sat there, letting it ruin her, letting it make her crazy.

Because it wasn't like you could hear what was happening in her head.

It wasn't like you knew.

But then you spoke — low, lazy, almost bored — and she realized you absolutely knew.

"Wanna make out?" you said.

The words weren't even really a question — more like a taunt — sliding off your tongue slow and smooth, like you already knew the answer.

Tara's whole body locked up at once.

Her fists clenched hard against her thighs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

She stared at you, open-mouthed, furious —

Furious at you, at herself, at the alcohol humming thick under her skin.

And the worst part — the absolute worst fucking part —was that her first instinct wasn't to say no.

It was to say yes.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Because it wasn't just the alcohol talking.

Not just the warmth in her chest or the slow spin of the room.

It was the way the air felt heavy around her, the way your knee brushed against hers on the couch and she didn't pull away. The way her eyes kept dragging to your mouth and how she couldn't, for the life of her, seem to stop.

Her thoughts were sticky and slow, crawling through her head like syrup.

Everything around her — the voices, the music, the clatter of cups and laughter from the next room — had started to melt together, one indistinct blur of sound.

But you?

You were sharp. Clear. The only thing not spinning. And that pissed her off.

Because you weren't supposed to look like that — not here, not now.

You weren't supposed to be this version of yourself.

Not flushed and grinning and leaning back on someone else's couch like it belonged to you.

Not with those fucking glossy lips and the heat in your eyes and that low, teasing voice that kept sliding under her skin like it knew how to get there.

You looked good.

Too good.

Not in the annoying, arrogant way she was used to seeing you at school — mouthing off in class, flashing smug looks from across the cafeteria like you knew everything.

Now, in this lighting — under the soft yellow bulbs and the flicker of whatever movie someone had left playing in the background — you looked warm.

Inviting.

Your shirt slightly rumpled from dancing, your lashes casting shadows on your cheeks when you blinked.

And your mouth.

God, your mouth.

Tara's eyes flicked to your lips before she could stop them, catching the faint sheen of gloss that hadn't completely worn off yet.

She wanted to blame the shot.

Both of them.

The burn still lingering in her throat, the warmth still spreading in her chest.

She felt high.

Not drunk — high.

The kind of high that made her limbs feel light and disconnected, her fingers slightly numb where they fidgeted in her lap.

She felt like if she moved too fast, her body would tip right off the edge of the world.

And you had the audacity to say it like it meant nothing — like you hadn't just thrown a live wire into her already scrambled brain.

Like it was funny.

Like it wasn't about to ruin everything.

She froze — only for a second — but it felt longer than that.

Long enough for her brain to scramble for something.

Some reason, some excuse, any explanation that didn't end with her admitting what she was actually thinking.

None of it will matter tomorrow.

You're drunk. She's drunk.

This isn't real.

You wouldn't even say something like that if you were sober.

So she didn't have to take it seriously.

She didn't have to mean it.

She let her head fall back against the couch — the real kind of surrender — and turned it lazily to the side so she could look at you without making it obvious.

You were already watching her.

Her gaze dropped again, and this time, she didn't pretend it was an accident.

Your lips looked soft.

Mocking.

Like they were daring her.

And for just a second, she imagined what it'd be like to shut you up with a kiss.

Hard.

Fast.

Just to wipe that look off your face.

The thought made her stomach flip.

It made her angry, how easily her mind went there.

But you weren't going to hear those thoughts.

So what did it matter?

Her lips curled before she could stop them — a slow, crooked smirk — and she finally gave in.

"Sure," she said, her voice low and dry.

Your eyebrows ticked up, just slightly.

And then you leaned in, already smiling like you knew.

Tara barely had a second to breathe.

Your face was suddenly so close — the heat of you, the smell of your skin, some mix of alcohol and mint gum and whatever lotion you used.

Too close.

And then your mouth touched hers.

It was hesitant at first. Just a press. A test.

But it was warm — soft — and her breath caught in her throat.

You tilted your head just slightly, and her lips followed without thinking.

They parted for yours like they knew how.

The kiss deepened.

Slower than she expected.

Sloppy, yes — but controlled.

You kissed like you were making sure she felt it.

Every inch of it.

Tara's lips moved with yours, instinct kicking in where reason had checked out.

She shifted her weight, angling closer, and felt your hand graze her knee before sliding up to her hip, anchoring her there.

You adjusted, one elbow slipping up along the back of the couch — the actual term she was too drunk to think of — your fingers brushing her shoulder as you leaned in further.

It made your bodies press together in a way that sent sparks shooting down her spine.

She kissed you harder.

Or maybe you kissed her harder.

She didn't know anymore.

All she could feel was the warmth of your mouth — wet, slow, maddeningly soft — moving against hers.

It wasn't clean or careful.

It was messy.

Unsteady.

Like neither of you really knew where the rhythm started or ended, just that you didn't want to stop.

Your lips parted again, and she followed.

Breath hitched.

Tongues touched.

Tara's fingers dug into the edge of the couch cushion, her balance swaying between you and the seat, and she didn't care.

Your lips tasted like cheap liquor and something sweeter underneath.

Your teeth grazed her bottom lip and she inhaled sharp through her nose — just enough for you to notice — before kissing you again.

It was chaotic.

Uncoordinated.

Hot.

Her heart was hammering.

You kept kissing her like it was easy. Like you weren't even thinking about it.

And she couldn't stand how badly she wanted to keep going.

How her body leaned into yours like it needed to.

Every second of it was wrong.

Every second of it felt too good.

But Tara didn't pull away.

Not yet.

Your hand was still resting at her hip, light but grounding, and her fingers curled unconsciously against your leg, needing something solid to hold onto. Her lips moved against yours again — slower this time, deeper. Like she couldn't help it. Like the heat simmering in her chest had nowhere else to go.

She didn't even try to think anymore.

Didn't care.

Her thoughts were loud — messy, tangled, barely strung together.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She shouldn't want this.

But she did.

God, she did.

She kissed you harder, angling her head to the side, and you met her without hesitation — like you'd been waiting for that exact pressure, that exact urgency.

Her legs shifted against the couch, thighs tightening involuntarily as your hand brushed up her side — not even high, not even skin — and still it sent a jolt right through her.

She was drunk.

That had to be it.

It had to be.

Because she could feel it now.

Low in her stomach. Between her legs.

A slow, pulsing heat — the kind that wouldn't go away. That never just went away.

It was ridiculous.

So fucking ridiculous.

But you tasted good.

You felt good.

And when your lips dragged slightly down to the corner of her mouth — just enough to make her breath hitch — Tara realized she didn't just want to kiss you.

She wanted more.

Her mind raced.

Images flashing too fast to stop — her hands gripping your shirt, your mouth lower, your body under hers — and she wanted to shake herself.

Yell.

Do something.

But all she did was kiss you again. Again and again and again.

She could barely think, barely breathe, could feel herself pooling between her legs — warm, aching, needy in a way that made her want to scream.

It was humiliating. It was infuriating.

And it wasn't stopping.

You shifted slightly, pulling her closer without even trying — and Tara let you.

Let you kiss her like you owned her.

Let your tongue slide against hers with that same cocky rhythm.

She wanted to push you back.

Push you down. Pull your hair. Something. Anything.

Because she needed more.

Even if she couldn't say it.

Even if it killed her.

The thought alone made her dizzy.

Not the alcohol. Not the heat.

Just you.

You, sitting there like you hadn't just lit her whole body on fire.

You, staring at her with those eyes like you knew exactly what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

And fuck — she hated that she couldn't hide it anymore.

Not with her lips swollen from yours, not with her chest rising too fast, not with that hungry, throbbing pull between her legs that wouldn't stop gnawing at her.

Her mind twisted in circles — a thousand reasons why she should stop, why she had to stop.

This wasn't her.

She didn't do this.

She didn't want this.

But that voice was buried now — drowned under the heat, the rush, the way her thighs squeezed together like they had a mind of their own.

The only thing louder than her thoughts was the ache.

She wanted to lean back in.

Wanted to taste your lip gloss again, to bite your bottom lip and hear you gasp.

Wanted to see just how far you'd let her take it.

Instead, her body moved on instinct.

Sharp. Sudden.

She pulled away — barely — lips parting from yours with a sound too soft for how hard her heart was beating.

She sat there for a second, just breathing.

Just staring.

Your eyes locked with hers, confused but already glinting with that same smugness you always had.

And still — she couldn't look away.

Her hand twitched. Fingers curled.

"Come on," she muttered — voice low, tight, like the words cost her something.

Then she grabbed your wrist.

Not rough. Not gentle.

Just determined.

You didn't say a word.

Didn't ask where you were going.

You just followed.

She pulled you through the crowd, heat and bass and sweat pressing in from every side.

Bodies crushed together — laughing, moving, swaying — and Tara didn't look at a single one of them.

She didn't care.

Didn't slow down.

Her grip on your hand tightened as she shoved through, weaving past shoulders and spilled drinks and sticky floors.

The music was louder now, the air thicker, and she could barely breathe — but she didn't stop.

Because you were still behind her. And your hand was still in hers. And she needed more.

Wherever this was going —

Whatever happened next —

She needed more.

And oh, did she get it.

She barely registered the room as she dragged you inside — the faint whir of a ceiling fan, the messy tangle of an unmade bed in the corner, a dresser with half-open drawers.

It didn't matter. None of it did.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Tara's hands were on you again — shoving you back against it hard enough to rattle the frame.

You let out a breathy laugh — smirking — and Tara wanted to punch it off your face.

Or kiss it.

Apparently her body decided for her.

Because the next thing she knew, her mouth was on yours again, hot and rough and starving.

She felt you grin against her lips — cocky and pleased — and it made something furious and electric twist deep inside her.

She kissed you harder.

Sloppier.

Your bodies crashed together, uncoordinated and messy.

It was all teeth and heat, lips sliding and tugging, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

Tara barely remembered how to breathe.

Her hands fisted in the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer, feeling the way your body molded into hers.

You were warm — too warm — and the heady smell of you, your perfume and sweat and beer, filled her lungs until she was drunk off it.

Drunker than she already was.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Tara almost whimpered — feeling it all the way down to her knees.

The way your tongue brushed against hers, teasing, coaxing.

The way you bit down gently on her bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth for just a second before letting go.

Fuck.

She pressed her whole body against you, chasing the feeling, desperate to steal more.

And all she could think — all she could fucking think — was:

More.

More.

More.

Her hands moved before her brain could catch up — yanking at the hem of your shirt, dragging it upward in one rough pull.

You didn't resist — you even raised your arms to make it easier — and Tara barely tossed it somewhere across the room before her eyes dropped automatically, hungrily.

You were wearing a black bandeau bra — simple, tight, strapless. It hugged your chest perfectly, the curve of your breasts pressed up and together — smooth and effortless and unfairly fucking hot.

Tara stared for a second longer than she meant to, heat punching through her chest so sharp it almost hurt.

And then she was on you again.

Her hands framed your face, grabbing you roughly, and she crashed her mouth back onto yours like she could erase the thoughts racing through her head if she just kissed you hard enough.

You made a low sound in the back of your throat — something between a laugh and a moan — and suddenly, you started walking forward, guiding her with you.

Tara stumbled a step back, caught off-guard, but didn't think, didn't care — she just followed, letting herself be pulled wherever you wanted her.

It was messy, chaotic, bumping into furniture, nearly tripping over shoes left on the floor. The floor kept tilting under her feet, the alcohol swirling through her blood like fire.

But none of it mattered.

You didn't give her time to overthink.

Before she could fully process it, the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed —

And your fingers were already at the hem of her shirt, bunching it up and over her ribs.

Tara didn't move at first.

Didn't breathe.

She just let you.

Arms raising slightly, letting you peel the fabric up and off — another piece of herself surrendered without even a second thought.

Her head spun so violently it almost made her laugh.

And then your eyes flickered down — blatantly — lingering at her chest. Tara didn't even have time to brace for it.

She was wearing a black lace bra — something strappy, barely-there, a little too much push-up if she was being honest.

The way your gaze darkened made heat lick straight down her spine. You smirked, slow and lazy, like you had all the time in the world.

"Fancy, Carpenter," you murmured, voice low and teasing.

Tara opened her mouth — maybe to tell you to shut the fuck up — but then you tilted your head, grinning even wider.

"Did you pick this out just for me?"

Your hands slid up without warning — fingers tracing lightly over her ribs before cupping her breasts through the lace.

It wasn't even that rough, but it didn't have to be.

Tara almost moaned.

Almost.

Her knees went a little weak, her body flaring hot all over — and god, it pissed her off how easily you could get to her.

Instead of giving you the satisfaction of hearing her fall apart, she grabbed your face again — rough, desperate — and pulled you back into her.

"Don't remind me that you're you,” she growled into your mouth.

And then she kissed you — hard, messy, almost feral — her hands fisting tight in your hair like she needed something to hold onto just to keep herself grounded.

Tara kissed you like she was trying to knock the smugness right off your face — open-mouthed and clumsy and a little too desperate.

Your hands stayed right where she hated them — cupping, teasing — your thumbs brushing over the lace in a way that made her hips stutter forward without meaning to.

And somewhere in the swirling, drunken haze of it all, Tara had the fleeting, stupid thought that maybe she regretted what she said. Because doing this — this — with you didn't make her hate you more.

It made it hotter.

Made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Before she could sink too deep into that terrifying realization, your hands slid down to her waist — gripping tight — and without warning, you pushed.

Tara stumbled backward with a sharp gasp, the backs of her knees hitting the bed.

She let herself fall — dropping onto the mattress with a bounce — glaring up at you like she wanted to murder you and kiss you at the same time.

You just smirked down at her, maddeningly calm, stepping in even closer. Your knees bumped against the edge of the bed, and for half a second, neither of you moved — the air thick between you, your breathing ragged and shallow.

And then — slowly, lazily — Tara spread her legs apart, leaving just enough space for you to step between.

She tilted her head back against the bed, looking up at you with dark, furious eyes — like she was daring you to fucking do something about it. Tara could already feel herself slipping.

Her thighs tensed where they framed your hips, her chest heaving with every shallow breath.

She didn't know what it was — the alcohol, the heat, you — but she needed something.

Needed you to move, to touch her, to do something.

If that meant bending her over and fucking her until she forgot her own name, then so be it.

She didn't care. She just needed it.

Her whole body ached with it — restless, buzzing, desperate — and she barely lasted ten seconds under the weight of your stare before her patience snapped clean in half.

"Are you just going to stand there fucking stare," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "or are you going to fuck me?"

Tara propped herself up on her elbows like it might make her look tougher —like it might somehow hide how desperate she was underneath all the glaring.

Your mouth fell open slightly at her words, caught somewhere between a smirk and actual shock —like you hadn't expected her to say it out loud.

You let your gaze rake down her body, slow and lazy, and when you looked back up at her, your smile was downright cruel.

"Wow," you said, voice dripping with mock-sweetness. "Someone's needy, huh?"

You leaned in, one hand bracing on the bed beside her hip, your mouth just barely brushing her ear.

"Poor little princess," you whispered. "Should I help you out?"

Tara muttered a "fuck you"under her breath — something sharp and furious— but her hands were already moving.

Shaky, rushed, desperate.

She grabbed at your belt first, fumbling with the buckle like it personally offended her, her fingers clumsy with alcohol and want. She yanked it loose hard enough to make the metal clatter, then popped open the button of your jeans, dragging the zipper down in one rough pull.

And fuck, there it was — hard and heavy against the fabric, clear as fucking day.

The sight made her head spin worse, made something low and tight pull deep in her stomach, but she didn't let herself stop to think about it — not even for a second. She shoved at your jeans until you stepped out of them, until they hit the floor with a messy thud.

Her heart thundered, wild and wrecked against her ribs, but she didn't move away — not yet.

Her hands hovered there for half a second, like she was caught between hating herself and wanting you more than she'd ever wanted anything.

Tara's mouth actually watered — hot and heavy and shameful — and she clenched her jaw tight like that could somehow make it stop.

Before she could even think about it, you were already moving again — your hands sliding down her sides, gripping tight at her hips. And then you were tugging at her skirt, so much easier than the fight she'd had with your jeans.

All it took was a little lift of her hips, and the fabric slid right off, pooling somewhere forgotten at the edge of the bed.

And fuck — she was wet.

She knew it.

You probably knew it too.

The thin black lace of her panties — delicate and stretched tight over her — left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tiny little bows sat at each hip, the material riding low enough to make her look even more wrecked than she already was.

Your eyes dragged down her body slowly, like you were memorizing every goddamn inch.

And Tara, stubborn as ever, tilted her chin up — like she wasn't seconds away from begging you to touch her already. You didn't even hesitate.

Your fingers hooked into the delicate black lace at her hips and tugged, slow and deliberate, dragging the soaked fabric down her thighs. Tara didn't move at first — didn't even breathe — but the second they were off, she let her head fall back against the bed, her elbows still propping her up, gaze tilting up toward the ceiling.

The room spun around her, thick and heavy and slow, but she didn't care.

Not when she could hear the faint shuffle of you undressing too, stripping off that last piece of clothing between you.

She didn't even have to look to know you were naked now.

She felt it — the heat rolling off your body, the slow, deliberate weight of your gaze dragging across every inch of her.

Her chest rose and fell fast, uneven.

Her thighs pressed together for just a second — instinctive — but then she forced herself to relax them again, stubborn even now.

Waiting for you to make your move.

You still weren't doing anything.

You were just standing there, hovering over her, like you had all the time in the world — and it made her insane.

Tara threw her head up from the bed, snapping in a wrecked, furious voice, "God, could you be any slower?"

But she barely had the words out before you finally pushed into her.

Her breath punched out in a strangled, desperate moan, her head falling back again, slamming lightly against the mattress.

Her bare legs immediately wrapped themselves around your waist, locking you in place, like she couldn't stand the thought of you pulling away even for a second.

"Fuck," she gasped, low and broken, her voice raspy from how much she needed this — from how much she hated how good you felt inside her.

Without thinking, she tried to grind up into you, desperate for more, desperate to chase the dizzying pleasure curling in her stomach —but your hands clamped down on her hips, hard enough to bruise, forcing her to stop.

You didn't let her set the pace. You didn't even let her move.

You held her exactly where you wanted her — then shoved her hips deeper against yours, guiding her exactly how you wanted it: hard, rough, relentless.

Pushing her into you, dragging her back, pushing her forward again — over and over, like you were using her body to fuck yourself, like she wasn't even given a choice.

And God, it was good.

Every drag, every thrust was blinding —

Tara could feel you everywhere, splitting her open, filling her until her thighs were trembling from the force of it.

She bit down on a moan, fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets beside her, barely able to breathe through how fucking good it felt —how good you felt —how much she hated it and loved it and needed more anyway.

The rhythm was brutal.

Your hips crashed into hers again and again, rough and relentless, dragging these helpless, wrecked sounds out of her throat with every thrust. The bed squeaked under the force of it, your bodies slamming together, slick and messy and perfect.

It felt fucking fantastic.

Tara couldn't stop herself — couldn't even try to stop — moaning over and over again, broken, desperate sounds ripping free of her lungs like she had no control over them anymore.

It was euphoric. It was almost too good.

Her mind was spinning so violently she swore she might black out, the pleasure building under her skin like fire.

Fuck, you were so good at this. FUCK

So fucking good it made her angry.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tried to ground herself — but when she opened them again, when she saw the way you were looking down at her —so cocky, so goddamn smug, so fucking hot — she had to throw her head back again, moaning even louder, because fuck, she couldn't take it.

Her body betrayed her, gave her away completely, hips bucking up to meet yours every time you snapped forward into her.

And even if her brain was screaming at her not to say it —not to admit it —every single wrecked, desperate sound coming out of her mouth was saying it for her.

You were making noises too — low, heavy grunts punched out from your chest — but Tara barely even noticed. She was too far gone, too consumed by the feeling of your cock stretching her open again and again, your body pinning her down so perfectly she never wanted you to stop.

And then, of course — you just had to fucking smirk.

"Geez, Tara," you said between rough breaths, that infuriating grin tugging at your mouth, "if I knew this would shut you up, I would've done it ages ago."

You shifted your hips with a brutal snap, driving yourself harder into her just as she opened her mouth to fire back — and the only thing that came out was a wrecked, desperate moan.

"Yeah, well— maybe you should've—" Her voice cracked, the words collapsing into a breathless whimper when you slammed deeper, grinding mercilessly against that perfect, aching spot inside her.

Tara's head fell back against the mattress, her whole body jolting with every sharp, perfect thrust. She tried to scramble for the sheets again, tried to cling to anything to ground herself, but her hands were useless, clutching nothing but air.

Every time you moved, it was overwhelming — relentless and raw and fucking perfect — and it made her legs tighten around your waist like she was scared you might pull away.

Her breath was stuttering now, spilling out in broken little gasps that only made you smirk harder. And when you pushed in again, harder, rougher, she whimpered so loudly it almost sounded like a sob.

Fuck, she hated how good it felt.

Fuck, she hated how fucking good you felt.

Her hands scrambled uselessly against the bed — grabbing fistfuls of the messy sheets, tangling in her own hair, clawing at her flushed face — but nothing grounded her, nothing eased the brutal, overwhelming way you were slamming into her.

She felt like she was going to snap.

She wanted to snap.

The bed creaked under the force of it all, the air thick with rough breaths and low grunts. Tara's entire body burned — from rage, from need, from how fucking good you felt ruining her.

And you just kept going. Kept fucking talking.

"You sound so pretty when you're desperate," you panted against her ear, smirking because you knew what you were doing to her.

Tara's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her whole body tensed under you — furious and humiliated and desperate all at once.

"God," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "shut the fuck up.”

You just chuckled darkly under your breath — and pushed even deeper, harder, like you were punishing her for even thinking she had the right to tell you what to do.

Tara threw her head back against the bed, a choked moan breaking out of her throat — furious at herself for how fucking good it felt, furious that she was the one begging now, without even needing to say a word.

And it only got worse.

Rougher.

Harder.

Better.

The slap of your bodies hitting echoed in the room, each thrust forcing little desperate sounds out of her no matter how tightly she bit her lip to hold them back. Her thighs shook where they were wrapped tight around your waist, the sheets she clawed at were useless under her hands, and fuck —that heat in her lower stomach was starting to grow.

A dangerous, simmering pit that started as a little thrum — a warning — and then kept building, sharp and dizzy and huge, way bigger than anything she was used to feeling.

She knew what it was.

She knew she was about to come — fuck, she was about to come — and it scared her how fast and hard it was coming.

It was like her whole body had turned traitor. It was like she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to.

And you must have felt it too — the way her body started tightening around you, the way her nails dug harder into the sheets — because you only fucked her rougher, dirtier, faster.

And Tara couldn't hold back anymore.

She gasped out something — something wrecked and half-broken — her head pressing back harder into the bed, her mouth falling open on a silent cry.

You were right there with her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge, like you wanted to watch her fall apart. Like you fucking needed it.

And Tara didn't stand a fucking chance.

One more thrust — brutal, rough, deep — and she was gone.

Her whole body tensed hard, legs locking tighter around your waist, her back arching sharply off the bed as a broken moan ripped straight from her chest.

It slammed into her all at once — fast, wrecking, almost violent — like something had snapped inside her. Her vision went white around the edges, her fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets, at her own hair, at anything she could grab.

Her hips bucked without her even meaning to, grinding desperately against you like she still needed more even as her orgasm ripped through her.

And you —fuck, you lost it too.

The second her body clamped down around you, tight and soaking wet and shaking, you cursed low under your breath and slammed into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as you could go.

You spilled inside her with a wrecked grunt, your hips grinding into hers, trying to ride it out as your body shuddered with the force of it.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't soft.

It was messy and hot and frantic — both of you coming so hard it almost hurt, both of you falling apart into each other like you didn't care if it fucking killed you.

Tara barely even realized she was whining until it was already out of her — high and wrecked and fucking needy, her whole body trembling as you finally, finally stilled.

And for a second, neither of you could breathe.

The only sounds were the wet, sticky slap of skin, the broken, panting breaths you both tried to catch, and the furious hammering of Tara's heart in her ears.

You pulled out of her slowly, dragging a low whimper from Tara's throat that she tried — and failed — to swallow down.

The second you were gone, she let herself collapse fully onto the bed, chest heaving, skin flushed and slick with sweat.

You hovered above her for a moment, both of you panting, just staring at each other. Tara glared up at you — or at least, she tried to.

But her anger didn't land the way it usually did; she was too fucking tired, too wrecked, too spent for her eyes to sharpen into proper daggers.

It was more of a seething, half-lidded glare now. One that didn't scare you at all.

And that was when it hit her —what had just happened.

What she'd just fucking done.

It felt like the alcohol evaporated out of her bloodstream in one horrifying instant.

Her heart hammered in a completely different way now — heavy and sick. For a second, she thought she might be sick.

What the fuck had she done?

The shame hit her first — hot and brutal — almost strong enough to drown her.

She hated herself for it. Hated you for it.

Hated how fucking good it had felt.

And that was what saved her —the memory of how good it felt. The sharp edge of her panic dulled, just a little.

The anger simmered lower, curling into something she could almost stomach.

Still — she had to get the fuck out of there. Now.

Tara shot upright so fast it made her dizzy, scrambling across the bed, snatching up her underwear and yanking it up her shaky legs.

Her skirt came next — wrinkled and inside out, but she didn't give a shit — she just needed it on.

As she struggled to tug it back into place, she looked up at you —still half-naked, still smirking like the smug piece of shit you were.

"Not a word about this to anyone," she snapped, her voice low and wrecked and shaky, "Okay?"

And you — of course — just smirked wider.

___

At first, Tara didn't think much of it.

She figured she was just still hungover — the party had been brutal, after all. She hadn't exactly treated her body well that night.

Half a bottle of vodka, God knew how many shots after, plus whatever the hell she'd eaten off some random guy's plate at three in the morning... it made sense she still felt like shit days later.

That was all it was. Hangover.

Or maybe she ate something bad.

Maybe that sketchy half-burnt pizza from the gas station.

Maybe some stomach bug going around campus.

Or maybe — worst case scenario — she was just getting sick. Some late-winter flu. Something that would pass in a few days if she just drank enough Gatorade and slept it off.

Because seriously, what else could it possibly be?

She shoved the thought away. Refused to let herself even consider anything bigger than that.

But then the days passed.

And the nausea didn't go away. It just got worse.

Creeping up on her in the middle of class — making her have to fake-cough into her sleeve just so she wouldn't gag in front of everyone.

Gnawing at her stomach late at night when she tried to sleep, making her curl tighter under the blankets, teeth clenched, trying to will the feeling away.

It felt like her body was rejecting something. Like it wasn't even hers anymore.

By day five, even the smell of coffee — something that usually got her through her worst mornings — made her stomach flip.

By day six, brushing her teeth made her gag so hard she had to sit down on the bathroom floor for ten minutes after.

Still, she told herself it was nothing.

Stress, she thought, scrubbing her face at the bathroom mirror with angry hands. College. Lack of sleep. Nerves.

Maybe her immune system was just wrecked.

Maybe it was her period coming and being a bitch about it.

It had to be something like that.

It had to be.

She kept telling herself that —over and over, louder and louder —right up until she opened her calendar app one morning and her whole body went cold.

Because she was late.

Really fucking late.

Her stomach twisted.

Not from nausea this time — from panic.

She counted again.

And again.

Counting on her fingers like a dumbass because her brain couldn't make the math make sense.

No matter how she spun it, it had been almost two months.

Tara had sat back against her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to hyperventilate.

Trying to tell herself she was wrong.

That it was still stress, still nerves, still something normal.

It's not that, she told herself, breathing through her nose, gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white. It's not that. It's not that. It's not that.

But deep down —deep, deep down —she already knew exactly what it was.

She could keep lying to herself.

She really could.

And maybe she would've kept lying, would've shoved it down and ignored it and pretended it wasn't real,

if it hadn't been for that night.

The night she ended up hunched over the toilet, sweating and shaking, the taste of acid clawing up her throat.

No warning. No time to pretend it was something else.

It hit her halfway through brushing her teeth — one second she was fine, the next she was dropping her toothbrush into the sink and bolting for the bathroom like she was being hunted.

And as she wiped her mouth, breathing hard, hands clutching uselessly at the cold tile floor —it sank in.

Cold.

Sick.

Unavoidable.

No more excuses.

She didn't remember making the decision.

Not really.

One minute she was pacing her room, hands trembling, heart crawling up her throat —

and the next, she was standing in some grimy drugstore aisle, blinking under the too-bright fluorescent lights, staring at a wall of small pink boxes like they were a firing squad.

She grabbed the first one she saw.

Didn't read the label.

Didn't check the price.

Just threw it into her basket, keeping her head down, as if someone — anyone — might see her.

Might know.

The walk to the register was a blur.

The cashier barely looked up.

She paid in cash.

She didn't even wait to get home.

She just —well.

The bathroom at the back of the store was disgusting.

The kind of disgusting that made her hover awkwardly over the toilet, chewing on her thumbnail, breathing through her mouth because the smell was so bad.

She didn't care.

She couldn't care.

The box was torn open with shaky fingers.

The instructions were left crumpled on the floor.

She didn't need to read them anyway.

Everyone knew how these things worked.

It was over before she even realized she had started.

A few minutes that felt like years.

She sat there — cold, half-numb — perched on the closed toilet lid, arms wrapped tight around herself like it could somehow keep everything from slipping out of her control.

She didn't look at it at first.

She couldn't.

Just sat there, staring at the wall, feeling the seconds bleed out slow and awful, until every heartbeat felt like it could crack her ribs wide open.

And when she finally forced herself to glance down —just a glance, nothing more —it was there.

Blunt.

Undeniable.

Positive.

Tara didn't even have time to think.

Her stomach lurched viciously, and she was barely able to twist around and yank the toilet lid up before she was gagging into the bowl, retching hard enough that her whole body trembled.

It wasn't the same kind of nausea as before.

This was something worse — something heavier.

Shock.

Terror.

Grief.

When she finished, she just stayed there — bent over, forehead resting against her forearm, the test lying on the counter behind her like some cruel, stupid joke she couldn't wake up from.

She didn't know how long she stayed there.

Five minutes? Ten? An hour?

Time didn't feel real anymore.

Eventually, she forced herself up, stumbling to her feet on shaky legs.

She paced the small bathroom, bare feet slapping against the tile, hands buried deep in her hair like she could physically tear the panic out of herself if she just pulled hard enough.

Muttering under her breath.

Cursing herself.

Cursing you.

"What the fuck," she whispered hoarsely, dragging her hands down her face. "What the fuck."

She couldn't breathe right.

Her chest felt too tight.

Her mind kept spinning in wild, useless circles.

Who the fuck was she supposed to tell?

Sam?

Absolutely not — Sam would kill her. Not even just yell — actually kill her.

Mindy?

No way. Mindy would ask a million questions. She'd want to know who. When. How.

Anika?

Same thing. Just softer. And worse.

Chad?

Tara almost laughed — a sharp, broken noise that didn't sound right at all.

Chad wouldn't even listen for more than ten seconds.

He'd probably just high-five her over the sex and completely miss the part where her whole fucking life was falling apart.

Which left you.

The last option.

The last person she wanted to talk to.

Because this?

This was your fault.

Maybe partly hers, sure — she wasn't stupid — but mostly yours.

And the thought of calling you made her stomach churn all over again.

She didn't even remember saving your number.

She didn't even remember getting it.

But there it was — staring back at her from the cracked screen of her phone, mocking her.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

And then, before she could think better of it, she pressed it.

She pressed call.

And every second that the phone rang, her panic grew louder, shrieking inside her chest.

One ring.

Two.

Three —

You answered, your voice so casual it made her want to scream.

"Well, well," you drawled, smug and slow, like you were grinning already. "Couldn't get enough, huh? Already calling me back?"

Tara swallowed.

Hard.

The words sat like a rock in her throat.

She opened her mouth — nothing came out.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Saying it out loud would shatter whatever thin, desperate hope she still had that this was some sick mistake.

You didn't say anything either.

The teasing dropped into silence — just the faint crackle of the line between you, waiting.

And then you said, more cautious this time, "...Hello?"

Tara squeezed her eyes shut.

Felt her hands start to shake.

And before she could stop herself — before she could take it back — she forced it out in a broken whisper:

"I'm pregnant."

[hxney-lemcn]

Jealousy is a Bitter Look — Overblots x gn! reader

summery: how the overblots react to being jealous (some are a bit more jealous than others, but they all have their moment).

tw: unhealthy attachments (Malleus, but he's working on it). ngl this shows a bit of their flaws so its not complete fluff and a bit of a character study.

a/n: so I can't make a fluffy/cute jealous fic cus I find jealousy an emotion to work on? Like its not terrible to be jealous, it happens to the best of us, I just don't wanna romanticize it? 'Cus if left unchecked it can lead to toxic relationships so that's why I wrote this in a more uplifting manner (?). Idk, I'm weird ik.

wc: 1.5k (~200 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle tried not to get jealous. He trusted you wholly. But sometimes his insecurities got the best of him. Cater was more affectionate, did you wish he were more affectionate like that? Trey was kind, did you wish he would give you more? Ace and Deuce were stupid, but it was undeniable how well you got along, did you wish he were more carefree? Those feelings would tug at his heart, but it was something he needed to work on himself, it wasn’t your problem. That’s what he kept repeating in his mind as he watched you have fun with your friends. Lips downturned hidden behind a teacup, ocean grey eyes sharply watching the scene before him. He thought he was hiding it better, but it was clear to you with how he pouted. Excusing yourself from Ace and Deuce, you made your way to the ruby haired housewarden. Riddle greeted you, eyes softening and frown lifting slightly. You tell him that he could’ve just told you if he was jealous. Unlike some, he won’t deny it fully, instead explaining his reasoning. Work on it with him, reassure him that you like him for him. If you wanted someone else, you wouldn’t be with him, and he takes that to heart.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

Jealousy is Leona’s middle name. After everything he’s been through, constantly being in second place, never getting what he truly wants…he feels like having you will slip through his fingers as well. Being with you, creating all those happy memories…it scares him. That one day you’ll find someone better and all he’ll have left of you are memories. So yes, he does get jealous, quite easily, and he masks it with his ego. He’s the best, don’t look at anyone else, he’s a prince, why would you settle for less? It’s quite clear that he’s jealous, his tail flicking, ears twitching, the sharp glare. When you confront him he won’t tell you the full truth, that’s a step too far at the moment. Be gentle with him, if someone flirts with you, tell them you have a boyfriend. Leona gets this smug smile and a warmth in his chest. As much as he won’t hesitate to claim you if someone won’t stop their advances, he loves it when you claim him. After all, it shows how much you care for him, how much you want him, and even the big bad lion needs a bit of reassurance.

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

He’s actually quite similar to Leona in this regard. Azul was bullied when he was younger, which led him to having an inferiority complex about almost everything. He is bad at hiding it as well, clearly needing to be reassured that he was doing well and he was a good partner. It was just hard for him to comprehend that someone as amazing as you was actually with someone like him. He loves you so intensely, he can’t help but let his insecurities get the best of him sometimes. He thinks you’d hate his mer form or that someone that could offer you more will swoop you away from him. He wouldn’t even blame you, he’d just be hurt he couldn’t do more for you. (He’s thinking all this even though he would and could offer you the world if you asked). When someone is trying to flirt with you outright he’s trying to mask his insecurity with his suaveness, asking if the person needs anything and if you're uncomfortable he leaves in a small threat about Floyd not being in a good mood (if you’re really uncomfortable he might use Jade as the threat instead). Azul checks in on you, but if you're smiling he might die a bit. Please just reassure him that you only have eyes for him.

❥ Jamil Viper

Unlike Leona and Azul, Jamil doesn’t get that jealous or has an inferiority complex. No. Instead, he knows you wouldn’t go behind his back, after all, you managed to become his partner and that’s a feat in itself. He does get smug when you tell someone off, or politely inform them that you have a boyfriend. Jamil reveals in their look of defeat (he is a bit of a sadist in that regard). The time his jealousy truly shines is when Kalim is in the equation. He refuses to allow Kalim to take anything else from him, never mind you. The way Kalim easily makes you smile, steals your time with frivolous parties, puts his hands on you…yeah it's a feat that Jamil didn’t snap. Jamil is very good at masking his feelings, but the facade unravels when you both are alone for once. Give him your attention, affection, love, reassure him through touch that you want him. If you poke and prod enough he’ll admit he’s jealous, how it just reminds him that Kalim always takes and takes, afraid that you’ll fall for the charm (that Jamil couldn’t understand) of Kalim and fall into his arms instead. But when you soothe him, tell him that you see Kalim more of a brother if anything…Jamil will calm down and realize how foolish he’s being.

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Vil, jealous? Yeah no. Not normally at least. Have you seen him? Vil is one of the fairest of them all. If someone tried flirting with you he’d laugh in their face if that wasn’t disgraceful. If anything, you were the lucky one in this relationship…he does cherish you though, and he loves you more than he’d like to admit. You may be a lucky potato…but he was one lucky man as well. He managed to snag your heart without the flashing lights and fame, you loved him for who he was and he was grateful. So when Vil watches Neige talk to you with no care in the world, hearts practically in the boy’s eyes…yeah it's the one scenario you’ll witness a jealous Vil. He’ll perch himself by your side, arm slung around you as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek. A pleasant surprise as Vil isn’t this affectionate in public usually. Neige doesn’t seem to take the hint, so Vil ups the ante, talking about your last date and how he’s lucky you chose him. It’s an obvious change (and everyone knows the vitriol Vil holds for Neige). You eat the attention up, but after you're alone in his room, give him a ton of kisses, teasing him about how sweet he was, he doesn’t like to admit his jealousy, but he loves your affection.

❥ Idia Shroud

I’m noticing a pattern. Most of these guys have an inferiority complex. Idia’s is the most obvious. He barely believes you actually like him, so him being jealous is more common than not. Depending on how long you’ve been together he’ll react differently. If it's in the beginning, he’s blaming and degrading himself for not being good enough, that you deserve better and he locks himself in his room. He needs a lot of reassurance in this stage, lots of quality time. The longer you are together the more confident he gets. Someone tries to flirt with you; he's dissing them with his chronically online lingo. Doing that little giggle when you elbow him trying not to grin. Although those self-deprecating thoughts still swirl in his brain, he’s learned to trust and believe you, after all you decided to stay with him for how long? Not to mention that your reassurances made him feel better and trust you. You’ve seen his worst multiple times and you’re still by his side. Besides, if anyone dares insults Idia in their attempt to woo you you go crazy, insulting them which makes Idia want to melt, die, and kiss you all at once.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Malleus is a bit confusing. On one hand he 100% trusts you, on the other he can be a bit childish. You spend too much time without him or go out to something he wasn’t invited to and you’ll find him pouting upon your arrival. He doesn’t mean to, he’s glad you have others to have fun with and he doesn’t want to restrict you in any way…but he is a bit needy when it comes to your affection. He is so touch-starved and isolated that he can’t help but cling to you, feeling a bitter pang when you have to go. If anyone dares to flirt with you it's when he isn’t by your side and you're declining them instantly. If someone is actually insane and tries to flirt with you when Malleus is present either 1. Malleus watches on trying to hide his smugness as you decline or 2. Sebek is shouting insults at them before you even get the chance. All in all, Malleus isn’t too jealous, and when he is he tries to work on his possessiveness. He wants a healthy relationship with you after all, and he’d do anything to make you happy, even if that means letting you go for a day to hang out with your other friends.

[lovingdynamight]

Mha boys when they have a crush on you vs dating you

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Paring: Katsuki Bakugo, Denki Kaminari, Shoto Todoroki, Izuku Midoriya x reader

Genre: fluff

_______________________

Katsuki Bakugo

✦ First of all, denial. Hard, aggressive denial. There’s no way he likes you. Nope. Not happening.

✦ Spoiler: It’s happening.

✦ He gets annoyed at how much he notices you—your laugh, the way you talk, the way you tilt your head when you’re confused. It’s all infuriating (because it makes his heart race, and he HATES it).

✦ The second someone suggests he has a crush, he’s exploding. “THE HELL ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT? I DON’T LIKE ‘EM!” (Yes, he does.)

✦ Despite his denial, he’s always around you. If you’re in the common room, so is he. If you’re training, he suddenly needs to train too.

✦ If someone flirts with you, his entire mood shifts. He won’t admit he’s jealous, but he will suddenly feel the urge to outshine whoever’s talking to you. (“Tch. Like that extra could even keep up with you.”)

✦ If you ask him for help with training, he acts super cocky about it, but deep down, he loves that you asked.

✦ Blushes when you compliment him but immediately covers it up with grumbling. “Damn right, I’m great.” (Meanwhile, his ears are bright red.)

✦ The type to bully his crush affectionately. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t waste his time teasing you. If he calls you an idiot, it’s probably his love language.

✦ His love is shown through actions. He’ll shove his jacket at you if you’re cold. He’ll bring you your favorite drink without a word. He’ll walk you back to your dorm and say it’s just “because you’d probably get lost or somethin’.”

✦ When he finally confesses, it’s not smooth. At all. Probably happens after he gets jealous. “Look, dumbass, I like you, alright?! So stop messin’ around with those other extras!”

✦ He’s the most possessive boyfriend. Not in a toxic way—he just wants everyone to know that you’re his.

✦ PDA? It depends. He won’t be all over you in public, but he will sling an arm around your shoulders or keep a hand on your waist to make sure people get the message.

✦ However, in private? Oh, yeah. Big softie. Will hold you for hours if you let him.

✦ Not a huge fan of pet names but will call you things like “dumbass” or “idiot” in an oddly affectionate way.

✦ But if he ever calls you something genuinely sweet (“Hey… you look good today, babe.”), it means everything.

✦ Aggressively supportive. If you’re struggling, he’s yelling about how strong you are. “You’re not some weak extra! You’re better than that! Now get up and prove it!”

✦ Acts annoyed but secretly loves it when you steal his hoodies.

✦ If you’re hurt, he’s hovering. Fuming. Yelling at the nurses to take better care of you. (“Fix them faster, dammit!”)

✦ The king of forehead kisses. He does them absentmindedly sometimes, like before he heads to bed or when he’s pulling away from a hug.

✦ Will fight literally anyone who upsets you. Doesn’t even ask what happened, just “Who do I gotta kill?”

✦ If you ever try to leave after an argument, good luck. He hates unresolved fights and will literally pick you up and carry you back.

✦ Secretly a cuddler. Won’t admit it, but if you fall asleep next to him, he’s not letting go.

Denki Kaminari

✦The most obvious crush in Class 1-A. If Denki likes you, literally everyone knows except you.

✦Flirts with you constantly. Even if you brush him off, he keeps trying. “Come on, babe, don’t break my heart like this.”

✦However, the moment you flirt back? Glitching. Buffering. Might actually short-circuit if you catch him off guard.

✦Finds any excuse to be around you. If you’re sitting, he’s sitting next to you. If you’re standing, suddenly he needs to stand right there, too.

✦Shamelessly asks to hold your hand all the time. “For science. I just wanna see if we have, like, good chemistry, y’know?”

✦If anyone else flirts with you, he’ll pretend it doesn’t bother him, but his dumb little pout says otherwise.

✦Subtly protective. If he notices you look uncomfortable, he’ll step in like, “Heyyy, there you are! Been looking for you!” even if he wasn’t.

✦The human charger. If your phone is dying, he insists on charging it for you. “See? I’m useful. You need me.”

✦ Laughs at all your jokes, even the bad ones. If you make fun of him, he just grins and goes, “Damn, you really like me, huh?”

✦Casually drops hints about liking you but makes it sound like a joke. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.” (He’s not joking.)

✦When he finally confesses, it’s probably in the middle of a casual conversation. “By the way, I’m, like, super in love with you.”

✦Clingy. If you’re in the same room, he’s touching you in some way—a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist, leaning his head on you.

✦Loves PDA. If you let him, he’ll hold your hand, hug you from behind, and drop so many cheek kisses.

✦Calls you so many nicknames. Babe, baby, sweetheart, honey, lovebug, shockingly attractive, the list goes on.

✦Steals your stuff. Hoodies, accessories, snacks—it’s all his now. “I wear this hoodie better anyway.”

✦If you ever wear his hoodie, though? Malfunctioning. “Holy sh—okay, keep that forever.”

✦The most dramatic boyfriend. If you’re gone for five minutes, he’s whining, “I missed you so much.”

✦Gets jealous easily but tries to play it cool. Usually fails. “Yeah, whatever, I’m fine. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” (He is definitely mad.)

✦Insists on being your human charger anytime your phone dies. “See? I’m the best boyfriend. Unlimited battery, baby.”

✦If you’re upset, he’ll do everything to make you smile—even if that means electrocuting himself on purpose to make you laugh.

✦Cuddle monster. He will literally wrap himself around you like a human blanket. “You’re warm. I’m comfy. This is how we live now.”

✦Kisses constantly. Especially your cheeks and nose. If you’re flustered? Mission accomplished.

✦Brags about you all the time. “Yeah, my s/o is literally the coolest person alive. I don’t make the rules.”

✦Loyal to the core. If someone talks bad about you, he’s ready to fight. Probably not a good idea, but he’ll still try.

✦Just so in love with you. Tells you every day. Probably writes your name with little hearts in his notebook.

Shoto Todoroki

✦ At first, he doesn’t fully realize he has a crush. He just notices that he enjoys being around you more than anyone else.

✦ You’re the only person he actively seeks out to sit next to in class or during lunch. If someone else takes the seat? He just stands there, waiting for them to move.

✦ He’s not super obvious, but you might catch him staring at you a lot. And if you ask why, he’ll just say, “I was thinking about something.” (That something is you.)

✦ If you ever compliment him, he takes it very seriously. You could say, “You look nice today, Todoroki,” and suddenly, he’s replaying it in his head for the rest of the week.

✦ Struggles to make small talk but will always listen to whatever you have to say, no matter how mundane. You could be ranting about your favorite snacks, and he’s nodding like it’s the most important conversation of his life.

✦ He’s not a jealous person, but if Denki or someone flirts with you, he’ll suddenly insert himself into the conversation, staring at them until they get uncomfortable and leave.

✦ If you’re ever cold, he offers the left side of his body without hesitation. Literally just— “You can use my fire.”

✦ You make him smile without realizing it. Sometimes he’ll catch himself smiling after you say something funny and quickly go blank-faced again.

✦ Now that he knows for sure he likes you, he’s much more direct. “I like you. Be my s/o?” No hesitation, just vibes.

✦ Dates with him are either extremely fancy (five-star restaurants because Endeavor’s money) or ridiculously casual (“Do you want soba?”). There is no in-between.

✦ Not big on PDA, but if he sees other people looking at you, he will put a hand on your back or casually hold your hand as a silent flex.

✦ He’s not used to being physically affectionate but learns quickly. If you initiate a hug, expect him to just hold you there for a while.

✦ Tries to learn your favorite things so he can surprise you with them. If you mention liking a certain dessert, expect it to randomly appear in your dorm or on your desk.

✦ If you get sick or injured? He’s sitting by your side, watching you like a hawk, making sure you rest properly.

✦ Lowkey competitive about being the best boyfriend. If he sees another couple being cute, he immediately takes notes. “Do you want me to call you cute names? I can do that.”

✦ If you tease him, he’ll stare at you for a long moment before hitting you with a dry, unexpected comeback that leaves you speechless.

✦ Absolutely cherishes you but doesn’t always know how to express it with words. Instead, he just shows up and does things for you—helping with training, bringing you snacks, or simply being near you.

✦ Occasionally drops the most romantic lines without even realizing it. You could be joking about something, and he’ll just go, “I’d go anywhere if you were there.”

✦ If he ever kisses you in public, it’s brief but meaningful. But in private? He’s surprisingly soft about it, cupping your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Izuku Midoriya

✦ Blushy mess. The second he realizes he likes you, he’s doomed. Face red, hands fidgeting, brain short-circuiting anytime you talk to him.

✦ Overthinks everything. Did he stare too long? Did he say something weird? Should he say something now? Oh no, you’re looking at him—PANIC.

✦ You can always tell when he’s flustered because he starts rambling.

✦“You’re really strong! I mean, you’ve always been strong, but I’ve been watching— WAIT, not in a weird way! I just mean you’ve improved a lot, and—”*

✦ Writes about you in his notebook. He’ll analyze your fighting style, strengths, weaknesses—but there’s also a random section like: “They looked really cute today.”

✦ If you get hurt in battle, he immediately drops everything to check on you. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need Recovery Girl?”

✦ SO SUPPORTIVE. If you’re training, he’s hyping you up. If you’re struggling, he’s offering help. He’ll literally never let you doubt yourself.

✦ Tries to act casual around you but fails horribly. His friends figure it out before he even tells them.

✦ If you compliment him? Dead. He freezes, stammers out a thank you, and turns the color of a tomato.

✦ Low-key jealous but won’t admit it. Instead, he’ll silently sulk and train harder. “I have to be stronger…” (Translation: I must be worthy of them.)

✦ You could breathe in his direction and he’d probably write a mental essay about how amazing you are.

✦ The sweetest, most caring boyfriend ever. He remembers the little things—your favorite food, how you like your tea, that one random fact you mentioned weeks ago.

✦ Constantly checking on you. “Did you eat? Are you getting enough rest? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, right?”

✦ Loves holding your hand. It calms him down, and he thinks it’s the most comforting thing in the world.

✦ Still gets flustered when you kiss him, even if you’ve been dating for a while.

✦ Study dates! If you ever struggle with schoolwork, he’ll patiently tutor you (and definitely get distracted just admiring you).

✦ If you get hurt? Full-on panic mode. He’ll carry you to Recovery Girl himself if needed. “You need to be more careful! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you…”

✦ PDA? Minimal. He’s shy about it, but he’ll hold your hand or press small kisses to your forehead when no one’s looking.

✦ If you’re upset, he’ll listen for hours and offer the most heartfelt advice. “I know it’s hard, but you’re strong. And no matter what, I’ll always be here.”

✦ If you ever wear his hoodie? Meltdown. He thinks you look so cute in his clothes. “T-That’s… um… it looks good on you.” (Brain officially short-circuited.)

✦ Rambles about you to All Might. “They’re incredible, sensei! Their technique, their determination—oh, and did I mention how amazing they are?”

✦ The type to whisper ‘I love you’ when he thinks you’re asleep.

✦ If he ever gets jealous, he won’t lash out, but he’ll get extra clingy after. Might even pull you in for a surprise hug just to reassure himself you’re his.

✦ Always puts you first. Your happiness, your safety, your dreams—he wants all of it for you.

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Thanks for reading.

First time doing head cannons let me know if we want more of these or one shots along with what kind of scenarios for head cannons and one shots.

All works done by me. Reblogs comments and likes are encouraged and appreciated. Make sure to leave request in my inbox.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Zoro is fuckboy material.

Sanji is boyfriend material.

Shanks is husband material.

Mihawk is BDSM Dom Daddy™ material.

Earlier I refused to elaborate.

Now, I will elaborate no further than the sources below the dotted line.

dottedlinethedottedlinethedottedlineth

Zoro

He'll pull you into a broom closet without any warning at all, turn you around, pull your panties down under your skirt, and have you right there when the mood strikes.

Then he'll catch your eye across the deck half an hour later and give you a little smirk that makes your cheeks flare bright red. You're not sure if you want to either kick him in the shin or go for another round right that moment, if not both.

He's not looking for anything serious because he's just not that good at getting close with anyone or being emotionally available in general.

There's a lot of time between port towns, and you're a good match for each other's physical needs and desires, but not much beyond that.

Sanji

Even if he is a relentless flirt, he's just such a complete sweetheart. It's difficult not to swoon at those subtle little touches at your waist and hips, at his seductive murmur in your ear.

He respects every last one of your boundaries; if you tell him something he's doing bothers you, he's going to back off from it. No protest, no questions asked. He's still going to make it clear that he thinks you're incredible, but he wants you to be comfortable and happy above all else.

He's still as sweet as candy even once he does win you over. Playful and flirty and constantly planning the most romantic dates. Picnics on the beach, preparing candlelit diners just for the two of you, laying out a pallet of blankets and pillows with a bottle of wine under the stars—doing everything possible to make you feel special.

It's difficult to tell where it will go, but he's sweet and doting and fun, and he puts every ounce of effort into treating you like literal royalty.

Shanks

You're his lover just as much as you are his best friend. He doesn't hold anything back from you, good or bad, trivial or important. He wouldn't ever consider keeping a secret from you because the thought simply wouldn't even cross his mind—whatever he knows, you know. If anyone else tells him something in confidence, they tell him knowing that he's going to tell you the second he sees you.

His gestures of romance are more subtle and revolved around camaraderie than worship. If you're cooking or cleaning, he wants to be there, both to help lessen the load and to just be there with you. If he sees you washing dishes, he's right there next to you with a towel to dry them and put them away. If you're cooking, he's helping clean up after you. If you're sweeping the floors, he's apt to just take the broom from you, kiss you on the cheek, and tell you to go take a load off and relax.

Absolutely nothing could ever stop him from being with you. There could be an entire armada of Marine warships between you and him, and he would still find his way to you.

Every hope or dream you have ever had in your life is also his now. Literally all of them. It doesn't matter how long ago it was or how unobtainable it seems—if you still want it, he wants to make sure you achieve it. Does't matter what it is. He's never going to tell you it's silly or impossible or unachievable—he's going to exhaust every effort to find a way to make sure you can achieve it.

Mihawk

Hopefully you didn’t have too many plans of your own, because if you've managed to catch his interest, he's going to make sure that you're his, and probably within the next twenty-four hours or less.

He isn’t completely unreasonable. You will have the option to refuse. But he isn’t going to beat around the bush, either. He's going to pull you against him by your hips, comb his fingers through your hair and grasp it to pull you in and ask you outright if you want to belong to him.

He won't pressure you if you say no. That's your choice. He'll just leave you with a deep, passionate kiss that makes your knees weak, a light brush of his thumb across your lips, and he'll let you go.

But if you say yes...then good luck. You're his now, and he's never letting you go.

[cursedcanon]

Jjk men in a relationship with somoene shorter than them.

Characters: Gojo, Choso, Sakuna, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Yuji and megumi

GOJO

Gojo would love the height difference and never let you forget it. He’s constantly resting his arm on your head, lifting you off the ground just to tease you, or holding things out of your reach so you have to jump for them. But beyond the teasing, he’s incredibly protective. As a non-sorcerer, you’re fragile in his world, and that terrifies him more than he lets on. He always keeps a close eye on you, and if he ever senses danger, he teleports you somewhere safe immediately. Despite being the strongest, he loves how normal you are—it’s grounding for him. Expect spontaneous dates, endless sweets, and him being incredibly clingy when he’s not working.

Affection Style: Super touchy—always pulling you into hugs, ruffling your hair, or carrying you around just because he can.

Pet Names: Shortie, Angel, Cutie, My Love

CHOSO

Choso is naturally very gentle with you, aware of his own strength and size. He rarely teases about the height difference and instead finds it endearing—sometimes he even bends down when talking to you just to make sure you're comfortable. As a non-sorcerer, he worries about your safety a lot. He doesn’t want you near jujutsu battles or curses, and he’ll always walk you home, even if it means following you in the shadows. He’s incredibly warm and affectionate, but his love language is more about acts of service—bringing you food, fixing things for you, and making sure you're always taken care of.

Affection Style: Protective and soft—he’ll hold your hand in public, press kisses to your forehead, and tuck you into his side when you’re walking together.

Pet Names: Little One, Beloved, My Treasure

SAKUNA

Sukuna sees the height difference as another way to assert his dominance. He lives to tease you—patting your head like a child, smirking down at you, and making jokes about how “fragile” you are. But beneath all of that, he’s insanely possessive. The fact that you’re a non-sorcerer makes him even more territorial—you're his, and he won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. He’s not the type to be openly affectionate, but when he does show it, it’s intense. He’ll lift you onto his lap when he's in the mood, tilt your chin up to make you look at him, and dare you to defy him. He might act cocky, but deep down, having someone as soft and human as you actually soothes him.

Affection Style: Rough but passionate—he’ll grip your chin when he kisses you, pull you onto his lap, and smirk every time you have to crane your neck to look at him.

Pet Names: Brat, Pet, Mine (he’s not one for cutesy names, but you are his.)

GETO

Geto is surprisingly sweet about the height difference. He loves that you’re shorter than him and enjoys wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. He’s very gentle with you, especially since you’re a non-sorcerer—he sees you as something pure in his otherwise dark world. He doesn’t want you involved in jujutsu society, and he’ll do everything to keep you safe from it. That said, he’s also possessive—he won’t make a scene if someone flirts with you, but his aura alone is enough to make them back off. He has a soft spot for spoiling you, whether it’s bringing you gifts or just pulling you into his lap after a long day.

Affection Style: Soft but protective—he’s always touching you in some way, whether it’s holding your hand or brushing your hair back.

Pet Names: Sweetheart, Doll, Little One

TOJI

Toji lives for the height difference. He teases you constantly—resting his arm on your head, calling you fun-sized, and effortlessly lifting you up just because he can. He’s cocky and playful, but underneath that, he’s insanely protective. The fact that you’re a non-sorcerer makes him hyper-aware of your fragility, and though he plays it cool, he’d go feral if anyone or anything threatened you. Toji isn’t always the best with words, but he shows his love through physical touch—throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his lap, or just carrying you over his shoulder if you’re walking too slow.

Affection Style: Playful but protective—he teases you nonstop, but his touch is always firm and grounding, like he’s reminding himself that you’re safe.

Pet Names: Shortcake, Doll, Bunny (he likes that you’re smaller and softer than him).

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t tease you about your height—he actually finds it endearing. He loves subtle things, like how you have to tilt your head to look at him or how your hand is smaller than his when he holds it. He treats you with quiet, deep affection, always making sure you’re safe, warm, and comfortable. As a non-sorcerer, he knows you don’t belong in his world of danger, so he keeps you as far from it as possible. Nanami is a gentleman—he’ll always place his hand on the small of your back when guiding you, offer you his coat when it’s cold, and give you the kind of unwavering devotion that makes you feel truly loved.

Affection Style: Subtle but deeply caring—he’ll brush hair from your face, hold your hand without a word, and make sure you never have to lift a finger if he can do something for you.

Pet Names: Darling, Love, Sweetheart

ITADORI

Yuji adores the height difference—it makes him want to protect you even more. He’s a golden retriever boyfriend, always hugging you, holding your hand, and getting excited whenever he sees you. He loves that you’re a non-sorcerer because it gives him a sense of normalcy, something to hold onto in his chaotic life. He’s always looking out for you—walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic, texting you to make sure you’re safe, and giving you his hoodie when you’re cold (even though it’s way too big on you). He’s the type to lift you up and spin you around when he hugs you, completely oblivious to how strong he is.

Affection Style: Super touchy—he’s all about hugs, hand-holding, and forehead kisses. He loves physical closeness.

Pet Names: Babe, Cutie, Snugglebug (yes, he would call you something ridiculous and own it).

MEGUMI

Megumi acts like the height difference doesn’t matter, but secretly, he finds it adorable. He won’t tease you outright, but he will silently enjoy the way you have to look up at him. Unlike the others, he’s not big on PDA, but he shows he cares in little ways—offering you his scarf when it’s cold, making sure you’re on the inside of the sidewalk, and subtly stepping in front of you if he senses danger. He’s very protective, especially since you’re a non-sorcerer, and though he won’t always voice his concerns, his actions make it clear. He’s not great at verbal affection, but if you catch him off guard, you might hear him mumble something like, "I like that you’re small… easier to keep safe."

Affection Style: Reserved but thoughtful—he’ll carry your bags without asking, stand close enough to shield you, and quietly watch over you like a loyal wolf.

Pet Names: Dummy (affectionately), Angel, (Your Name) (he’s not one for excessive nicknames, but he says your name in a way that makes it sound special).

[aiai0]

-please, please, please, let me get what I want-

Syn: reader notices that Sanji never flirts with her and can’t help but feel jealous whenever he shows affection towards Nami and Robin, a little silent treatment wouldnt hurt, right?

(Teeny weenie moment of smut but nothing too detailed)

A single sigh left your yearning lips. 

You could physically feel your heart sob every time you  had the unfortunate experience of becoming a witness to another one of Sanji's flirty moods. 

Of course, these moods were never directed towards you. Never ever.

You sat beside Franky, eyebrow twitching and bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Franky knew about your feelings.

Ever since you had joined the crew, you couldn't help but adore everything about the blonde cook. 

He was cute, he was sweet and he went above and beyond to protect the crew. 

Especially Nami and Robin. He’d of course protect you too but he’d never go to the same lengths. 

Why? Why couldn't he just channel a bit of that flirtatious energy, that you so clearly wanted, to you? 

"I don't get it.." you mumbled, crossing your arms and legs as you leaned against the railing of the ship, squinting your eyes at Sanji, who was serving Nami a cold drink with hearts in his eyes. 

Of course he'd go crazy at the sight of her in a bikini, with the sun complimenting her smooth skin. 

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel?" Franky questioned, strumming his small pink guitar. 

Rolling your eyes, you lightly punched his shoulder. He didn't get it. Sanji would just shoot you down. It was obvious he didn't like you in that way, why else would he ignore you in such a way? 

"Sanji only likes pretty girls like Nami and Robin-" 

"What are you talking about? You're suuuuuper hot!" Franky interrupted, earning a giggle out of you. 

"Sanji doesn't see that though." You groaned, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“Just cut him off, lord knows I’m trying to.” Zoro chimed in, grumbling as his eyes remained shut and his arms crossed with his three swords at his side.

You were about to scold him, but something clicked in your head. It all made sense. 

“Yes! I’ll give him the silent treatment!” You jumped up, feeling a mischievous plot forming in your mind. 

“Oh boy..” Frankly mumbled. 

"Nami-swaaaan! Where are you going?!" You heard Snaji call out, practically skipping after the woman. 

You loved Nami, she was like a dear sister to you, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in your heart. 

She knew you liked him too. To be honest, you were sure all the strawhats, except Sanji, and possibly luffy,  knew of your feelings. It was painfully obvious. 

"Nami-swaan! Robin-chwaann! God, give me a break." You mocked him, pouting a little. 

Zoro chuckled at your reaction, although he was sleeping. What a truly odd man. 

Later into that night, you laid awake in your bed, fighting back the angry and annoyed tears that seemed to constantly threaten to spill. It was like he consumed your mind, almost every minute of every day. You found yourself daydreaming of the reality that could be. 

You hated it so much. 

You hated how much you wanted him, and how much he meant to you. But you were certain the feeling wasn’t mutual. 

Sighing, you got up and left your room, trudging towards the kitchen in your oversized off-the-shoulder t-shirt and no bottom. You were too frustrated and annoyed to even care about anyone seeing you in your panties. Hell, Franky walked around in his constantly. 

You just hoped it wouldn't be Brook who saw you. 

To your surprise, the kitchen was lit up, and a faint humming was heard from behind the door. You peeked in through the circular window, spotting the blonde cook still doing today's dishes and wiping down the table and counter. 

He was so dedicated to his job as the crew's cook, it made your heart skip a beat. 

But this wasn't the time to swoon over his charms. 

You were going to give him the silent treatment. Give him a taste of what it felt like to be you. 

Entering the kitchen, you kept a stoic expression and went straight for the alcohol cabinet, ignoring the guy who greeted you. 

"What are you doing up so late?" He asked, keeping his eyes glued to the dish filled sink. You slightly hoped he'd glance your way, see your revealing state and actually see you in a different light. 

You took multiple big swigs from one of Zoro's bottles, careless for the consequences that awaited this decision. 

You craved the burn and the buzz, something you stopped yourself from feeling ever since you joined the crew. If you were going to be a strawhat, you had to be vigilant and alert at all times, even if the others weren't. 

But not tonight. 

Tonight you wanted to drown your sorrows within the delightful liquid. 

"(Y/n)? What's gotten into you?" Sanji came up from behind you, snatching the bottle away and handing you a glass of water. 

"Hey! why can I be the only one who doesn't drink?" You whined, refusing the glass of cold water. 

He had some nerve trying to worry about you now after practically ignoring you for so long. 

"Because you don't drink. Somethings wrong with you. What's up?" He pressed on, determined to get to the bottom of your odd behaviour. 

Those eyes. You couldn't take your eyes away from his.

The way he looked down at you made you feel cared for. It put you in a trance, a spell that you felt would never wash away.

"I don't have to tell you anything, eyebrows." You replied, turning your head away from him. You wanted to get back to your room as fast as possible and bury yourself away from everything.

"Wha- eyebrows?!" He yelled, taking a step back from you to pout. 

You, in turn, stuck your tongue out at him, quickly snatching the bottle away from his disappointed grasp. 

You seemed like you were joking, and maybe it was the alcohol that had heightened your emotions, but you couldn't shake the ache in your heart. You felt like, with a single word from him, you'd crash and bawl your eyes out. 

It seemed silly, and maybe a little childish, but seeing the man you wanted, so much, flirt and dote over the girls you already thought were prettier than you, hurt. 

It hurt more than words could explain. 

Sanji took you by the hand, leading you to sit down at the dining table, sitting next to you with concern. You hadn't realise it yet, but he was wiping the tears you didn't even know were spilling. 

"C'mon, what's wrong?" He asked again, his voice soft and gentle as he took a seat next to you. 

You bit your tongue, maybe right now would be the best time to give him the cold shoulder, show him you were upset with him. 

Smacking his hand away, you took in a deep breathe

"I don't need to explain anything to you."

There was a moment of silence, and for a split second, you swore you saw a flicker of anger within those blue eyes of his. Your repeated words seemed to strike annoyance within him.

You refused to look at him. You didn't want to. Acting like you were mad at him made you feel bad beyond explanation. Especially when he stared at you with such a disappointed look.

"I just want to help you, (Y/n)." He finally broke the silence, returning the warmth of his hand back up to your cheek that you so harshly slapped away. 

Making eye contact, you leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his and closing your eyes before finally getting out the words you've always wanted to ask him,

"Do you... find me attractive..?" 

You could feel him tense up. A bad sign. 

Oh god. Did he really think you were that ugly..? 

Trying your hardest not to jump to conclusions, you waited for him to speak. Waited for him to clear your worries. 

But he never did. 

You fidgeted with the end of your shirt, feeling so embarrassed and slightly annoyed. 

"Attractive? Do I find you attractive?" He repeated your question in a hushed tone that made it seem like it was the most ridiculous question in the world. 

"I can't even begin to explain how I see you, (Y/n). Every time you walk into a room, it lights up. Every time you smile at me, my day becomes infinitely better. And you ask me if I find you attractive?" He laughed, covering the lower half of his face with his hand. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Was he really saying these words? Words that you’ve longed to hear since the beginning of your pirate journey?

"I'd pick you in a room filled with women,” he took in a deep breath, “I pick you, (Y/n)." He finished, his face now inches away from yours. 

"Seeing you like this.. I don't think I can keep my hands to myself anymore." 

Without missing a beat, his lips connected with yours, exchanging hungry and sloppy kisses, his hands gripping your waist and sitting you down on his lap as he mumbled a 'c'mere' into the make out. 

You felt your body heat up, begging for more contact. You needed him. Your hands tangled into his blonde hair, running out of air but never distancing yourself from him. 

You had imagined this moment since you joined the crew, and now that it was actually happening, it felt like a surreal dream. 

His hands knew exactly where to find themselves, massaging your thighs, to gripping your hips, to squeezing your ass. 

You instinctively rubbed your core against the tent that had quickly formed in his pants, needy for more attention.

Sanji pulled away, a grin stretched across his face,

“As much as I want to fuck you on moss-head’s chair, let’s go back to my room.” He purred, face now buried in the crook of your neck. 

Giggling, you nodded your head, “oui, monsieur.”

[tobesolnelyx]

i just saw ur post that frat boy! jackie is next, but also…. frat boy nat <3 always standing outside the frat house door smoking cigs, checking girls out, telling guys they can’t come in if they look sleazy <33

— a little bit harder now || fratboy and g!p natalie scatorccio headcanons 🕸️

a/n: ahh i have too many headcanons for her. i could make whole ass playlist for her.

summary: people are annoying but turns out you’re the exepction. college modern au. girlfriend!nat.

warnings: NSFW - content - MDNI

★ — the weird part about her is that she knows absolutely everyone around the campus. like, everyone. that’s why frats tell her to stand in front of the house and check who’s coming in. like some stoned bodyguard. not like she’s complaining. she can smoke as much as she can. and there’s pretty girls! coming in and going out, giggling at her, in shorts skirts with messed up make up…she gives them crooked smile, leaning against the cold wall.

★ — it’s her way to choose with who she wants to hook up tonight. if some girl is particularly pretty, she starts flirting and before anyone notice, she drags her to her room for a quickie.

★ — that’s how she met you! she was already a little bit high by that time. she looked at ,you and thought that you’re gorgeous. like, real fucking pretty. and okay, maybe she wasn’t very sober but when she woke up next to you in the morning after heated sex, she was certain it weren’t only drugs. you were still unfairly beautiful.

she didn’t know what to do, obviously. it’s not like nat ever had one meaningful relationship in her entire life. she froze in place when you stirred awake.

“hey” you mumbled. voice thick with sleep, deeper after whole night.

something in her chest fluttered. fucking hell.

“hey” she breathed out, starring at you, ghost of smile played on her lips. a moment of silence passed, and she closed the distance between the two of you again. and you both melted into the kiss.

★ — you learned that she knows everyone cause she’s a campus dealer. it’s not like she’s a druggie. maybe a little bit. but at least she has money, right? and she’s not constantly drugged!

★ — she owns old motorcycle! goes everywhere by it. she even bought you a helmet so you can ride with her without getting hurt. always making sure you’re holding on to her tight. never driving too fast when you’re with her.

★ — and okay, maybe she has idiotic reputation, maybe she’s blunt and doesn’t really likes anyone (maybe besides other frats). she just has trust issues. but for you? oh hell, she’s a softie. not exactly the clingy and sappy type, but always near you. you learned that her small gestures speaks louder than any words.

★ — she ties you shoes, soothes your clothes and gently fixes your make up whenever it gets messed up. always here when you pick up an outfit before going out together.

★ — and once you’re done? she fingers you in front of the mirror. she can watch you squirm in your pretty clothes, riding her long fingers. you have to change your panties after that. they’re completely soaked after all. she discreetly snitch the ones that are dripping with your cum to probably jerk off later. while pressing dirty fabric to her face. freak.

★ — she’s possessive and she’s sure as hell gonna manifest this by grabbing your thighs or ass in public. especially when someone’s trying to hit on you. doesn’t say much about it, but it’s obvious, she will show you later in her bedroom.

★ — natalie is audible. she can get really loud when she’s fucking you really good. not a big fan of smashing cock into your cunt when someone might catch you tho. you’re hers. only she can hear your moans and watch how her dick disappears in your hole.

★ — going back to — she loves to praise you in bed. always telling you how good you are for her. how beautiful you are. and she loves to massage your scalp while you’re sucking her off.

★ — usually so closed off and cold, but once when she’s in the mood and there’s only the two of you, she makes the dumbest jokes on earth. having much more fun with that than you do. i mean, you laugh too, from how stupid she is.

★ — everyone says she’s an asshole. she kinda is. very bold, not scared to tell people what she really thinks about them. she might not getting into fights for you, but sure as hell she’ll be arguing until she win. she makes people feel like idiots for even starting stupid conversations with you. her mouth is really something. really something.

★ — she’s not a cheater but she might be a little too friendly with other girls. she knows many of them. half because of her multiple hook ups, half because of dealing. you get jealous easily because of that. unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to see the problems.

“really? what was that bitch name?” you huff while she’s trying to put on you your motorcycle helmet.

“who?” she asks furrowing her brows. she’s oblivious to that. it’s normal for her to talks with girls on parties like that. besides, she genuinely doesn’t understand. she loves just you, so where’s problem? “oh, c’mon, pretty girl” she says pressing kiss to your nose. “im yours, get over it”

she gently puts helmet on your head. “i love you, stop that.” she murmurs. and god help her, she never loved anyone like that.

★ — when you argue, she’s mad or frustrated, she starts yelling in italian, gesturing so much that her rings are clinking against each other.

★ — right, her hands! always cold, covered in jewellery, fingers tangled with yours. seriously, she always holds your hand. actually she might have a thing for your hands. kissing your knuckles, sucking on your fingers…

★ — tank tops. loose tank tops with band logos and tight jeans. the bulge is extremely visible in them tho. this might be a bad thing, too. her cock is aching inside when she gets hard. (and she gets hard often. girl definitely has massive libido.)

★ — weirdly good at cooking and baking. makes you dinners and breakfasts, saying that going out is too expensive. and she’s better at this anyway. you’re pretty sure it has something to do with her italian roots.

“we could just order food from that—“ you start but she’s already in the kitchen. doing things pretty aggressively. very italian of her.

“no” she says with an accent. and there’s no further discussion. it’s tempting to continue anyway. she likes to shutting your mouth with kisses. or…other things.

★ — shitty at comforting but she always tries to make you laugh! she’s good at that. even if she’s just being silly.

★ — she’s not really good at expressing feelings verbally but sometimes when she’s high she starts making love confessions.

★ — family issues. to this point that when she broke a glass, she was prepared you’re going to tell her how much of a failure she is. poor baby. but she has you, and you’re doing everything to show her how healthy relationship looks like

[gatorbites-imagines]

request for sinners, Smoke x m!reader

reader is at the juke joint and is constantly being flirted with or hit on by women and Smoke becomes super jealous

can either be smut or just hurt/comfort

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x male reader 

Headcanons 

Was in a mood, so this probably got a bit more fluffy/cute than I had planned. Cuz what's better than a jealous guy who yearns. I wanna rewatch Sinners so badly, but they only showed it for two weekends in my city, can't wait for it to come out other places, hopefully. 

Imagine going to the Juke joint, not because you really like to party all that much, but because youve missed the Smokestack twins a lot.  

You three used to run together when you were kids, then teens, and then you all split when the war came. You went back to Mississippi, and the twins went off to do their own thing. 

It might also have a lot to do with the fact that it was Smoke that asked you to come. Had it been Stack, you might have had the ability to say no, but Smoke has this way of looking at you when he wants something that makes you crack. 

Smoke is a man of a few words, but his eyes tell so much when you know where to look. The way hed chewed the inside of his lip, hands twitching at his side, clearly wanting to busy himself with something. 

He was adorable, to you anyways. If you told anybody else that you found Elijah “Smoke” Moore adorable, you would probably be claimed a lunatic. 

But you knew him. Not as much as Stack did, you don't think anyone knows Smoke that well, but you gotta be second on that list. Or else Smoke wouldn't have snuck all those kisses and comforts during your lives. 

You being an attractive man, a single man, in the eyes of the world, means you are like meat thrown to lions. Lionesses?  

You have to be one of the better options around. A good man, respectful, never yells, doesn't drink too much, smoke too much, hell, you even appreciate a womans feedback as much as a mans. You are perfect. 

Smoke knows this too, which is why he's got eyes on you the entire night. His attention is as much on the business as they are on you, because he can smell sharks in the water everywhere you go. 

The two of you being men means that Smoke cant even go down there and tell them to fuck off, or threaten them with his gun for trying to sink their claws into whats his. 

At least he knows you aren't returning the advances, as you glance up at him every now and then and smile that cute little shy smile of yours, the one that always has his heart racing. 

Its when people start getting more inebriated, and women's advances become a lot bolder and obvious, that Smoke almost bites right through the cigarette he's had hanging between his teeth for the past while, unlit because hed been too busy watching you. 

If anybody else noticed how hard Smoke was staring at you, they would have to assume you screwed him over somehow, and that he's gonna get his money back. Only you, Smoke, and probably Stack, knows the real reason. 

When Smoke sees you getting uncomfortable with the bolder advances, he almost breaks the wood railing under his hands. He gives a throw of his head, a “come here” movement, that you use as an out. 

People assume you and Smoke are going to one of the back rooms so he can shake you down for money, or threaten you to pay him back, so you get some pitying looks along the way.  

Except for Stack, who wiggles his brows at you over everyone's heads. 

The moment you two are alone, Smoke is on you. At first you thought he was gonna jump your bones right then and there with how fiery his eyes were, but instead he just clings to you. 

Smoke buries his face into your neck, clinging to the back of your jacket, tense like a bowstring as he huffs and puffs, clearly trying to suppress whatever burning anger he's got going on. 

It's always a sight to see Smoke getting so angry that he's trembling, only time he gets like this is when Stack or you are hurt, or when you get flirted with, it seems. All that time apart must have made it harder to deal with his emotions. 

He doesn't need to speak to express what he's feeling, his loud shaky breathing and tight grip is explanation enough, so you hug him back just as tight and mutter loving words and promises. 

You two stay in there for a good while, with Smoke just not wanting to let go of you, because if he does, he knows hes gonna lose it. Its a miracle he hasn't caused problems yet. 

Having you kiss him and hold him does start making him less tense. Smoke is always tense, it comes with the lifestyle, but with you it's less bad.  

When he gets this jealous, Smoke kisses you like he's trying to suck the very soul out of your body. All your half-baked complaints never work, even when you mumble between the smack of lips that it'll expose your relation. 

Hes only satisfied when you have kissed him back just as hard, and you two have reaffirmed your love and relationship. That yes, you are his, but he is also yours. No, Smoke, their advances dont mean anything, and no Smoke, you cant hurt anybody. 

I feel like part of Smoke would become more at ease when you express wanting to kill people too when they look at him too long. Like, two very possessive wolves guarding their mates. 

Sadly, you two cant express these feelings in public, or stake claims on each other in visible ways. 

I do imagine you end up wearing something of his after your “closet meeting”, like a ring, or dog tags, unless you guys were already wearing each other's dog tags. 

Everyone assumes your lips are so red cuz Smoke punched you, or smth, well, except for Stack, who grins and offers to buy you a drink, clearly assuming a lot more happened than actually did.  

Smoke hovers close by for the rest of the evening too. Its assumed he's doing it as a threat for whatever he punched you for, but its cuz he's jealous and wants to be close to you. 

[letorip]

clingy tara carpenter hcs?

clingy tara carpenter

idk why but i’m in a tara mood so this was definitely more fun to write. it’s more like headcanons than my normal ones just because i think it’s interesting to follow and i had lots of ideas but not necessarily following a through-line story like many of them do

you and Tara meet at Blackmore and she is instantly fixated on you. it’s something she tries to hide at first, she’s too used to being something of a cool, aloof girl

you’re friendly, kind, funny, and smart, and it feels weird— like when she’s with you, she’s finally breathing at full capacity. it’s kind of odd at first, that you cut away the facade she constantly puts up. with other people who chase her and flirt with her, it feels like breathing, but when you do it, it catches her off guard, and it makes her stumble, especially the first time

she’s always bugging asking Anika if you’re coming to hang out with them or at a party, and gets a bit disappointed whenever the answer is no. she’ll still go, since Mindy would kill her if she didn’t, but she’s way less excited than before

Tara decides to go the natural route, and see you out in public, but you don’t have the same major so you pretty much never cross paths on campus

she gets increasingly frustrated, going to back to back parties in search of you on a friday night, only to discover that your instagram story says you were actually at the library the entire time

she does the exact same thing the next day, on a saturday night, and ends up going to four parties only to find that you’re once more not even there

after giving up on that she just goes into your dms and musters enough courage after a week to finally send a message asking you to hang out

after you start dating, it’s even worse than tara thought

she needs you so so so bad, this girl is down atrocious

you’re pretty much inseparable after that point, not that tara would ever admit it. she’s not used to needing anyone ever, with sam leaving and her mom being the way she is ever

you go on a trip for a week with your family around the holidays and every night you and Tara fall asleep on the phone together, or you facetime for a while, and she’s counting down the days until you come back

she wants to know everything, and she watches with a small smile when you’re excitedly explaining how the trip is going

she picks you up from the airport with one of those cheesy signs, but she pretty much drops it and rushes into your arms, and she’s crying

she hates crying in public, but she’s missed you so much

she tells you everything about every movie she’s pretty much ever watched, sometimes as a way to help you sleep. you’re not actually completely listening, you just fall asleep better to her voice and movies are a thing she can talk about for a LOOOONG time

she’ll show you her favourites that she’s seen a million times, only instead of watching the movie, she’s watching your face and your expressions.

she tracks your location, but not because she’s suspicious of you. it’s because she’s paranoid that something could happen to you, and that’s the last thing she would want in the universe

if ghostface did ever come back, she’s the first to get you to safety. she’d definitely try the say-something-mean-to-get-you-to-leave tactic, but it wouldn’t work, and you’d just hold her, forehead to forehead while she cries about needing you and needing to keep you safe at the same time

she steals your shirts and your jackets whenever she can. it smells like you and it keeps her warm, and she’ll “accidentally” forget her jacket at home during the winter

she’s definitely a jealous person. she knows that everyone wants you and honestly she can’t blame them, but you’re hers and she wants everyone else to know. when a girl will approach you at the party that Tara brought you to, and she looks a little too comfortable, Tara will grab you by the arm and drag you hastily upstairs to claim her territory, and mark up your neck for proof

she’ll definitely be the type to deny she’s clingy. you’ll joking say “you’re so clingy” when she’s got her arms wrapped around you, and she’ll scoff and get genuinely offended by the insinuation that she needs you and clings to you

then of course she’ll want to cuddle 5 minutes later

thanks, hopefully will be posting again soon

[afyrian]

fake dating oikawa | headcanons masterlist

- obnoxious about it - like fingers laced with yours constantly - sitting as close to you as he possibly can - very vocal about your 'relationship' - 'right honey bun?' [oikawa] - tells anyone who is even near the both of you - totally already in love with you - so fake loving you is very easy for him - to the point where you even forgot it was fake - the bouquets that only you knew about - photo booth pictures that he wouldn't dare show anyone - even photos hidden in your camera roll - 'you didn't post our 'date'..' [you] - 'yeah, the photos didn't turn out great' [oikawa] - even if you thought that they looked perfect - but his smile lends all the convincing you need - oikawa even starts inviting you to games - giving you his team jacket to wear - 'looks pretty good on you' [oikawa] - 'save it for the cameras, babe' [you] - he loves how you play into it - the little quips and short flirts - and it doesn't make it any easier when you ask when it'll end - even hearing you mention it sours his mood - he'll try to drag it on - mention a press release or game - at some point you stop asking - and start taking it as a hint...

[vivilunacornio]

It's been a while since I've commented on my babies, so I created a list (a little too detailed hahaha) of my favorite Caitvi hcs. I have two more lists, one nsfw and one with them being mothers.

Maybe I'll post those too, but for now I hope you enjoy this one with them being domestic:

Caitlyn is the jealous one in the relationship, obviously. Vi is cool about it and likes to see people trying to get her or Caitlyn's attention. Cait can't stand seeing other women trying to flirt or touch Vi's arms. She knows Vi would never cheat on her, that's not the problem. What pisses her off is the audacity of women ignoring her relationship and her presence as if she doesn't exist.

Caitlyn has a lot of sensitivity in her neck after going through that traumatic sequence in s2. The turbo chemtank crushing her, Sevika hanging her against the wall, the hit from Maddie's gun, Ambessa constantly on the back of her neck manipulating her, Rictus choking her, they all focus on the neck or very close to the region. She can't stand anyone other than Vi touching or getting too close to that place.

After Caitlyn lost her eye, Vi got into the habit of always staying on Caitlyn's blind side when they were out and about so that Cait wouldn't be surprised. Caitlyn quietly appreciates Vi's care because she hates feeling like she now has a weak spot where people can take advantage of her.

Vi has learned that if she uses her puppy eyes Caitlyn will give in and do whatever she wants, whether it's asking her to stay in bed longer or convincing her that she can finish her reports tomorrow. After all, "Sheriff Cupcake can't be mad at me."

Vi doesn't mind with Piltie's luxuries, most of them she finds unnecessary. But she's learned to actually enjoy the hot baths, the soft blankets, the mansion's library full of books, the oils Cait always uses to massage her aching back, and she definitely doesn't complain about the food.

Caitlyn can't relax in the shower anymore if she's alone in that bathroom. After her traumatic kidnapping she needs to at least know or hear that Vi is in the room to enjoy the hot water. So when Vi's not around, it's typical for her showers to be short and for her to keep a gun in the drawer or near her towel, just in case.

Caitvi usually takes turns being the biggest spoon, it will depend on what happened that day and the other's mood.

Caitlyn is very protective of Vi, she wants Vi to see her as a safe place and allow herself to be vulnerable. So she can take insults directed at her and remain composed, but the line is crossed when the target of the attacks is Vi.

Caitvi are very affectionate, as if they can't keep their hands off each other for long. In a private place it's blatant and open with Vi laying her head on Caitlyn's shoulder, sweet kisses and long hugs. In public places it's more restrained, a hand on the waist, holding hands, Caitlyn stroking Vi's arm. They've become experts at touching each other in ways so subtle that most won't even notice.

[vampireimiko]

Loki and Bucky (separate) Relationship Headcanons !!

warnings, none at all i promi

note, when i tell y'all i need them BOAF at the same time...

Loki

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Being in a relationship with Loki of all people is NOT for the weak. Especially if you have the same personality as him. Sassy and doesn’t know when to watch his mouth? Oh, you two would be menaces together.

Like, if you ever called him a "drama queen," he will dramatically sigh and say, "Drama king, thank you very much."

If you ever dare to out-sass him, he’ll just squint at you like, "Ah, so this is betrayal." But secretly? He loves it. Someone who can keep up with his wit? Absolutely captivating.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° But I digress! Loki is the king of dramatic declarations for a reason. He'll sweep into a room and declare, "Ah, my beloved! I have longed for you!" even if you just saw him five minutes ago.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ °He constantly tries to fluster you with smooth lines, but the second you turn it around on him, he short-circuits.

"Loki, you’re breathtaking."

"—Wait, what?... I mean! Well, yes, of course I am."

He says barely managing to get his composure back.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° As the God of Mischief, he obviously loves to prank people. But he has a strict rule: You are off-limits. However, if you ever wanted to join in on one of his schemes he'd never deny you 😹

He also likes teaching you magic! Not the dangerous kind, just little illusions so you can mess with people together. A true power couple.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He pretends to be above cuddling, claiming that it's one of the stupid things that mortals do, but yet he clings to you in his sleep like an octopus.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Jealous Loki is hilarious. He won’t get outwardly possessive, but he’ll suddenly be extra touchy or slip in phrases like, "Yes, my darling, the love of my immortal life, my one and only." just to make a point.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He has an unfair advantage in arguments because he’ll just shapeshift into you and mock you in your own voice. "Oh look at me, I’m so adorable when I’m mad—" cue you smacking him with a pillow.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Despite his dramatics, he trusts you more than anyone. He’s not used to being vulnerable, but with you? He can just be—no masks, no tricks, just Loki.

Bucky

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Bucky adores the time he spends with you and is so happy to call you his. He will try to act tuff from time to time, but you see straight through his facade each and every time.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He has a soft spot a mile wide for you. You could ask him to do anything, and he’d grumble about it but do it anyway. "I swear, doll, you’re the only one who could talk me into this."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° Bucky loves hearing you laugh. If he can make you snort? That’s such a win for him😭. He’ll smirk like it’s the best thing he’s done all day.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° The man has dad jokes and grumpy old man energy for days.

"Bucky, did you just say ‘back in my day’ unironically?"

"…Shut up."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He gets ridiculously flustered if you compliment his smile. "Shut up—No, I’m not smiling. You’re imagining things."

"Yeah okay, James!" You teased poking his side.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° If he’s in a bad mood, you’re one of the only people who can pull him out of it. Everyone else gets grunts and glares, but the second you walk in? He melts.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He pretends he doesn’t get jealous, but his hand will suddenly find your waist if someone flirts with you. Or he’ll just stare at the poor fool until they get the hint.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He likes holding your hand, but he always lets you take his metal one first. He doesn’t even realize it until you lace your fingers together, and then his grip tightens just a little—like he never wants to let go.

He still feels a bit insecure about his robotic limb here and there, but in moments like these, it doesn't even matter. Being near you is all he needs.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° When he wakes up from nightmares, you’re the only thing that grounds him :((. Just your voice or the feeling of your hand on his is enough to bring him back.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He’s absolutely wrapped around your finger, and honestly? He wouldn't have it any other way 🫶🏾

additional note ! AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧