#and the worst part was that she then still tried to convince me that i was putting myself in danger and should come to her events

[7975348473]

The Small Sparks.

——————————————— A Lyrason fic. Alternate Universe where Grayson and Lyra had a chance meeting as kids. ———————————————

GRAYSON

It was officially the fifth day of the Hawthornes camping trip.

And a camping trip that was— one, filled with kids around 8-10 years old (excluding Nash, of course) and two, an extremely Hawthorne style trip— was bound to be chaotic.

“I always knew I’d be better than you at fishing!!” Jameson screamed, Grayson tried his level best to ignore him.

“Well I beat you at forest darts!!” Xander yelled triumphantly, aiming the blow at Jameson.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Xan. And for the record, I am still one win ahead of you!” Jameson retorted, looking far too smug for his own good.

Yet Grayson didn’t reply, he didn’t so much as make a peep.

And that was because he had been losing. Consistently.

As in he had a losing streak going with no wins and only losses. As a result, Grayson had been pretty upset for the majority of the trip.

He knew his silence only further gave his brothers a reason to tease him, yet he couldn’t get himself to speak.

Not only because he had been losing for five days, but because of what had come after.

Tobias Hawthorne, their grandfather, had given Grayson that look— the one with the creased brows, hardened eyes and lips drawn into a thin line.

Disappointment.

Grayson let out a shaky breathe.

“You okay, lil’ brother?” Drawled Nash, the eldest of the four.

Grayson couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he simply nodded.

Hawthornes never show weakness. His grandfather’s words reprimanded him.

“C’mon Gray, don’t be a crybaby—” Jameson started.

“I’ll beat you tomorrow.” Grayson cut him off, the sheer determination in his tone caught everyone off guard.

Then Jameson shot him his signature devilish grin, “Bring it on, bro!!”

“Don’t count me out!” Xander yelled.

Nash rolled his eyes and finally convinced the three to get ready for bed.

The boys all had brought four tents in total, one for each brother.

They all slept in one, though.

———————————

LYRA

It was that time of year again.

Miles End, Lyra’s home, was situated nearby a forest. Usually, that wasn’t a problem.

In fact, the woods only added beauty to the entire place.

But over the summer, there was always a group of people that took to camping out there. And they tended to be loud.

Lyra, for one, hated loud noises. Especially the ones that came from the woods. She was only eight, of course it’d spook her.

The worst part, though, was that it was always some super rich family that rented out the entire area.

So if any kid ran into Lyra, they’d act all high and mighty as if they were god themselves and Lyra was some sort of sinner?

In conclusion— Lyra dreaded the woods in summer.

And this year was no better, actually, it was worse. Way worse.

For some odd reason, this year’s family wasn’t just noisy, they were deafening.

And that did not sit well with Lyra, to say the least.

Lyra layed in bed despite it being 1 pm.

As a certified eight year old who was also a ballet freak, she had danced late into the night. Just because she felt like it and couldn’t hold back the urge— the need to dance.

She finally closed her eyes, ready to give in to the tiredness.

“I’m in the lead, Xannnn~”

“Fear not brother, I shall catch up!!”

“Ha! In your dreams!!”

“Tackle Incoming!!”

“Wait what— XANDER NO—”

Lyra’s eyes cracked open at the noise, her sleepiness gone as quick as the wind.

She groaned and sat on her bed.

God forbid a girl try and get her beauty sleep.

Lyra turned her attention to the window and glared. Hard.

These rich boys were annoying as hell and Lyra had had just about enough.

She grabbed her hat and made her way out.

————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson ran like his life depended on it. He ran until his feet felt numb and his lungs burned.

He pushed. More, harder.

Todays competition is easy, you simply need to make it to the tallest tree in the center of the forest and return back to the starting. The first to arrive shall be titled winner.

Grayson repeated the instructions in his head before looking around and smiling to himself.

After a full five days and five nights, Grayson was finally in the lead. He finally had a fighting chance to win.

He felt his heart speed up with excitement, he could make it. He would make it.

And that's when Grayson felt himself tip over. His eyes widened and then he was falling— fast.

No. He thought to himself and then he collapsed onto the ground.

Grayson couldn't process what had just happened, he had been running just fine? As if on que, a sharp pain shot out from around his ankle.

He let out a tiny groan before sitting himself up, leaning heavily against a tree as he bent over and gauged his injury.

There was a huge cut that spanned around his ankle and blood was gushing out.

Need to— stop the bleeding. Grayson thought to himself, still trying to catch his breathe as he closed his eyes.

He tried to focus on the race, the injury, now. But his mind still wandered.

It wandered to all of his previous losses, it wandered to his brother's relentless teasing, it wandered to his grandfather.

Tobias Hawthorne— his disappointed gaze, his disapproving look.

What would he think if he saw you lying here? Grayson thought to himself as his vision suddenly became blurry.

What was going on?

It was only when a drop of water fell on Grayson's lap that he realized he was crying. Grayson Hawthorne— the unwavering, handsome, heir to the household— was crying.

Because, despite it all, he was only nine.

He was but a boy.

I disappointed Grandfather. I can't win with this injury. I'll lose again. His thoughts circled in his brain, over and over again.

I'm a failure.

It began to rain.

It was odd that, at times like this, Grayson's thoughts always found their way to his mother. The way she always gazed down at him with a cold gaze— as if he was an investment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then he thought of his unknown father. The man that found his child so unimportant, so despicable, that he had never bothered to come meet him. Never bothered to so much as look at him.

A sob escaped Grayson before he could help it, he quickly covered his mouth with his small hands.

If he cried, he would be considered unworthy of being the heir. If he cried, his grandfather would hate him too, just like everyone else.

So he didn't.

The small blonde boy held in all of his pain, all of his feelings, all of his thoughts, and locked them deep within him.

"A Hawthorne doesn't break," He muttered weakly, staring at his wound which only seemed to be bleeding more now in the rain.

So why did he feel so broken?

——————————————

LYRA

"Of course it had to rain now of all times!!" Lyra screamed to... no one in particular.

She grumbled some more to herself as she walked deeper into the woods, in search of at least one of the boys who had ruined her sleep.

I will not spare them. She declared to herself, marching on further into the woods.

That's when she spotted a speck of blonde among the green of the forest.

A deer? Lyra thought to herself. That couldn't be, this blonde wasn't the same muddy shade. It was more... shiny, majestic.

She walked towards it, her curiosity getting the best of her.

When Lyra finally got close enough, she realized it was a boy. And he looked like a fallen angel.

Holy shit— who gives these people permission to look this glorious?? Lyra thought to herself, staring. Could you blame her? She was just a girl who had found something pretty.

She assessed the boy, who had his eyes closed.

Messy blonde hair, top-notch clothes and definitely not a local.

He has got to be one of them! Lyra thought to herself. It was time for her to take her revenge.

Lyra walked over to ruffle the boys hair until he woke up, but his eyes flew open first. Lyra paused.

Beautiful silver eyes— lining on blue, met her deep amber ones.

Grayson broke the silence first, "Excuse me? May I ask why you were approaching me?"

For a second Lyra didn't reply, why does he talk so formally?

"Uh- well."

How do you explain that you were trying to take revenge on somebody while they were asleep because they, too, ruined your sleep?

She let out a huff.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe because I saw a limp boy lying around in the rain in the middle of a forest??" She settled for the other, more minor, reason.

Grayson stared her down for a little bit. Considering the fact that he was on the floor and Lyra was standing up, she shouldn't have felt so overpowered by that.

Lyra decided to send him an assessing gaze of her own and looked him over, that's when her eyes landed on his wound.

"Oh my— YOU'RE BLEEDING?!" She screamed, Grayson flinched at her screech as his eyes fell on his ankle.

"Oh. Right." He said simply. Lyra gave him a look.

What was wrong with this guy??

"Well, is your camp near by? I could walk you over—"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." He cut her off.

Lyra blinked at him once. Twice.

"Alright, asshole. Here's what we're going to do." Lyra started, using the only curse word she knew at the time. Grayson sent her a glare.

"I'm going to run on home, grab the first-aid-kit, and try to save you from bleeding out. Meanwhile, you will wait for me." She finished, sending him a customized glare of her own.

Grayson held her gaze for a while before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree again.

Oh yeah. Definitely a rich kid.

She took off.

————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson was suddenly glad he didn't have to deal with any girls in his family. They sure were bossy. And loud. And slightly annoying.

"I'm back, asshole!!" She yelled, Grayson suppressed a groan.

Lyra rolled her eyes as she approached, a box with a red plus sign in hand, "Hello to you too."

Lyra sat down near his foot, with the rain having calmed down.

"W-wait, I can bandage myself." Grayson said, flustered at her hand around his ankle.

Lyra looked at him with a raised brow, "When was the last time a rich kid like you had to bandage themselves?"

"Yesterday, actually."

Lyra's eyes widened slightly.

"My family is quite... unique. Don't bother." Grayson said, reaching for the bandage in her hand. She whacked it away.

"Listen here, boy. You are the injured and I am the... uh, not injured. So you will let me help you." She said, an order.

If Grayson hadn't been quite so tired, he probably would have put up a bit more of a fight. He simply watched her as she took out disinfectant, her eyes were focused.

"Stop staring. I can't focus." Lyra said, breaking the silence.

"What's your name?" Grayson asked, ignoring her previous order.

She looked up at him once before her gaze returned to her work, "Lyra. Lyra Kane."

Grayson nodded, "Well, Ms. Kane. I don't have any money on me, at the moment.."

Silence.

Lyra's hand had paused and she finally met his gaze, "You... don't have any money on you?" She repeated.

Grayson nodded.

"Right. And how exactly does that matter?" She asked, raising a brow.

Grayson blinked, obviously confused, "Aren't you helping me for... the money?"

Lyra looked on at him for a few seconds before her expression broke out into one of utter disbelief, "FOR THE MONEY?? WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!"

Grayson flinched again, "Would you- Stop yelling!!"

Lyra's expression changed in a split second. She looked amused, "Oh? So mister asshole here can yell?"

Grayson didn't deign that with a response.

Lyra continued her work, putting the disinfectant aside and picking up the bandages.

"You didn't tell me your name yet." Lyra said.

Grayson froze for a second.

"You... don't know who I am?" He asked.

Lyra huffed, her eyes remaining on her work, "Sorry bigshot, but I don't."

Grayson turned her words over in his head. She didn't know who he was. Something lightened in his heart.

"Grayson." He said, finally.

"Graysonnnnn?" Lyra pried, trying to get his last name.

"Just Grayson."

Lyra looked up at him before rolling her eyes and withdrawing her hands, "Okay asshole, all done. We can both get going now."

Grayson looked up at her as she stood up, "Thank you for the help."

"Mmm, you're welcome." She turned to leave, his gaze on her remained unwavering.

She paused mid-step and whipped her head around, "Are you just going to continue lying here?! Its still drizzling, you'll catch a cold!!"

Grayson let out a sigh, "Stop screaming."

Lyra glared at him and stomped her way back before plopping herself down next to him. They sat there in silence for a while.

Grayson wasn't sure what it was about the girl, but he felt light, unburdened. Comforted, almost. She had a terrible habit of yelling, but there was something about it that threw Grayson off.

Something about her that threw Grayson out of orbit, that made something in his nearly perfected façade crack.

✦✦✦

Five-year-old Grayson jumped into bed as Nash settled down beside it in a chair.

Grayson had finally managed to convince his eldest brother to read him a bedtime story. They did it all the time in the movies.

"Alright Gray. Quiet down." Grayson did just that, under his blankets now— his silver eyes rested on his brother.

And so Nash began to narrate.

The story was about an angel who had accidentally found herself on Earth and fell in love with the prince. It ended with the two getting married with the entirety of heaven and the Earth present.

Nash closed the story book, Grayson's eyes were small now— he was getting sleepy.

"That's it' lil' brother."

Grayson's eyes made their way to the book, "What even is an angel?" He asked.

Nash thought that over, "Well, people say they are god's helpers or somethin'." He drawled.

Grayson blinked once, seemingly deep in thought, "That... sounds like bullcrap."

Nash barked a laugh, "Y'know what? I to'tally agree."

Grayson gave him a small smile, "So what do you think they are?" He asked.

"Hmm. Well, I think that angels are the same as people." Nash started, Grayson tilted his small head to the side.

"Its just that they see the world a bit differently. They see many fruits and wanna share. They see a lonely person and they wanna give 'em company. They see an injured person and they wanna help 'em." Nash continued, walking over to the bookshelf and returning the book to its place.

"And somewhere along the way, you realize that you want that person around. No matter how annoying you might find 'em." He finished, Grayson's eyes were sparkling.

"Do you know any angels, brother?"

Nash smiled back at him, "Aren't you one, lil' brother?"

✦✦✦

The memory surfaced and Grayson thought over what his brother had said.

Does that mean she's an angel? He wondered.

———————————————

LYRA

Lyra wasn't sure why she came back, but something about leaving Grayson alone in the rain unsettled her.

"Why don't you just go back to your camp?? I'm sure your group is worried about you." Lyra said, breaking the comfortable silence.

When he didn't answer, Lyra turned her head towards him and she froze.

The look Grayson had in his eyes was distant, almost like he wasn't present within the human realm anymore. As if he was gone.

It felt familiar, somehow. She hated it.

Lyra grabbed his hand and looked away just as quickly. That shook Grayson out of his trance as he looked at her, shocked.

"Um- why are-" Grayson started

"I just felt like you needed it." She cut him off, unable to stop herself from blushing.

He went silent before turning to look at the forest again.

Lyra stared at Grayson, trying to figure out what he was so upset about that he refused to return to his family and looked so disturbed.

Grayson must have felt her gaze on him.

"I just hate losing." He said.

Lyra was absolutely floored. So this asshole had decided to sit there in the rain and worry his entire family just because he was sulking about losing??

"No. I think I hate more what comes after."

Lyra waited for him to continue.

"I mean—" he took a deep breathe.

"Losing means I disappoint my grandfather. Disappointing him proves me unworthy of being the heir. If I'm unworthy of being the heir, my mom will hate me. And honestly? If she ends up hating me too, what would even be the point of it all?" Grayson finished, by the end of it he sounded suffocated, as if he had spoken it all in one breathe.

Lyra was taken aback. How was a guy that looked just about her age going through that much already?? Her heart ached for him and she gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Sometimes I wonder if it'd be better to just," he paused, "to just end it all."

Lyra's eyes widened. She had no idea why she was hurting so much for a random boy she had just met, but the very idea of him "ending it all" scared her to hell and back.

Her heart throbbed again. She took a deep breathe, trying to calm herself and praying some of her calm reached out to Grayson as well.

"I get it." She said.

Grayson didn't reply.

"The very idea of something seems so terrifying, so wrong that you feel like giving up entirely."

Lyra, in fact, did not get it. Not completely, at least. But some part of her understood him, some part of her could relate— a part of Lyra that her brain had hidden away.

Silence followed as Lyra pieced together the words in her head.

"I love to dance."

Grayson shot her a questioning look.

"My body aches for it sometimes, almost like I need it. And at times like that, when I finally stop dancing, I wonder what my life would be without dance." Grayson was really looking at her now, her ears reddened at the attention.

"Whether I would consider it a life at all."

She thought over her words before continuing, "And that's when I realized its not really life itself that we live for. We don't live to wake up, study, work hard, sleep and repeat. Even though that's what most of our schedule for the day is, its not why we live."

Lyra shifted a bit, the rain had stopped and it was quite dark by now. She looked up to the starry-night sky and smiled.

"Rather, its for the little things. The people you lean on, the things you enjoy, or small moments you can't forget." Lyra thought about her family, Miles End and dance.

"It's those tiny sparks that keep us going. They aren't prominent or forever, but you remember them nonetheless."

Her eyes found their way back to the blonde boy who was sitting next to her.

"So even if you get too tired, or feel like giving out just—" She took a deep breath and her eyes softened, "just live for those small sparks, Grayson."

Grayson's eyes widened slightly, as his eyes glowed with something like realization.

Then the boy had the audacity to smile, "Thanks again, Lyra."

Lyra tried to ignore the way her heart sped up when he said her name, god am I crushing on a rick kid?

She sprang up at the thought, her hand letting go of his, "O-okay!! Time to go, asshole! Enough of being sappy—"

Grayson stared at his, now un-clasped hand, before looking back up to her.

She let out a huff, "Nice meeting you, Grayson."

Grayson smiled again, "You too, Lyra."

And she sprinted away.

————————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson stared at the back of the peculiar girl as she ran away.

Though Lyra would never know it, apart from his brothers, Lyra was the first spark Grayson's life had had in a while. He smiled at the thought.

Time to go home.

✦✦✦

Grayson tip-toed back into their camp, it was nearing 12pm, so it was safe to assume that his grandfather and brothers were all in there tents. The bodyguards had probably been dispatched to find Grayson.

He looked around and saw a tent, still alight with a lantern inside. He eavesdropped.

"Why won't the old man let us look for him too?!" Jamie.

"Yeah!! It's been six hours. Six. Entire. Hours. What if a goblin ate him?!" That was definitely Xander.

Grayson watched as a cowboy-looking shadow grabbed both of his brothers' heads and pushed them into their respective pillows.

"Go to sleep lil' brothers. You both would just end up gettin' lost anyway, I'll go look for him in a bit."

Both of the youngest grumbled, knowing fully well that disobeying Nash was a terrible idea.

That's when Grayson chose to walk in. All three of his brothers froze to stare (and glare) at him.

"GRAYSON??" Jameson shouted.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING?!" Yelled Xander, which only earned Grayson a worried look from Jameson and an angry one from Nash

I'm doomed, aren't I? Grayson thought to himself.

"Gray. We will be havin' words." The threat was aimed at Grayson, all three of the younger brothers gulped though.

There was only one way Grayson could think of to wiggle his way out of this, "Wait."

He looked up to meet his older brother's eyes, "This is a code pink."

Grayson watched as all of his brothers' jaws dropped simultaneously.

"So, th-there's a—" Xander began, hesitant.

Grayson met his gaze dead on, "There's a girl."

—————————————————————— THIS TURNED OUT TO BE WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED RAH- enjoyyyy :DD @lyrakanefanatic @inkstainsonmyfingertips @alwaysthefangirl @talahsaudiobooklibrary

[crplpunkklavier]

there's been this trend in the kink community lately, at least around where i live, that i'm sure, or at least want to assume, was based on good intentions. where people noticed that at a lot of kink events, like bondage workshops, cis male doms/tops were a vast majority, and that this didn't actually accurately represent our community. that a lot of those guys were misbehaving, and that non-male doms weren't getting the platform they deserved.

so the answer has been to create new events for people who aren't cis men. the german acronym for this is FLINTA, meaning Frauen, Lesben, Intergeschlechtliche, nichtbinäre, trans und agender. so, "women, lesbians, intersex, non-binary, trans and agender."

we uh... we don't even have to get into how i feel about anything being for "women and" any of these other groups, as if they're somehow mutually exclusive. it's a horrible acronym, in my opinion, and i avoid any event i see that's marked with it.

there are flinta-adjacent events that still allow cis men, such as a shibari meetup close to my town that allows cis men entry only if they are a rope bottom and accompanied by a flinta top. and like... i get it. i understand where they're coming from.

online is different, cis men have said the wildest and grossest things to me online. i'll admit that. at events, so far, cis male doms have been nothing but kind to me. you know who's been consistently weird and standoffish to me at kink events? cis women. so, if i'm uncomfortable around those based on experiences i've made, where do i go now?

what happens once i have the full beard and phallo bulge of my dreams? what, are they gonna check my birth certificate at the door? or will i be turned away and just have to live with that, since i'm a guy now?

what about the person i went out with briefly, who identified as genderqueer but was amab, used he/him, and didn't alter his appearance any, because he didn't want to? he told me he never dared to go to those events. technically, he was ~flinta~. he still didn't feel welcome.

curious!

i think we've reached for a too easy answer here. i think if cis men are a loud and often unruly majority at our events, we can't just kick them out as a whole group. we can kick out the ones who misbehave and we can uplift voices. we can make sure the teams organizing our events are diverse. we can be as vocal as possible about being safe for queer kinksters. this is already true for many cis men-inclusive events. steering clear of those under the pretense that cis men are somehow inherently more dangerous than anyone else is only going to lead to more disaster down the line.

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

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

word count: 10.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It won't be the same without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

"What about this one?"

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

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

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

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

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

You were dressing up for him.

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

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

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

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

Did Brian? She doubted it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

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

He didn't deserve that smile.

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

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

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

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

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

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

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

Brian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

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

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

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

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

It was rage.

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

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

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

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

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

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

It was a problem. A huge one.

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

And still, she couldn't look away.

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

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

She wanted to scream.

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

But she didn't.

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

You're not supposed to feel like this.

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

And still, she couldn't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tara felt something snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

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

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

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

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

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

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

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

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

Tara nearly saw red.

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

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

It was insulting. Infuriating.

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

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

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

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

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

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

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

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

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

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

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

Because this wasn't about him.

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

This was about her.

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

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

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

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

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't about him.

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

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

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

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

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

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

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

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

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

She should've.

But she didn't.

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

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

And she let him.

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

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

And yet, she let it happen.

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

But it didn't.

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

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

What had she done?

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

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

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

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

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

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

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

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

[sovamurka]

Thinking about how Ma Meilleure Ennemie can be considered a continuation and an interesting thematic expansion of Enemy.

"No shit, lmao, they both have the word enemy in them".

Like, yes, that's exactly the point.

But there's more to it than meets the eye.

We all know that Enemy in many ways is meant to be from Jinx's perspective (music video supports that) - it's HER internal worries, it's HER exhaustingly sad sarcasm, it's HER wreck of emotions that she can't stop.

The song explains why and how she basically convinced herself that she's a curse and will never be a saint no matter what she does.

She exclaims that everybody wants to be her enemy. For her this word means "the person that everyone hates, the person who everyone abandoned, the person for whom no one prays or hopes".

And then in Ma Meilleure Ennemie Ekko... agrees with her - she IS his enemy. But to him this word has so much more meaning and underlying feelings than just "the person I'm against, the person I hate".

For him enemy is also someone who's always near - if not in body, then in mind. Someone who truly shares history with you and can hurt you in more ways than one.

Who you hate so much because you had too much love in your heart for them.

Hatred is not the opposite of love, it's just love with a minus instead of plus, the true opposite of love is indifference. And Ekko feels anything but indifference towards Jinx, even though he tried so many times to convince himself otherwise.

First verse of the song is basically his admission that she's an essential part of him - no matter what he does, no matter how many times he forces himself to forget, no matter how much he tries to keep his enemy out of his mind.

He knows he should stay away, he knows he should keep his own heart under hundreds of locks to not let anyone break it again. But he can't help it. He still loves her despite everything, including his own self.

That's why he also agrees that she's indeed a curse. The most beautiful one. She haunts his thoughts and he hates himself for finding comfort in it. But it's better to be in a bad company than alone, am I right?

The chorus of Ma Meilleure Ennemie sounds almost like a last resort - a mutual attempt to push each other away.

To make matters worse, the whole "meilleur/pire" (best/worst) dichotomy that is constantly present in the song literally from the beginning, is a simple yet clever play on a famous wedding vow - "Pour le meilleur et pour le pire" (translation: for the best and the worst of it). The more they try to convince each other that they should not be together, the more they intertwine their fates because they repeat this vow again and again.

And then in the second verse of Ma Meilleure Ennemie Jinx finally lets herself say things she was so afraid to say before. Lets her feelings and thoughts be known in the most vulnerable way possible. Not with Enemy's upset angry screaming but with this gentle melodic whisper.

And what does she have to say about her feelings towards the person who she shares so much complicated history with?

That his name cuts her open every time she hears it. And that's why she doesn't say it - it hurts her so much.

Ekko's name literally echoes in her mind. Jinx can't even say for sure whether this pain she feels comes from hatred that formed over the years or from pure sweetness, softness and gentleness that she still keeps in her heart for him.

And then comes Je t’avais dit: “Ne regarde pas en arrière” (translation: I told you not to look back) which is such an obvious Orpheus and Eurydice myth reference when you say it out loud.

Albeit, their situation is an interesting take on this myth.

Let me explain. Orpheus had a chance to bring his wife Eurydice back to the land of the living if he guided her there without looking back or else she would end up in the underworld again. There are several versions of the myth that give different explanations on why Orpheus turns back, but they all agree on one thing - it was done because of love.

However, in Ekko's case it's kind of a reverse situation - Jinx will disappear if he turns away from her.

That's what, in my opinion, Turn Your Back and I'll Disappear song means, actually.

And here, at the end of second verse, Jinx explicitly tells Ekko that he shouldn't look back. He should leave past behind, should leave her behind, let her disappear from his life and from this world altogether or else everything will get infinitely worse.

But of course he doesn't, of course he turns back (time) again and again.

He does it because he loves her, just like Orpheus loves Eurydice.

Despite not having much screen time, timebomb still managed to tell such a wonderful intricately woven story.

I analysed just a small part of Jinx and Ekko's symbolic lyricism. Believe me, there's still so much more to talk about and uncover since this story is told through different forms of art that are all worth your attention.

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 2

Themes: homoerotic friendship turmoil... (again iykyk)

A/N: Had a free day so spent it cooking up this next chapter! Felt inspired by all the love you guys gave for chapter 1. Not sure what this says about me, but I love writing character spirals so this chapter is basically just more of that! Enjoy!

WC: 4.9K

Warnings: cussing, angst

**** Chapter 2 ****

It’s been a week since the student center.

Seven days. Five practices. Three recovery lifts. Two film sessions.

Over the summer, it was easier to pretend. They were only on campus for a few weeks of summer session—light workouts, half-empty dorms, no one really paying attention. They could get away with small talk and long stretches of silence. Could convince themselves that the space between them was just timing. Just logistics. Just a break.

But now?

Now they’re back in it. Full team schedule. Practice every day. Group meals. Shared everything. Paige is everywhere again—on the sidelines, in the locker room, just close enough to make Azzi feel the distance even more.

This morning, it’s film.

Everyone’s packed into the team meeting room—sweats, messy buns, Gatorade bottles scattered across the floor. The room smells like sweat, menthol, and the kind of focus that doesn’t fade just because practice ended. Coach is already five minutes into a breakdown of last week’s scrimmage footage, laser pointer in hand, voice rising and falling like he’s narrating a crime scene.

Azzi’s in the third row with the other sophomores, directly behind the juniors, which means Paige is in front of her. Two seats to the right, to be exact. 

Her hoodie’s oversized, sleeves pulled over her hands, notebook balanced on her thigh. Her knee is propped on her backpack like it’s casual, but Azzi knows it’s not. She’s seen the way Paige grits her teeth when she shifts too fast. The way she barely lets the trainers touch it.

And even though she hasn’t said a word to her since that morning—hasn’t texted, hasn’t liked anything, hasn’t even made eye contact—Azzi can’t stop watching her.

Because something’s different.

Not just physically.

There’s a weight to her lately, like she’s constantly holding something in. Like if she let go for even a second, the whole thing would collapse.

And maybe Azzi’s imagining it, but… Paige doesn’t usually carry herself like this. She used to sit forward in these meetings, pen tapping against her knee, whispering dumb side commentary that made Azzi snort-laugh through her water bottle.

Now, she’s quiet. Still. Watching the screen like she’s somewhere else entirely.

And Azzi?

Azzi is fully distracted.

Coach pauses the film on a defensive breakdown from last season—one of their worst games. “This,” he says, circling the screen, “is what happens when you forget how to communicate.”

Azzi hears it. Loud and clear.

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks back at the screen, but her eyes flicker down to Paige again.

She’s not even looking. Just staring at the page in her lap like she forgot how to be here.

And Azzi hates how much it bothers her.

Because Paige isn’t being Paige. She isn’t some party girl. That’s never been her vibe. Sure, they’ve all had nights—team wins, off-season birthdays, someone’s cousin visiting from out of town—but still. Paige has always been the one to know when to call it. To rally the freshmen. To lead by example. To drink water in between rounds because she knows her body matters more than a buzz.

But last Friday? Paige looked wrecked. And not just tired-wrecked. Unraveled.

Azzi shifts in her seat again. Guilt crawling under her skin like something contagious.

Because she knows what she saw in Paige’s eyes that morning wasn’t just hangover haze. It was something heavier.

And she knows—deep down, even if she hasn’t said it out loud—that she’s a big part of why.

It’s not like she hasn’t tried.

To fix it. Mend it. Reset the dial and get back to just being best friends.

But the problem is—that’s not what they are anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.

Azzi sits in her seat, eyes on the film screen but mind drifting, the light flickering over Paige’s straight hair just one row down. A highlight reel from last season is playing. Everyone else is focused.

Azzi’s not.

Her thoughts circle a moment from almost a year ago. Just a few days after that night outside Ted’s.

*Three Days After Ted’s*

She knocked before she could change her mind.

Three quick taps, then silence. Her heart already hammering against her ribs.

It had been three days since Ted’s. Three days since Paige had looked at her like she’d torn something open and then watched her walk away.

Azzi had thought about texting—typed out at least four different versions of “can we talk?”—but nothing felt right. Nothing ever did when it came to Paige.

So here she was.

Standing outside Paige’s dorm room like a coward trying to be brave.

The door creaked open slowly.

Paige stood there in a hoodie Azzi had seen a hundred times—wrinkled, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hair pin-straight and tucked behind her ears like she hadn’t had the energy to care. Her eyes were unreadable. Guarded. Like she didn’t know whether to slam the door or let it all in.

Still, she stepped back.

Didn’t say anything. Just… made space.

Azzi walked in slowly, careful not to brush too close. The room felt dim and heavy—like it was still holding the echo of that night. There was music playing low from her laptop, some slow-burning acoustic song that was doing way too much. Paige didn’t bother turning it off.

They sat on the edge of the bed in silence, the way people do when they’ve already said the most important thing and still somehow left everything unsaid.

Azzi’s fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” she said. “But I do care. You know that, right?”

Paige didn’t look at her. Just nodded, once. No emotion.

Azzi took a breath. “I’m still figuring things out.”

Paige’s voice was flat. “Like what?”

She looked down. “Like… who I am. What I want. What this is.”

Paige’s gaze shifted to the window. Quiet. Not angry. Not cold. Just… tired. Like she was already exhausted from trying not to expect anything.

And Azzi hated herself for that.

Because she knew Paige deserved more than half-truths and safe answers. She deserved certainty. And Azzi—Azzi couldn’t give her that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Because she hadn’t come out. Not to her family. Not to her team.

Not even to herself.

And maybe her feelings for Paige were real. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were something so specific and sharp and only Paige that she didn’t know how to translate them into anything else.

But whatever they were, she wasn’t ready.

They agreed to try again. As friends. Clean. Platonic. Safe.

Azzi told herself it was better than nothing.

And for a little while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

*The Weeks Following Ted’s*

They tried. They really did.

After that night—after the conversation in Paige’s dorm, the hard truths and half-formed apologies—they both promised to make it work. To go back to something simpler. Just friends. Teammates. People who used to be something else but weren’t anymore.

And at first, it actually wasn’t awful.

They fell into a rhythm. Small talk. Inside jokes. Shared playlists again, but nothing too loaded. They lifted together. Texted about practice.

They were in check.

Until they weren’t.

Because old habits die hard. And Paige—Paige has never had much restraint when it comes to the people she loves.

It started with the little things. A hand on Azzi’s back when she passed behind her in the locker room. A pinky brushing hers on the bench during a timeout. Standing just a little too close in the weight room. All harmless. All manageable.

But Azzi felt every one of them.

And she didn’t stop them.

She let the small touches happen. Craved them more than she should have. Told herself it didn’t mean anything if it stayed small. Told herself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Because the looks started slipping in again—those long, unblinking glances across the gym. And the way Paige said her name started sounding too soft again. Like it did back when they were still tangled up in each other, late at night, when no one else knew.

They were close to blurring lines again. So close it made Azzi’s chest ache.

But she couldn’t forget what Paige said that night outside Ted’s.

You don’t get to be all over me in private and then play straight for the crowd. I’m not your secret. I’m not some backup plan you get to use when it’s easy.

Even if it was drunk. Even if it was messy. It had cracked something wide open.

And Azzi knew—knew in her gut—that she wasn’t helping. That every glance, every casual touch, every almost was a slow kind of cruelty.

So she drew a harder line.

Not all at once, but in those quiet, deliberate ways that people notice even when they pretend not to.

She stopped sitting next to Paige during team meals. Started saying “I’m gonna head out” before the end of post-practice hangouts. Kept her phone face-down. Gave shorter replies to the late-night texts that always came without a question but carried too much meaning.

She pulled back from the casual touches. The after-lift stretching sessions that used to end in tangled limbs and unspoken closeness. The jokes that skimmed too close to something intimate. The looks. God, the looks.

She didn’t say it out loud. Never made some grand announcement.

But Paige noticed.

Of course she did.

And Azzi could feel it in the shift—how Paige got quieter around her. How her smile didn’t reach all the way anymore. How she stopped reaching out entirely after a while, like she’d done the math and realized what they were wasn’t adding up.

And maybe that was the point.

Azzi thought she was doing the right thing—protecting them both from another slow disaster. Giving her space to breathe while Azzi sorted through her own shit. Making sure Paige didn’t get pulled back into something Azzi wasn’t ready to name.

But the boundaries brought distance.

And the distance brought silence.

And now, they barely speak.

*Present Day*

Paige

She shows up to film early. Of course she does.

Because no matter what her personal life looks like—and it looks like a goddamn train wreck right now—she’s still Paige Bueckers. She’s still a team leader. Still the one who sets the tone, even if her own feels cracked and paper-thin these days.

She shows up. Every time. Early to film. Loud on the sidelines. Quick with encouragement even when she can barely stomach being on the bench.

Because that’s who she’s supposed to be.

The one who doesn’t complain. The one who leads by example. The one who makes it look easy, even when it’s anything but.

And maybe part of her is afraid that if she stops—if she lets the cracks show—they’ll start to forget. Forget how much she gave. Forget how badly she still wants it. Forget that she was supposed to be the one leading them to a title this year before her ACL exploded and took the whole plan with it.

So yeah, her life’s a mess right now. But her role? Her image? That has to stay sharp.

Even if the sharpness is starting to cut back.

She slips into her usual seat—second row, third from the left—hood up, notebook balanced on her lap, pen already uncapped. Her brace is tight today. The trainers told her to ease up on the stairs but she didn’t listen. Again.

She nods along as Geno talks. Scribbles a few things. Watches the screen like she’s absorbing it. But truthfully, she’s only catching about sixty percent of it.

The rest of her brain? Completely useless.

Because Azzi is directly behind her.

And Paige can feel it—like gravity. Like heat. Like something she isn’t supposed to notice anymore but still does, always.

It’s not dramatic. Azzi’s not staring holes in the back of her head. It’s subtler than that. Flickers of attention. Glances that hover and then dart away like they never happened. Paige doesn’t need to turn around to know—they’ve done this dance too many times.

She can feel it in her spine. In her shoulders. In the way her skin prickles under the weight of not being touched.

Azzi’s attention isn’t loud, but it’s deliberate. Careful. Measured in that way it always is now—like she’s trying not to give anything away, like looking too long might make the space between them collapse.

Paige swallows hard and focuses on the screen. Pretends she doesn’t feel the echo of all the ways they used to reach for each other without saying a word.

Pretends she doesn’t miss it. Even though it’s still right there. Just one row behind her.

She’s good at this—keeping her expression neutral, her body language easy, like nothing’s ever off. She’s been doing it since middle school, since before anyone knew what to look for.

But today?

Today, it takes more effort than she wants to admit.

Her notes are messier than usual. Her focus drifts more often. Her stomach clenches every time Geno pauses the tape on an old play from last season—her feeding Azzi in the corner, Azzi draining the three. The two of them moving like muscle memory.

Like something that used to be.

She exhales quietly and writes something down that she probably won’t remember later.

****

After film, someone says, “Nika’s tonight?” and that’s that.

No group vote, no discussion. Just a general agreement that they all need a break and a bad movie. Team bonding, but make it low-key.

Paige almost bails.

She’s not in the mood for snacks and sarcasm and pretending everything’s normal. But she’s also not in the mood to be the only one who doesn’t show up—especially not when she’s already spending enough time on the outside looking in.

So she goes.

She’s late. Not dramatically. Just enough that by the time she walks into Nika’s apartment, the lights are dim, the popcorn’s halfway gone, and everyone’s already staked out their territory.

She scans the room, pretending not to look like she’s scanning. Ice and Aubrey are draped across the beanbags. KK and Caroline are posted up with blankets on the floor. Nika’s curled into her oversized chair like a queen on her throne.

Only one spot left.

And of course it’s next to Azzi.

Because why wouldn’t it be?

The end cushion on the main couch. There’s space—barely. Azzi’s legs are tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, face turned toward the screen like she’s already locked in. But Paige knows her well enough to know she’s not.

She stops in the doorway, hovering just long enough to feel stupid about it. Her eyes flick across the room again, double-checking like maybe she missed a better option.

She didn’t.

She could sit on the floor, but that’d be weird. Or the counter stool near the kitchen, but that’s a straight-up exile move. Obvious. And most of the team is blissfully unaware of the behind-the-scenes melodrama that’s become her and Azzi’s lives.

So she bites the bullet.

Plasters on a neutral face.

And drops down next to her.

Azzi shifts just slightly to make room—knee brushing Paige’s for half a second before pulling away again. It’s barely anything. But Paige feels it everywhere.

She opens a bottle of water and stares at the screen like the movie’s going to save her.

It won’t.

But at least if she focuses hard enough, maybe she won’t notice how close Azzi’s arm is. Or the way her hair smells like something fruity. Or how Paige used to spend entire nights in that exact space on the couch—knees touching, shoulders warm, everything between them soft and quiet and real.

Now?

Now she’s just trying not to breathe too loud.

****

She’s pretty sure the room wasn’t this warm when she walked in.

Paige shifts slightly, peeling the edge of her hoodie away from her neck like it might help. It doesn’t. The apartment’s packed, sure—but it’s not that hot. At least no one else seems to be melting into the furniture.

Except maybe her.

Or maybe it’s just that she can feel Azzi next to her.

Not in some earth-shattering way. Just enough to make her skin buzz. Just in a too-aware-of-every-breath-she-takes kind of way. Her knee is curled toward Paige’s leg again, tucked under her like she’s trying to disappear into the couch. And Paige’s thigh is right there—barely touching, but definitely touching.

And God help her, it’s all she can think about.

Azzi shifts again and their knees bump. A soft, accidental press. Paige freezes.

Azzi doesn’t move.

Paige doesn’t either.

The movie is playing—some dumb rom-com Nika picked for the aesthetic more than the plot. Something with oversaturated lighting and too many slow-motion glances. Laughter bubbles up around the room at some punchline Paige barely registers.

She doesn’t hear it.

Not really.

Her pulse is louder than the dialogue now, steady and unrelenting in her ears. It drums under her skin like a warning: Too close. Too close.

The couch cushion shifts beside her as Azzi moves—slow, quiet, pulling at the sleeve of her sweatshirt like she’s fidgeting to keep her hands busy. Paige doesn’t look over, but she doesn’t have to. She can feel it.

That subtle give in the cushion. The warmth creeping into the narrow space between them.

Now their arms are close. Like, too close.

Not quite touching, but close enough that the fabric of Paige’s hoodie tugs slightly when she inhales. Close enough that she can feel the static tension gathering in the gap between them like something charged, alive, waiting.

She presses her knuckles into her thigh to ground herself. Keeps her eyes on the screen like the movie might anchor her.

But it doesn’t.

Because all she can think about is the fact that if she moved half an inch to the left, she’d be touching Azzi again.

And that half an inch feels impossible.

Paige inhales through her nose and stares at the screen like her life depends on it.

It’s fine. This is fine.

Just casual knee contact with your ex-best friend slash person-you’re-definitely-not-still-in-love-with. No big deal.

Then—

“Yo,” Aubrey whispers, way too loud for a whisper, jabbing Paige in the side with two knuckles like she’s trying to get her attention and restart her heart.

Paige startles—physically jolts. Her knee knocks into Azzi’s harder than intended, solid enough to make her wince. Her elbow swings wide in the process and lands—of course—right against Azzi’s ribs.

“Oh my God—sorry,” she mumbles, already pulling her arm back like it’s on fire.

Azzi lets out the softest breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. Just… something that says I felt that too.

Paige doesn’t look over. Can’t. If she does, she’s pretty sure she’ll combust.

“Sorry,” she mutters under her breath.

Azzi gives a tiny head shake like it’s nothing, but she doesn’t look at her.

Paige blinks, disoriented, half-thinking she’s about to see a TikTok or a meme or something equally stupid that’ll at least give her a reason to unclench.

She looks down.

And her stomach twists.

Azzi

The interruption is a relief. A welcome one, honestly.

She’s felt like she’s been holding her breath for the last thirty minutes—shoulders tight, legs folded too neatly, heart thudding in some dumb, unsteady rhythm she swears wasn’t there when the movie started.

It’s just a couch.

Just a movie.

Just Paige sitting four inches to her right, jaw clenched and eyes trained on the screen like it personally offended her.

Azzi hasn’t moved in forever. Not really. She shifted once to reach for popcorn and regretted it immediately when her knee brushed Paige’s. Light. Unintentional. But it might as well have been electric. She’s been statue-still ever since.

She doesn’t dare lean back or adjust or even uncross her ankles. Not when her skin is still buzzing. Not when her arm is close enough to Paige’s that she can feel the heat through two layers of fabric and the silence between them is doing more damage than words ever could.

It’s not like anyone else would notice. To everyone else, it probably looks normal. Like nothing’s wrong. Just two teammates watching a movie.

But to Azzi?

It’s suffocating.

She can feel Paige’s tension like it’s her own—like it’s crawling off her skin and settling in Azzi’s chest. She can feel every breath Paige takes and every one she holds. Every shift. Every twitch. Every micro-movement of trying not to care.

And she wonders—stupidly, selfishly—if Paige feels it too.

So yeah, when Aubrey leans over and jabs Paige with her elbow, Azzi nearly exhales out loud.

Thank God.

She tries not to look. Tries to give them privacy, even though nothing about it seems that deep. Just a phone screen, a low chuckle, Paige’s voice tight and unreadable.

But then Paige goes still.

Not physically—emotionally. The kind of retreat you only notice if you’ve memorized her face.

So she glances over.

Not to be nosy. Just… to know.

And that’s when she sees it.

A phone screen held between two hands. Lit up with an Instagram profile. A girl.

Dark brown hair. Sharp jawline. Smiling in cleats and turf-stained socks.

Azzi squints. She recognizes her—vaguely. From the soccer team, maybe? She’s pretty. Objectively.

Something in Azzi’s stomach shifts.

And then—like a puzzle snapping into place—she remembers the conversation from earlier that week.

Caroline and Aubrey sitting at the table in the student center, laughing over iced coffees and talking just loud enough for Azzi to catch the tail end of it.

“I swear, she’d be into her,” Aubrey had said, voice low but not exactly subtle.

“She’s cool. Chill. Doesn’t take things too seriously.”

Caroline had hummed, not disagreeing. “Paige could probably use someone like that right now.”

And then—

“Something easy, y’know? While she’s stuck on the sidelines.”

Azzi hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Hadn’t let herself.

But now? Seeing the girl’s face on the screen? Watching Paige go still?

It lands.

Aubrey’s trying to play matchmaker.

And the match?

Isn’t her.

Of course it’s not her.

Azzi shifts in her seat slightly, just enough to break the contact between their legs. Paige doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t react. That might be worse.

A tightness starts blooming in Azzi’s chest, quiet but immediate. Like a too-small sweatshirt pressing against her lungs. Like she just learned something she wasn’t supposed to hear.

Her eyes flick back to the phone. The girl’s still there—smiling like she has no idea she’s the source of the ache forming behind Azzi’s ribs. She’s pretty. Chill-looking. Effortless. The kind of girl who probably doesn’t overthink a thing. Who’d slide into a relationship like it’s just another afternoon.Who could hold her without all the questions.

Azzi looks away.

Her stomach twists.

Because the truth is, this girl probably is a better fit. Probably won’t freeze when Paige gets close. Probably won’t make her feel like she has to tiptoe around invisible landmines. Probably won’t leave her hanging in the middle of a sentence because she doesn’t know how to say I think about you all the time, but I still don’t know what that means for me.

And that’s what stings the most.

Not that Paige might move on. But that maybe she should.

Azzi presses her hands into her lap. Hard. Just to feel something else.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. She’s the one who stepped back. Drew the line. Told herself it was better this way.

But now, watching Paige stiffen beside her, reading whatever’s on that screen, Azzi wants to reach across the couch and snatch the phone from her hands. Or rewind time. Or say something. Anything.

But she doesn’t.

Because what could she possibly say?

Wait, don’t like her. I still think about you every night. I wasn’t ready then, but I miss you in a way that still scares me. Please.

No.

Instead, she stays still.

Breath shallow.

Heart splintering slowly in her chest.

Because the girl on the screen is probably good for Paige.

And then— Oh God. Derrick.

Her actual boyfriend.

She’d forgotten about him. Completely. Like, not just out of sight, out of mind—but fully erased from her mental hard drive for the past thirty seconds. That probably says something awful.

They’ve been hanging out. It’s not nothing. He’s good to her. Steady in a way that’s rare around here—especially in guys who spend half their lives in cleats and compression sleeves. Derrick’s on the football team, so he gets it. The early lifts, the pressure, the silence that sometimes follows a bad game. He doesn’t ask her to explain the way her brain works when she’s locked in season mode—he just understands.

He laughs at her driest jokes. Always walks her to her dorm, even when it’s out of the way.

It’s not fake.

Sometimes, when she’s with him—when it’s quiet, and he’s smiling at her like she’s not hard to love—she almost lets herself believe this is what right feels like.

But then moments like this creep in.

Moments where her whole body tunes to Paige’s without meaning to. Where a knee bump or a glance makes her forget who she came here with.

And suddenly, even good things start to feel wrong.

Maybe this is what happens when you wait too long to be brave.

Paige

She scrolls for a beat too long. Long enough to memorize the girl’s face even though she doesn’t mean to.

Pretty. Friendly smile. The kind of person you could sit next to in class and not feel the need to impress.

She feels Azzi shift beside her. Just barely.

But Paige feels it. Like a ripple through the couch cushion. Like a silent inhale that doesn’t fully let go.

She doesn’t look over. She doesn’t need to. 

Azzi saw. She knows that much.

And maybe—God, maybe—there’s a version of her that should be thrilled by that. That should take the tension radiating off Azzi’s body as proof. That should cling to it like a sign that not everything’s lost. That maybe there’s still a version of this story where they get to figure it out.

But all Paige can think about is how tired she is.

How long it’s been since someone touched her and meant it. Since she felt chosen. On purpose. Without conditions.

Aubrey leans in again, barely above a whisper. “I told you she’s cute.”

Paige forces a tiny, noncommittal smile. “Yeah. She’s… fine.”

Aubrey nudges her with an elbow. “She’s more than fine. And she’s chill. Pre-PT major. I think you’d vibe.”

Paige keeps her eyes on the screen, where the rom-com couple is slow-dancing in the rain. “We’ve literally never spoken.”

“So? That’s what DMs are for,” Aubrey says, like it’s obvious. “And don’t give me that look. It wouldn’t kill you to flirt for once.”

Paige huffs out something like a laugh. “I don’t even know how to flirt anymore. My game died with my ACL.”

Aubrey snorts. “Okay, drama. You’re still Paige Bueckers. You could wink at a vending machine and it would Venmo you lunch.”

That gets a real smile. Small, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Paige shrugs, letting the phone settle in her lap. “Maybe.”

She hasn’t been with anyone since Azzi. Not seriously. Not in the ways that matter. A few flirty texts. A couple of could’ve-beens. Nothing that stuck. Nothing she wanted to.

Because how are you supposed to fall for someone else when the only person you ever really wanted still looks at you like that—and then does nothing?

Maybe it’s time.

Not to move on, exactly. She’s not sure that’s even possible. But maybe it’s time to try wanting something new. Something easy. Someone who doesn’t come with a year of silence and soft maybes. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s constantly waiting for a door to open that might never unlock.

She nods at the phone, even though the screen’s dimmed now. “She’s cute,” she says quietly.

Aubrey nudges her again, triumphant. “Told you.”

Paige passes the phone back with a smile she hopes looks normal.

She leans back into the couch, exhale soft, heartbeat a little too loud in her ears.

Azzi hasn’t moved. And Paige doesn’t either.

Then— A soft buzz. Azzi pulls out her phone. The screen lights up.

Paige doesn’t mean to look. But she does.

Derrick 💪🏽 One text. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

Paige’s throat tightens. She turns back to the screen, blinking hard. The movie’s still playing, some oversaturated love story about two people who keep finding their way back to each other no matter what.

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth and wills herself not to care.

But the ache sits there anyway. Familiar. Heavy. Right in the center of her chest.

Maybe this is what moving on looks like. Maybe it's not dramatic. Not loud. Maybe it’s just noticing someone’s Instagram profile and not looking away this time.

She pulls her hoodie tighter. Sinks a little further into the couch.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige wonders what it might feel like to be wanted by someone new—someone who doesn't already know how to break her.

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 4

Summary: you left as fast as you could. What was his gift? You were praying to god that your love be safe. But little you knew, it was just the start...

Warning: blood, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Original gif by @asoiaffan ♡ Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest like a drum as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. Her breathing was shallow, frantic, as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Every horrible possibility ran through her mind, twisting her thoughts into a frantic knot. Her boyfriend wasn’t answering his calls. Aegon had smiled at her like he had some dark secret, that twisted, sick smile. The gift he left. What had he done?

She pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car speeding recklessly through the empty streets. The world around her blurred as she focused solely on getting home—on finding out what was waiting for her. Her hands were trembling so violently she could barely keep the car steady. As she took a sharp turn, her tires screeched against the pavement, almost colliding with a car coming from the opposite direction.

“Shit!” she gasped, jerking the wheel back. Her pulse skyrocketed, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts. The other car honked angrily as it sped past, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t think about anything except getting home.

“Aegon’s lying,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. “He’s trying to scare me. He’s just… messing with me. I’ll get home, and it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the fear was still there, gnawing at her insides like a festering wound. She could still hear Aegon’s voice in her head, the way he had laughed so softly, so eerily.

Did you open the gift I left you?

Y/N swallowed back the rising panic, her throat tightening. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her heart thundering so loudly in her chest she thought it might explode. She pressed harder on the gas, speeding through another intersection without checking. Her mind was a whirlwind, screaming at her, warning her, pleading with her to turn back—but she couldn’t. She had to know. She had to see.

When she finally pulled into her driveway, she slammed on the brakes, barely giving the car time to stop before she jumped out. The moment she stepped outside, she froze.

The air was thick, heavy with a putrid smell—like something had rotted, festered. Her stomach lurched as the stench hit her full force, bile rising in her throat. It was a smell she couldn’t ignore, and it only heightened her terror. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong.

“Jacob…” Her voice cracked as she whispered her boyfriend’s name, the words barely a breath. Tears pricked her eyes as she stumbled toward the door, her legs weak and shaky. The smell only grew stronger as she got closer to the house, the kind of stench that clung to the walls, suffocating. Her mind spiraled into horrible images, and she felt her knees buckle beneath the weight of her fear.

“What did Aegon do?” she whimpered, her throat dry, her lips trembling.

She fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The smell hit her full force, thick and rancid, making her gag. Her eyes watered from the stench, and her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t breathe.

“Jacob,” she whispered again, her voice desperate, pleading. “Please, God, no…”

Her eyes scanned the room, her vision blurry with fear. The house was eerily silent, except for the pounding of her heart in her ears. The living room was still, as if nothing had been disturbed. But then her gaze fell on something that hadn’t been there before—a large box sitting in the middle of the couch.

Y/N froze. The knot in her stomach twisted violently, her chest tightening with dread. The gift.

She took a slow, shaky step toward the box, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The stench was overwhelming now, and her breath came in shallow gasps as she tried to steel herself, telling herself it would be okay.

“He’s messing with me. He’s messing with me. He wouldn’t…”

But her thoughts were fractured, her mind replaying Aegon’s twisted smile, his eerie laugh, the way he had hinted at something horrible waiting for her. Her steps were slow, each one more painful than the last as she forced herself closer to the box. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop, to run, to leave—but she couldn’t. She had to know. She had to see what he had done.

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her as she stood in front of the box. Her hands trembled violently, hovering over the lid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath ragged as she tried to calm herself, tried to tell herself that whatever was inside, she could handle it.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaking. “It’s just a box. Just open it. Open it, and it’ll be over.”

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she gripped the lid. And then, just as she was about to lift it, she heard it.

“Meow.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat. The sound was soft, almost delicate, and it took her a moment to process what she had heard. Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted the lid of the box. Inside, curled up in a soft blanket, was a small golden kitten with wide, innocent eyes and a pretty blue collar around its neck.

For a moment, Y/N just stared, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her breath caught in her throat, and the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free. She let out a sob—of relief, of exhaustion, of fear—and collapsed to her knees in front of the box.

It was just a kitten. A cute, tiny kitten. Nothing horrible. Nothing gruesome. Just… a kitten.

“Oh my God,” she choked out between sobs, her hands trembling as she reached into the box and scooped the kitten up into her arms. The kitten nuzzled against her, purring softly, and Y/N cried harder, her body shaking with the force of her relief.

She hugged the kitten tightly to her chest, pressing her face into its soft fur as she sobbed uncontrollably. The tension, the fear, the gut-wrenching panic she had felt—it all came crashing down at once, and she couldn’t hold it back. She kissed the top of the kitten’s head, her tears soaking into its fur as she whispered, “Thank you. Thank you, God. Oh my God…”

For what felt like hours, she just sat there, cradling the kitten, her body wracked with sobs of relief. The terror she had felt—the belief that she would find something horrible, something irreversibly gruesome—it all melted away, leaving her trembling and exhausted.

When she finally managed to calm herself down, she stood up, still holding the kitten in her arms. Her mind was a haze, her body weak from the emotional onslaught. As she walked toward the kitchen to find something for the kitten to eat, she noticed something strange—the smell was still there.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach twisted again. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes landing on the counter where a package of meat had been left out—rotting. The smell was coming from the meat.

Y/N almost laughed—a weak, breathless laugh. All of her fear, all of her panic, had been over rotting meat.

The realization made her feel foolish, but it also made her feel relieved. She hadn’t found her boyfriend’s body. She hadn’t found anything horrible waiting for her. Just a kitten and some rotten meat.

But as she fed the kitten and sat down on the floor, petting its soft fur, a new fear crept into her mind. Aegon’s words still echoed in her head. Why isn’t he answering your calls?

Her relief was short-lived, replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. Something was still wrong.

The doorbell rang, its sharp sound cutting through the quiet of the house. Y/N froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She held the kitten closer, her mind racing with a flood of possibilities. Was it Aegon? Had he followed her here? Her stomach twisted with fear as she slowly walked toward the door, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

With trembling hands, she peeked through the peephole. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Jacob standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of flowers. For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—he was alive. Jacob was standing there, perfectly fine.

She flung the door open, tears spilling down her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. “Jacob!” she cried, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Oh my God, I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you so much.”

Jacob stood there, stunned, the flowers still clutched in his hand as he blinked down at her. “Y/N… are you okay? What happened?”

But Y/N didn’t let him finish. She tightened her hold on him, her tears soaking into his shirt as she pressed her face harder into his chest. “I thought… I thought something happened to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve been so scared. I missed you so much, Jacob.”

His arms wrapped around her slowly, pulling her closer as he kissed the top of her head. “I missed you too, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft. He held her tightly, gently rubbing her back as he tried to calm her down. “I’m here now. Everything’s okay.”

For a moment, the relief was overwhelming, and she stayed in his arms, soaking in his warmth, the familiar smell of him. It was real—Jacob was safe, and Aegon hadn’t touched him. She hadn’t lost him.

After a few moments, they moved to the couch, and Y/N wiped her tears, trying to compose herself as she sat beside him. Jacob placed the bouquet of flowers on the coffee table, a small, awkward smile on his face as he looked at her. “I brought these for you,” he said softly.

She managed a weak smile, trying to hide the lingering fear that gnawed at her insides. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

They sat in a brief, comfortable silence before Jacob sighed, his expression turning more serious. “Y/N… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her heart sank. Something to talk about? She suddenly had a bad feeling, the unease creeping back into her chest. But she forced a smile, trying to push the anxiety aside. “What is it?”

Jacob ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with hesitation. “I’ve been offered a job,” he began slowly, “but it’s far away. Really far away. I’ll have to leave soon, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

Y/N’s mind immediately raced back to Aegon—the man who had haunted her thoughts and dreams, the man who had been tormenting her for weeks. The man who might have killed Jacob if things had gone differently. The thought of being alone, with no one to protect her from Aegon, made her stomach churn. But she swallowed her fear, forcing herself to remain calm.

She couldn’t tell Jacob about Aegon. Not now. Not after everything they’d been through. She didn’t want to fight with him again, and she certainly didn’t want him to think she was crazy.

So instead, she plastered on a smile, pretending everything was fine. “That’s… great,” she said, her voice unnaturally bright. “I’m really happy for you, Jacob.”

He looked at her, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you sure? I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to leave you alone—”

“I’ll be fine,” Y/N interrupted, her voice firm despite the terror creeping into her chest. “I’ll be okay. You deserve this, and I don’t want to hold you back.”

Jacob smiled, relief washing over his face. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot to me.”

They sat together for a while longer, talking about the details of his job and the logistics of his trip. Y/N listened, nodding at all the right moments, but inside, her mind was spiraling with fear. She smiled when she was supposed to, laughed at his jokes, and even kissed him, pretending that everything was fine. But deep down, she was still terrified. Aegon was out there, lurking in the shadows, and she knew he wasn’t done with her.

Jacob leaned in, kissing her softly, his hands cupping her face. She kissed him back, holding him close, trying to savor the moment despite the dread twisting in her stomach. When they pulled apart, Jacob smiled, his eyes soft and full of love. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jacob smiled, clearly relieved by her reaction. He leaned in and kissed her softly, and she kissed him back, pretending everything was okay. But inside, she was shaking. The terror of what Aegon had said, of what he was capable of, still gnawed at her.

When they pulled away, Jacob wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close again. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, trying to ground herself. But the fear still lingered, festering inside her.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the table, and Y/N flinched, her heart jumping into her throat. She reached for it with trembling hands, her eyes widening when she saw the message on the screen.

Do you like your gift? :)

The message was from an unknown number, but Y/N didn’t need to guess who it was. She paled, her heart hammering in her chest as the blood drained from her face. Aegon.

Her breath hitched, her body going rigid as fear gripped her once again. Her mind spiraled, panic clawing at her insides. She wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to run. But she couldn’t. Not in front of Jacob.

Jacob glanced over, noticing her reaction. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, but Y/N could hear the hint of curiosity.

Y/N forced a smile, quickly locking her phone and setting it back down on the table. “No one,” she said, her voice strained but steady. “Just a spam text.”

Jacob didn’t seem to notice the tremor in her voice. He nodded, leaning back against the couch as he wrapped an arm around her. “I guess it’s just me and you tonight, then,” he said with a smile.

Y/N smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Inside, she was screaming. Aegon was watching. Aegon knew.

The days after Jacob left were quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Y/N tried to keep herself busy, throwing herself into distractions to keep her mind from wandering. At least she had Fluffy, the golden kitten Aegon had given her. He was a good boy, sweet and playful, a small comfort in the silence that now filled the house. She'd named him Fluffy because of his soft fur, and he seemed to take well to her affection, curling up in her lap and purring as if he sensed her unease.

But even Fluffy couldn't drown out the constant notifications from her phone. Aegon was still texting her, not the threatening or possessive kind of messages she was used to, but almost... sad ones. He talked about how he was feeling, how much everything hurt, how lonely he was. His words were raw, like those of a lost child, begging for attention, for someone to understand him.

“| don't know what's wrong with me anymore, Y/N."

"Everything hurts."

"I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe without you."

"Why don't you ever reply? Do you even think about me? Or am I just dead to you?"

But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the kitten, or the movies, or anything else, there was one thing she couldn't escape: her phone. It buzzed constantly, the screen lighting up with message after message from Aegon. At first, she didn't bother reading them. She had learned long ago that giving him any attention, any response, was like feeding a starving animal. He would latch onto it and never let go.

He mentioned Fluffy too, explaining that he got her the kitten because he wanted her to have something to make her happy, something to be her friend when she felt alone. He wanted to give her a little version of Sunfyre, his beloved cat, so that she would have a piece of him even when he couldn't be with her. Aegon just wanted her to be happy.

There were long paragraphs detailing his spirals, how he would drink until he couldn't feel anything, how the world seemed to blur around him. His words became increasingly disjointed, desperate.

"I feel like I'm disappearing. Do you even remember me?"

"I bought him for you so you wouldn't be alone. So you'd have a piece of me with you."

"I wanted you to be happy. That's all l've ever wanted."

Sometimes, Y/N felt a strange flicker of pity for him. He sounded so hurt, so lost. But every time she thought about feeling sorry for him, she reminded herself that this was Aegon. The same man who had put her through hell, the same man who had stalked her, who had terrorized her. It didn't matter how sad or broken he sounded-she couldn't trust him. She couldn't let herself fall into that trap again.

And so, she ignored him.

She never replied to his messages. She couldn't. And for a while, it seemed like that was enough. Aegon remained calm, his texts gentle, almost pleading, but never aggressive. Everything was fine, or as fine as it could be.

Until it wasn't.

One evening, Y/N noticed her phone buzzing more than usual. At first, it was just a few messages from Aegon, the usual ramblings about his day or how much he missed her. But then the texts became more frequent, coming one after another, a steady stream of notifications lighting up her screen.

He was demanding her to reply.

It wasn't a request anymore-it was an order. The tone of his messages shifted, becoming more erratic, more desperate.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

"I know you're there."

"Please, just talk to me."

The texts came faster, piling up one after another until her phone buzzed continuously. Then, the calls started.

Her phone rang and rang, Aegon's name flashing across the screen. She ignored it, her hands trembling as she tried to keep herself calm. But the ringing didn't stop. It was relentless. The sound echoed in the small living room, pounding against her skull, making her chest tighten with anxiety.

Y/N couldn't take it anymore. Her heart was racing, her hands shaking as she reached for her phone and turned it off completely. The sudden silence was deafening, but it was better than hearing Aegon's voice, than seeing his name over and over.

She tried to distract herself, to forget about the flood of messages, about the growing dread building in the pit of her stomach. She put on a movie, curled up on the couch with Fluffy, trying to lose herself in the noise of the television. But her mind kept wandering back to Aegon, to his erratic texts, his sudden shift from pitiful to demanding. Something was Wrong. She could feel it.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

Her eyes flicked to the door, her body going cold as fear washed over her. She didn’t move at first, just stared at the door, her breath shallow, her mind racing. It couldn’t be…

Slowly, she stood up, her legs trembling as she moved toward the door, careful not to make a sound. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see who was standing on the other side. But she had to know.

Peeking through the peephole, her blood turned to ice.

It was Aegon.

He was standing there, his face pale and smeared with blood. His clothes were stained with it too, dark crimson splashes that looked like they’d been hastily wiped away. His hair was disheveled, his eyes wide and wild, like an animal cornered and desperate.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she watched him. He didn’t look right. He didn’t look normal. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

And then he spoke.

“Please… let me in.”

Her breath hitched, her entire body stiffening in place. She didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat was too tight, her mind racing too fast to form coherent thoughts. She just stood there, frozen in place, as he pressed his bloodied hand against the door, smearing it with red.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling. "Something happened. I did something bad. I don't know what to do. I don't know who to go to."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked so utterly pathetic, so broken, that for a fleeting moment, Y/N almost felt sorry for him again. Almost. But the sheer terror that gripped her heart wouldn't let her move. She couldn't afford to feel sorry for him. Not now.

"I don't feel good, Y/N" Aegon sobbed, his hand sliding down the door, leaving a dark red smear behind. "Please... I just want to see you. Please. Let me in."

Y/N’s hand hovered over the doorknob, her mind a storm of confusion and fear. A part of her wanted to open the door, wanted to help him. He looked so broken, so lost. She couldn’t help but feel that same flicker of pity again, that small voice in the back of her mind whispering that maybe he really did need her, that maybe he really was just a scared, lonely boy.

But then Aegon’s face twisted, his tear-streaked expression contorting into something darker, something terrifying.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarled, slamming his fists against the door. The sudden violence made Y/N jump, her breath catching in her throat as she stumbled back, her eyes wide with terror.

“I know you’re in there!” Aegon screamed, his voice raw with rage. “You think you can hide from me?! You think I don’t fucking know?!”

He pounded on the door again, harder this time, the wood rattling under the force of his fists. “You’re mine!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fury. “I’ll fucking kill you, Y/N! I’ll rip you open! I’ll tear you apart!”

Y/N’s body went cold, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from her chest. She stumbled back, her mind screaming at her to run, to hide. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t face him. Not like this.

Y/N's body moved on instinct, her fight-or-flight response kicking in. She ran. She bolted to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, her heart hammering in her chest. Her hands shook so violently that she could barely turn the lock, but she did it. She locked the door and stumbled backward.

Y/N sat huddled in the tub, her entire body trembling uncontrollably, clutching Fluffy so tightly that she could feel his little heartbeat against her chest. Her breath was shallow, uneven, the fear twisting in her stomach like a knife. She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to silence the sobs that threatened to escape. If she made a sound—any sound—he would know where she was.

The front door had crashed open. Aegon was inside. He didn’t call out anymore; the apartment had gone terrifyingly quiet except for the slow, deliberate thud of his footsteps. Each step echoed through the empty rooms, growing louder, heavier. He was searching for her.

Her mind raced, each frantic thought more horrifying than the last.

He’s going to find me. He’s going to kill me.

Her heart hammered so violently in her chest that she thought it might explode. The apartment was small; there weren’t many places to hide. He would check the bedroom soon. It was only a matter of time before he found her.

Stay quiet. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe he’ll think you’re not here.

But the thought was ridiculous. He knew she was here. He had known from the moment he’d started pounding on the door. He could feel her fear, her presence, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

The footsteps grew closer.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself against the cold, hard surface of the tub. Her grip tightened around Fluffy, who had gone still in her arms, sensing the terror in the air. She could hear Aegon’s footsteps in the hallway now, slow and methodical, as if he were savoring the anticipation.

Don’t come in here. Please, don’t come in here.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Her entire body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. She bit down on her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood, forcing herself to stay still, stay quiet. Her chest ached from the effort of holding her breath. Every muscle in her body screamed in agony from the tension, but she didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare make a sound.

The silence was unbearable. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears, each thud a countdown to her doom.

The floorboards creaked. He was inside the room now.

Her mind was racing, a whirlwind of fear and desperation. What do I do? What can I do?

Run? No, he was too close. He would hear her. He would catch her. There was nowhere to run.

Fight? With what? She had nothing. She was defenseless. He was stronger than her, and she had seen the blood. She had no idea what he was capable of.

Hide. Just hide. Stay quiet.

She could hear him moving through the room, the soft scrape of his shoes against the floor. He wasn’t saying anything, but the silence was more terrifying than his screaming had ever been. It was the silence of someone who knew exactly what they were going to do. The silence of someone who was in control.

He’s looking for me. Her stomach twisted into a knot of terror.

The sound of a drawer being yanked open, then another. He was checking everywhere. She could picture him tearing through the room, methodically searching every corner, every shadow. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she thought for sure he could hear it. Can he hear it? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic surging through her.

Please, please, just leave.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifted. Y/N’s breath hitched as she realized he was standing right outside the bathroom door. She could hear his breathing now, low and ragged, like a beast just beyond the threshold.

He knows. He knows I’m in here.

Her whole body locked up in terror as she imagined him standing there, staring at the door, his bloodshot eyes wide and crazed, his hands still covered in blood. Her mind conjured up horrifying images of him busting through, grabbing her, and dragging her out of the tub, his fingers sinking into her flesh.

He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me and I’ll never see daylight again.

Fluffy shifted slightly in her arms, a soft, almost imperceptible meow escaping his tiny throat. Y/N’s breath hitched, terror flashing through her veins like electricity. No, no, no, no, no.

The bathroom door handle rattled.

She froze. Every inch of her body turned to ice. The metal handle creaked as Aegon twisted it, testing the lock. It didn’t open, but he was trying. He was there. Just on the other side.

Her entire world shrank to that single sound—the soft, rhythmic rattling of the door handle as Aegon tried to get in. It felt like hours passed as she sat there, paralyzed in the tub, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for him to break through.

And then, with a sickening thud, the door slammed.

He was pounding on it now, harder and harder, the force of his blows making the door tremble. Each hit reverberated through her, shaking her down to her core.

Oh god, he’s coming in. He’s going to get in.

The doorframe groaned under the pressure, the wood splintering. Y/N pressed herself further into the tub, trying to make herself as small as possible, her heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight with fear. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run, but she couldn’t. She was trapped.

The door cracked. She could hear the wood giving way.

Oh god, he’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.

But then… silence.

The pounding stopped.

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Was it over? Did he leave?

Her body trembled, her muscles aching from the tension. She didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare make a sound. She just waited, listening.

Nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just the eerie, deafening quiet.

Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her head, straining to hear something—anything. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Maybe he had given up. Maybe he was gone.

But then, out of nowhere, a loud, sickening crash shattered the silence.

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She whipped her head toward the source of the sound, her heart seizing in her chest.

Aegon’s face smashed through the small window in the bathroom door, the glass shattering around him. His bloodshot eye stared through the broken pane, wide and unblinking, searching. His face was smeared with blood, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones, but it was his eye—his one, crazed, bloodshot eye—that was the most terrifying.

It was staring right at where she was hiding.

Did he saw me? Did he saw me? Oh god. I'm dead. I'm dead.

Y/N slapped her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stifle her breathing, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he couldn’t see her, that he couldn’t hear the terrified gasps that escaped her despite her best efforts.

Don’t breathe. Don’t move. He can’t see you. He can’t see you.

But his eye… it was right there, inches from her, staring through the broken glass with a wild, unhinged intensity. His breathing was heavy, ragged, echoing in the small space as he scanned the room, looking for her. His hand reached through the broken window, the bloodied fingers scraping against the door, searching, clawing.

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest, her pulse so loud she thought for sure he could hear it. Her entire body shook with fear, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She pressed her hand harder against her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

Please don’t find me. Please, god, don’t find me.

For what felt like an eternity, Aegon stayed there, his face pressed against the door, his eye wide and frantic, his breath fogging up the glass. He didn’t say anything, didn’t scream or yell. He just… looked.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

He pulled back, his bloodied hand retreating through the shattered window. His footsteps echoed through the apartment once again, slow and deliberate, growing fainter and fainter until they finally disappeared altogether.

He was gone.

Y/N stayed there, curled up in the bathtub, her body trembling violently, tears streaming down her face as she clutched Fluffy to her chest. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe properly, too scared to believe that it was really over.

When she was sure he was gone, she let out a strangled, shaky breath and crawled out of the tub, her legs weak and shaking. Fluffy stayed behind, still curled up in the tub, too scared to move.

Her fingers fumbled for her phone, but she had turned it off earlier. With shaking hands, she powered it on, and as soon as the screen flickered to life, she called the police.

But even as she pressed the phone to her ear, the sound of her own heartbeat drowned everything else out.

How about you? Did you like this part?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐��𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[slutforvoldy]

“ YOU'RE LOSING ME. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader struggles with the painful realization that no matter how much she gives, lando will never fight for her the way she fights for him.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, lando is a d!ck, gaslighting, communication issues, mentions of y/n

pairing: lando norris x female!reader

tag-list: @oscduck81

a/n: this may or may not be loosely inspired by a real life experience..........

THE ROOM WAS dimly lit, the soft blue glow of Lando’s sim racing setup casting shadows across the walls. The hum of his game filled the silence, the sharp sound of tires screeching on a digital track drowning out the soft, broken sobs escaping your lips.

You lay curled up on the bed, your back turned to him. Salty tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the pillow. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore—was it sadness? frustration? or just the aching emptiness that was growing inside you?

You knew he could hear you. He always could.

But just like every other night, he turned up the volume of his game. Hinting an unspoken message: I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to deal with you.

And gosh, it hurts.

He always does this. He rarely talks to you despite living in the same apartment. As if there is a big wall between the two of you. As if both of you have two different worlds. His priorities had shifted, and you weren’t part of them anymore. Gaming. Racing. Nights out with friends. Work. Everything came before you. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew deep down that he just didn’t care the way he used to.

He used to act differently when your relationship started. You missed the time when it felt like his world revolved around you, when he made you feel like you were the most important thing in his life, but now you don't know when or what went wrong. You can only wonder what happened to the man you love.

Your friends are all begging you to leave.

"Wake up, Y/N!" "You deserve better." "What else is there to hold on to?"

It started to become obvious that the things Lando has been doing have been affecting you to the point that you started seeing a therapist, desperately trying to piece yourself back together.

But the worst part is that Lando never even noticed.

You knew that this was not healthy. You knew you should leave. But things are easier said than done.

The thought of walking away—of starting over, of loving someone who wasn’t him—made your stomach twist. It felt impossible, unbearable.

Despite everything, despite the pain, you still wanted to stay. You clung to the hope that one day he would wake up and realize what he was losing. That he would see you again—as someone he once loved. Someone worth fighting for.

So you stayed. Because letting go felt harder than holding on.

It’s a big day in Abu Dhabi—the moment that will decide the 2024 Formula 1 constructors' championship. McLaren almost has an even tie with Ferrari; therefore, they desperately needed Lando to win. So you take your time to self-soothe after what happened last night.

"You just don’t understand, Y/N. Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’m a busy person?" Lando exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice.

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, I’m sorry—if bar-hopping with your friends and getting all over the media with random girls counts as 'busy,' then I must be such an idiot for not taking the hint!"

His jaw tightened. "Those pictures are from a long time ago," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" you said amusingly while scoffing.

Silence stretched between you before you finally snapped. "All I ever wanted was for you to notice me! To talk to me! Hell, to actually see me! Is that really too much to ask?"

Lando ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I don’t understand, Y/N. I’m giving you all the attention I can."

But it was never enough. It never felt like enough.

You sighed in defeat, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn’t understand."

This morning, like every morning, you glared at him with storms in your eyes. But he didn’t notice—he never did. You wondered how numb he could be to not feel your grip on him slipping away. How could you love someone and not see them breaking right in front of you?

All you needed was his reassurance—that despite everything happening, despite the way he treated you, you were still the one he loved. But every time you brought it up, he twisted it around, making it seem like you were the problem. Every conversation turned into an argument instead of a solution, and with each fight, your resentment only grew.

One night, you needed him more than ever. After a brutal argument with your parents, they kicked you out, leaving you with nowhere to go. Lando was the only person you could turn to—the one person you thought you could rely on.

"I tried calling you. I rang your doorbell over and over and over again, but you never answered." Your voice wavered, frustration and hurt bleeding through. "So tell me, Lando—where were you that night?"

"I was sleeping!" he insisted, his tone defensive.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Sleeping? Really?" You shook your head in disbelief. "I literally saw the notification on your Twitch that you were live with Max!" Your voice cracked as anger and betrayal surged through you. "You left me outside your house for hours!"

Lando exhaled sharply. "Maybe it’s your fault for always expecting too much," he muttered under his breath, but you caught every word.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe..." His voice became louder. "It’s my fault for not being enough for you," he added, his voice flat.

"Or maybe it's our fault for not making this relationship work properly."

That was your breaking point.

Lando won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, securing McLaren’s victory in their fierce battle against Ferrari for the Constructors' Championship. You were proud—proud that your boyfriend had claimed another Grand Prix win, proud that his team had finally won. But deep down, you knew the truth: tonight, he wouldn’t be celebrating with you.

You often envied the girlfriends of other drivers—the way they rushed into their arms after a win, how they spent their victories surrounded by their girlfriends and families. But for you, it was different. You longed for that warmth.

Now, it was time to pose for the cameras, to put on a dazzling smile and make your relationship look picture-perfect—at least on the surface. In the photos, you were the devoted girlfriend, the perfect couple. But behind your fake smile, a storm raged inside you.

You had always been there for him—through his highs and lows, his victories and defeats. But when it was you who needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

And as the flashes of cameras captured the illusion of happiness, a sinking realization settled in your chest. You couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep giving all of yourself to someone who never gave anything back.

One thing was clear tonight—you were done hurting yourself for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

You took a taxi back to the hotel alone, your vision blurred with tears as the city lights streaked past. The moment you stepped into the room, you began packing—hands trembling, heart racing. You hadn’t planned this, but deep down, you knew it was inevitable. It wasn’t just impulsive; it was necessary.

As you zipped up your suitcase, your fingers brushed against a worn polaroid tucked between your clothes. Your favorite picture—back when love still felt easy, when he still looked at you like you were his entire world. You held it for a moment, your thumb tracing the edges, debating whether to take it with you.

But some things belonged to the past.

Flipping it over, you picked up the hotel pen and, with a heavy heart, wrote your final words.

I love you forever, Lando. I'm forever grateful. —Y/N

You placed the polaroid on the bed, letting it rest there. Then, with a deep breath, you grabbed your bags and walked to the door.

Before stepping out, you turned back for one last glance at everything you're about to leave behind. All of the memories you and Lando had, either good or bad.

Just like that, you walked out of his life, and with every step, the weight you had carried for so long finally began to lift.

[burning-omen]

Happy (Belated) Halloween!

Jason Todd x Demon!male!reader

(A/n: I'm tired, I've been getting argued at and pulled into fights that have nothing to do with me from the time I woke up- had a bunch of chores and shit to do and the fucking grocery store was packed and people keep bumping into me and all the fucking prices went way up since the last time I was there less than a month ago- I'm thoroughly overstimulated and getting home to edit and rewrite certain parts of this shitty little fic was a probably the best part of my day.)

Warning: crack fic kinda, blood, Demon!reader, murder, mutilation, and gore, summoning gone right technically, reader has TWO dicks, size difference, overstimulation, masochism, probably misspellings idk I'm not reading it again that's your job, dom/sub, ownership marking, sacrifice (rip that guy, ive been calling him marvin in my head), going missing for a lil while (consensually), OOC jason todd but this is literally porn who cares

word count: 1981 (short, i know, shut up/j)

Halloween parties were the worst. If the loud, drunk, half-naked crowd wasn’t enough to convince Jason, walking in on an honest to god seance was.

Being dragged to a party by Dick, only to lose him in the crowd of people within the first few minutes. He just wanted some quiet- and under the guise of looking for how brother he managed to avoid nearly every conversation that came his way- except for some incomprehensible drunk girl who insisted on holding a conversation with his even though she sounded like she was under water every time she opened her mouth.

He eventually managed to escape from her, finding the nearest room to recuperate in, only to be greeted by a room of chanting, drunk party-goers, kneeling around a shakily drawn yet intricate summoning circle. The chant was Latin- super old Latin- and Jason really wanted no part in this. He knew that demons were real, he knew a lot of shit that was supposedly fake was real- he had Batman to thank for that. So, after standing in the room for about 30 seconds, he decided to leave.

Turning on his heel, not saying a word to whatever party cult he just walked in on- deadset on leaving when he heard choking, and gasps from the mini cult as they clamored around the chanter who had suddenly collapsed.

Taking in a deep breath, cursing Bruce and the unwavering need to help he instilled in all of his children, before turning back to the group.

Laying, choking in the middle of the circle was a young man-

‘He’s drunk,’ Jason thought, pushing through the group surrounding him, their concern was nice- but unhelpful ‘probably choked on his tongue.’

Tilting his head back, the choking became louder- tears streamed down his face, his mouth agape as he clawed at his throat- his eyes desperate and afraid.

“It’s okay,” Jason tried, but he wasn’t exactly known for his bedside manner. “Just let me look.”

He peered down the man's throat- his tongue was wear it was supposed to be, but blood still filled the man’s mouth. Clearly whatever was happening here was internal, there's nothing Jason could do for him. Before he could ask anyone to call an ambulance- he saw something move at the very back of his throat. Even through the pooling blood, he could tell something wasn’t right- what the hell did he swallow?

His neck bulged as something made its way up- that was good- maybe. Slowly pushing up- whatever it was- caused the man to cry out in pain. He coughed and sputtered as it moved up and up until it pushed past the muscles of his throat and out of his mouth. A hand, clawed- drenched in blood, moving with so much force that a crack sounded through the room as more and more of the form inside him- whatever it was- came out. Breaking his jaw to finally reach out and grab his face- he cried out as pain and panic filled him- he turned to Jason for help as his friends fled but there wasn’t anything Jason could do but sit there in horror as an arm lifted from his broken and mutilated face- he cheeks tearing in as his mouth opened to unnatural length.

The bloody arm clawed at the floor, sharp talon like nails leaving deep wounds in the wood. Jason backed away- fear as well as guilt taking over. The basic instinct that anyone who had even taken the moniker “Robin” knew took over soon after, he needs to call batman- he couldn’t handle whatever this is, not on his own. He reached for his phone right as the candle lit room suddenly went dark. Jason, usually so strong and sure, didn’t know what to do. His communicator clattered to the floor as he stood.

He swore quietly- backing up until he was pressed against the wall- the sound of flesh tearing filled the room- still hot blood splattered across his face.

A soft growl came from the dark, deep and steady and growing closer by the second. Then,as if they had never been out, the candles were re-lit.

A massive beastly thing stood above him, horned and winged- a long tail trailing behind it. Soaked in the blood of the man that was scattered in chunks around the room. Despite knowing that he should definitely be afraid, a man had been ripped from the inside out right in front of him, something somewhere in his mind was saying, “would”. The thought immediately made him cringe at himself- he could not survive that- not only were you massive, you were also very naked. With not one but two just as massive, heavy cocks resting between your legs. He’d die, simply put, torn in half Terrifier style.

“Scared, human?” You asked, voice just as inhuman as your form.

Suddenly unable to find his words, Jason shook his head.

The action made you purr- something was so wrong with this man, not running or screaming, but instead sitting before you, his eyes wandering over your body, face reddened as his heart pounded in his chest.

He didn’t even attempt to move when you reached for him, his breath caught in his throat, but he remained perfectly still as you stroked his hair, then ran the backside of your claws down his cheek. All the way down to his chest, pressing just the tip of your claw in, watching as his shirt quickly became stained with blood.

“Not scared? How brave of you, human. “ You mused, “I require sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” he barely managed.

Trailing your claw lower and lower until the point of it rested over the growing bulge in his pants.

“A sacrifice of life is usually offered.” You pressed down, “But, another kind of offering will suffice.”

Jason breathed out- he can’t. Mentally, he could- he’s done all kinds of weird shit, fucking a demon wouldn’t even come close to the worse things he done- it doesn’t even reach top ten with the rest of his family’s track record for weird shit. But physically, that would kill him. One alone would shatter his pelvis and probably paralyze him- two would just straight up kill him. And you really didn’t seem like the kind of demon to go half way- you did come all the way from hell after all.

The obvious thing to do was to say no and call a fucking exorcist- but Jason didn’t do that, instead he speaks, so sure and steady as he spoke-

“Can you shrink?”

The entirety of your form became, your horns no longer scraped the ceiling, but you were still massive above Jason. You didn’t make it easy for him- pressing him into the floor with one clawed hand gripping his hair tightly, knees pressed into the hard wood and legs spread wide open, his cock- which you decided needed to remain untouched for the “sacrifice” to be valid.

Labored breathing, gasping and all encompassing sobs filled the room as both of your cock stretched him to the limit every time you thrusted into him- his nearly blunt nails leaving marks in the wooden floor below him.

With his mouth hanging wide open- he begged- muttering a broken “Please-’’ between moans-

You leaned down, pulling him up by his hair- resting inside him before speaking.

“You want more, human?”

Eyes brimmed with tears, feeling far fuller than felt natural- but so good and warm at the exact same time- deep in his stomach all the down to the very tips of his toes, every nerve so very alive.

He nods, shortly and without hesitation.

You grip on his hair loosens, and he sighs in relief as the burning pain in his scalp stops.

Only to flair up in his hips as you dig your claws into them, literally. Piercing through skin and drawing blood that slid over his skin and pooled beneath him on the floor. Jason, ever the masochist, only gets louder. With the party outside still raging on, you're sure the sound blended into the background- and any attendee lucky enough to have heard the high, whiny moans was listening far too hard.

Thrusting became painful, hard slamming- both cocks abusing his prostate with unnatural accuracy. Pulling out until the tips of your cock were just barely inside of him- then pressing back in so hard his entire body was pushed forward.

Jason’s mind was loud and incoherent - incomplete thoughts running through his head, cut short by either pain or pleasure every single time.

His body spammed unwillingly, muscles tightening and releasing, his hole tightened around you in an attempt to suck you in more- even if more would cause so so many problems for the man.

“So greedy,” you hummed in his ear, and you take cock so well.”

He didn’t respond, he couldn’t, overwhelmed and obsessed with the feeling. His orgasm- the first of many snuck up on him, his body overstimulated and oversensitive as hot, white cum shot straight onto the floor.

He gasped for air as though he’d been held under water- his body burned as he clenched around you- pleasure gone- replaced by what could only be described as fire destroying him from the inside out. He cried out in pain, his body writhes and contorts- and yet he never asks you to stop.

You grinned, “so cute, I might just have to keep you, human.”

You weren’t far behind him, cum seeping from both of your tips as you buried yourself deep inside him- it only added to the burning. Filling him so much until his hole, still plugged with your cock, leaks it back out. Down his legs and onto the floor, mixing with his own puddle of cum. You watched him for a long moment, letting him grit his teeth and cry at the pain, before showing your newest pet a bit of mercy and pulling out.

His body slouched onto the floor the moment you leg go. Jason was on the verge of passing out, eyes barely open, covered in blood, sweat, and cum. He has a high pain tolerance and his stamina was through the roof- but fucking hell he was so tired, and everything hurt, from his over used knees, to his damn near broken hole, and the small wounds your claws had made- coupled with an over bearing overstimulation making everything ten times worse- Jason, without question, was never doing this again.

—--- A couple weeks later—---

Dick realized that Jason wasn’t a party person, but for him to just disappear (and possibly kill someone at the party??? What the hell Jay???) for weeks seemed to be a bit of an overreaction.

But when he walked into the manor, happy as can be, after just being gone for three weeks, Dick knew something was very wrong- or very unusual- was happening.

“I had a date.” Was Jason’s only response, as he leaned heavily against the back of a chair, but never actually sat down in it.

“A date?!” Dick is so glad he questioned him in private. “With who?”

Jason shrugged, “met a guy at the party.”

“Jason you just dropped off of the face of the Earth with some guy for nearly a month?!”

Dick didn’t realize how literal that was- Hell has some pretty nice residential areas, it turns out.

“I was having fun.”

Jason, of course, was never going to tell Dick what he has really been doing- or what he will continue to be doing for the foreseeable future- but it was fun watching him freak out at every vague answer he gave.

The mark (brand?? Tattoo??) on his back still felt weird, sensitive from its spot hidden under his clothes, but how else would other demon, humans, and every other sentient being know that he was yours.

(a/n 2: AND I KNOW ITS LATE BUT I STILL FINISHED IT WITHIN A REASONABLE TIME SO EVERYBODY SHUT UP/j)

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Part 2

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who's not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.1k Words

Part 1

School assemblies were fun in their own way. You weren’t exactly brimming with school spirit but you could fake it for a half-hour when it got you out of your History class. Everyone was ushered into the gym at the end of the day to celebrate the sport season. You had no idea if the Hawkin’s Tigers were good or not, you could really only name two and a half people on the basketball team: Jason Carver, who you unfortunately had shared a free period with once, Lucas Sinclair, who you had seen talking to Eddie once in a blue moon, and Steve Harrington who had graduated, so he didn’t really count. You vaguely remembered working with him on some school project for two days and thinking that you just wanted to squish his hair down to see if it would spring back up. 

Stacy bounded over to you in the bleachers, decked out in more Tiger’s Green than a leprechaun. She shook the scrunchy out of her hair and slipped it onto your wrist. You sometimes wondered how she never became a cheerleader with how perky she was.

“There, now you look like you tried.” she giggled, nudging you. 

“I was gonna scribble on my face with a green dry erase marker, but Mr. Thompson’s had run dry.” You said. 

“He was probably lying so you wouldn’t steal one and huff it in the bathroom.” 

“Hey, that was one time and 4th grade math was hard.” you cackled. 

“Speaking of hard drugs, look who decided to actually show up.” Stacy smirked and your stomach instantly dropped as you followed her gaze. 

“What the fuck is Eddie doing here?” you whispered to Stacy. “He doesn’t do pep rallies!”

“Guess he does now.” she shrugged. 

Eddie was a few rows lower than you, leaning against the end railing of the bleachers. You vaguely wondered if he was burning up in that leather jacket, it wasn’t exactly cool in the gym with so many bodies all squished together. 

He was alone, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. You didn’t blame him, this clearly wasn’t a place where he fit in. You looked down the bleachers in the opposite direction, unable to pick out any of his friends. During pep rallies, the bleachers were divided by grade, with Seniors on your end of the bleachers, and freshmen on the opposite end. Maybe Eddie was pressing himself against the railing to create his own section of Super Seniors. 

If he was anyone else, you’d join him in that section, but you kept that knowledge to yourself. 

“He looks lonely, go talk to him before they start.” Stacy encouraged. 

“Please, I doubt he’d want to talk to me at any other time. You think he wants to talk to me now?” you asked incredulously. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could convince me to join a cult and then sacrifice me to the dark forces.” you said, looking over at him. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

Eddie’s head snapped up and he whirled around. Out of everyone around, his eyes immediately locked onto yours. 

Oh shit.

He heard that. 

His round brown eyes sized you up, and you cringed out of embarrassment for your stupid joke. You felt like a deer in the headlights. Eddie was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time and you were about two seconds away from jumping off the back of the bleachers and tunneling your way out of the school. 

Next to you, you could practically feel Stacy shaking as she tried to hold in her laughter, which unfortunately, triggered your own set of nervous giggling because this whole thing was so stupid and Eddie was still looking at you. 

He looked unimpressed, and flipped you off before turning back around to sulk against the railing again as the band suddenly started up, and everyone started cheering for the team. 

“Gotta say, I am nailing this, Stacy.” You laughed, leaning against her shoulder. “Practically had the boy swooning.”

“Yeah, he’ll be asking you out any day now.” She rubbed your back sympathetically. 

“I can’t believe he heard me. He totally thought I was being serious.” Your giggles finally subsided and you looked up at her. 

“It would be very easy to clear this up, if you’d just talk to him.” She said. 

“I don’t like it when you’re rational, you know.” you replied and glanced at him again. Eddie was no longer looking at you and was just fiddling with his rings as he watched boredly as Principal Higgens was giving announcements. 

You had to apologize. The last thing you wanted was for Eddie to think that you were really like that. You didn’t buy into the bullshit that some dice and graph paper could damn your soul to hell. 

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” you said, and turned to head towards Eddie. 

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!” 

You made your way to the edge of the bleachers, and three things happened in quick succession. First, Miles Cooper got overly enthusiastic as you passed by him, and his elbow made a quick and sharp connection to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. The second thing that happened was a stray backpack got kicked right in front of you as you staggered from the shock of being elbowed. The third and final thing was you falling down the two benches of bleachers that separated you and Eddie. 

“You can either go to the pep rally and act like you are a part of this school, or you can have detention, Mr. Munson. The choice is yours.” 

Normally, no one gave a shit if Eddie skipped out on something like a pep rally. That time was better spent either reading in an empty classroom or as a smoke break in the parking lot. He had just made it out to the parking lot before he was spotted and given the option. Eddie had been good about not skipping class this year, but he really didn’t want to give Higgins another reason to threaten to withhold his diploma. 

So there he was, leaning against the railing of the furthest bleachers so that the second the pep rally ended, he could just book it back to the van and leave to.. Somewhere. Uncle Wayne had work, and Eddie didn’t have a shift at the Hideout. There was no Hellfire today. 

Eddie was feeling restless as he fidgeted with his rings. Today had already been annoying and he really just wanted to sneak out to his van and have a smoke. It’s not like anyone here would miss him, they’d probably celebrate his departure more than the entrance to the basketball team. 

He looked down at his hands, taking his rings off and rearranging them on his fingers. He tapped them on the railing, listening to the sounds they made as he counted the seconds for this whole thing to be over. 

As his mind started to wander off, a voice snapped him back to the hell he was currently in. “-join a cult and sacrifice me to the dark forces.” 

It was always obvious when someone was talking about Eddie. Normally he’d let it go and ignore whoever it was, but he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods today. His head whipped around, looking for whoever was talking about him. 

There you were with Stacy, again. Eddie wished he could be surprised, but he wasn’t. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over. You weren’t dressed in anything that screamed “school spirit” except for a scrunchie around your wrist. 

He saw how you cringed at the sight of him, which only pissed him off more. What was your fucking problem? You were friends with Stacy, who had been on the cheer squad before her ankle gave out, the skaters liked, you liked everyone. Everyone who wasn’t Eddie Munson. 

Eddie had wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe the two of you just hadn’t crossed paths enough. Maybe it wasn’t personal. But now, after hearing you say that you also thought he was some sort of demon worshiping freak he was fine to write you off as just another Hawkins student. Maybe then he could finally move past this weird feeling he had whenever you gave him the stink eye. 

Stacy started giggling next to you, and Eddie just rolled his eyes and turned away. It wasn’t worth it to start anything now at the pep rally. He was already on thin ice after being caught trying to skip. The sooner this was over the better. 

His attention drifted as Higgins droned on and on about school spirit and upcoming fundraisers and games. It was all background noise. In his mind, Eddie was working out the next dungeon that Hellfire was going to take on. His party was getting too used to his usual tricks, so he’d have to pull out something new to really throw them off-

There was a choked off gasp. 

Then a curse. 

Then a horrible cracking sound as something fell next to him.

“Jesus-!” Eddie jumped nearly a foot in the air as you hit the bleacher next to him. His eye nearly bugged out as he saw you sprawled next to him, clutching your stomach and gasping for air like a fish. 

Everyone in the section was still as they all stared at you, before a few started to snicker. Stacy was quick to jump down with far more grace and land by your side. Eddie was completely frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard Miles Cooper say- 

“It was Munson! He did it!”

Eddie’s head snapped to Miles, about to say something before a teacher sharply demanded the Eddie get off the bleachers and come down for what was sure to be a one-sided lecture and detention for something he didn’t do. 

He didn’t fight it, he was about to argue and cause a scene right now in the bleachers. Not when that teacher had a fire in her eyes that said she was just itching for trouble. Fine, he wanted to be as far away from this as possible. 

Eddie walked down the bleachers and followed the teacher out into the hallway. He was already tuning out the lecture about watching your body and not hitting girls. This was such bullshit, and he knew he couldn’t even fight back and defend himself. 

“Look, I didn’t touch her!” Eddie couldn’t stop the frustration in his voice. “She was behind me when she fell!”

“Witnesses say otherwise.” The teacher crossed her arms. 

“Look, just because that dumbass said it was true-” 

There was a loud CLANK as the heavy doors to the gym burst open and to Eddie’s surprise, you were rushing through the door, holding onto your arm. 

You made a beeline for him and the teacher and Eddie could already see it now. Your fake tears as you cried about how the freak shoved you down for no reason-

“Didn’t... do it.” you were shaking your head and panting hard. With your free hand you were pointing at Eddie. “He didn’t... he didn’t do anything... Miles elbowed me. Then I tripped. Eddie never.... Touched me.” 

Stacy was behind you and grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you in place. “Eddie didn’t do anything, Mrs. Jane.” she explained. “She was just trying to go get some water and ate shit. Eddie had nothing to do with it.”

You nodded, still panting hard as if trying to catch your breath. Stacy was rubbing your back, and you looked like you were on the verge of tears. 

Eddie felt like he had just stepped into an alternate timeline. You were actually defending him? You were in that much pain but had still come running to claim his innocence? 

Mrs. Jane looked at you with concern. “Eddie, you may go back to the pep rally.” She dismissed him without so much as an apology for chewing him out. 

Fuck this. Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way back towards the gym, but slipped into a side hall. The pep rally was going to be over soon anyway, he might as well beat traffic. 

He paused just as he was out of sight. Fine, he was a little nosey and mildly concerned as you had just come to his rescue. 

“I... I think I hurt my arm.” you said, and he could hear the real pain in your voice. 

“I’ll take her to the nurse.” Stacy said. 

Eddie heard the sound of footsteps, and quickly slipped out of the school before Mrs. Jane caught him escaping. 

Yeah, he was going to need something stronger than a cigarette after this. 

I really didn't think the original blurb would get much attention lol

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@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart

[deviouz]

Jason with a chubby! fem readerrr pls pls pls!!

Him admiring her as if she were an angel descended on earth and being genuinely surprised and confused that she doesn't really see that much appeal in her body like he does, but he has a way of showing his sweetheart just how beautiful she is (he may or may not has bought a floor length mirror and positioned it riiight in front of their bed <33)

Xoxo

thank you for indulging in my chubby chaser jason fantasies <3

if there’s one thing jason is good at, it’s making you feel beautiful. hell, beautiful might be an understatement with the way he worships the ground you walk on and gazes at you with nothing but pure love and devotion.

sometime’s he can see you staring longingly at outfits while out shopping, and he’s all to quick to force those negative thoughts out of your head. he’ll encourage you to try them on, narrows his eyes when he knows you’re about to say something rude about yourself, and insists on buying it because all he wants is for you to see yourself the way he sees you — drop dead gorgeous and utterly perfect.

truth be told, jason loves his partners to have a little more meat on their bones, so to speak. there’s something about the way your eyes widen and face gets all flushed when he picks you up, sometimes completely out of the blue, and spins you around like you weigh nothing.

“jay, put me down! i’m too—”

“don’t you even think about finishing that sentence unless you’d like not being able to walk for the rest of the week.”

he’ll put you up on the counter and slide his hands under the sundress he had bought you, fingers gripping into the plush of your thighs until they’re parting to make room for him. you’re still too flustered to look him in the eye, lips curled into a slight pout and cheeks all puffed up.

“come on, sweetheart, don’t give me that look. you and i both know that i could easily bench double your weight without breaking a sweat.”

you can’t really fault him there, especially not when he’s slinging you over his shoulder and waltzing off to the bedroom. the asshole even has the audacity to laugh at your incessant demands to put me down! and the so-called-punches you threw at his toned back.

another thing jason todd was particularly good at was fucking those mean thoughts right out of your pretty little head.

ever the adventurous one, you and jason have tried your fair share of positions in the bedroom, though his favorite had to be reverse cowgirl. he loves having you perch on his lap right at the end of the bed, hands roaming your naked form with fervor, all the while he has you gaze into the mirror hung on the wall just across from you both. it was tall and expensive and oh-so-perfect to gaze at the sheer size difference between you and your boyfriend.

“so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” jason whispers, rough hands grabbing at the fat of your hips with need. “so perfect for me.”

you’re already at your wits end, throbbing with need around all eight inches of his cock nestled deep in your cunt, lips swollen from the way you kept tugging them between your teeth. it was hard to keep still, hips itching to move, but jason kept you from doing so.

“jason, please—”

“ah, ah, ah. you know the drill.”

giving a desperate whine, you threw your head back against his shoulder and rolled your hips. “you’re the worst.”

one of jason’s hands trailed up to grab at your neck, lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as he gave a soft chuckle. “don’t be a brat and maybe i’ll give you what you want.”

“maybe?”

“mhmm. i’m sure if you said it sweet enough i could be convinced otherwise.”

huffing out a puff of air, you turned your gaze back to the mirror. jason’s hand trailed from your neck to your chest, giving your breasts some much needed attention while you stared at the reflection, embarrassment trickling into your nerves.

“i… i’m beautiful.”

his hand slowly slid down to your stomach, sharp eyes staring at your own in the mirror. “and?”

“and pretty.”

“and?”

“…gorgeous?”

“and?”

“and if you don’t fuck me within the next two seconds, i’m gonna—”

before you could even finish your sentence, jason gave a sudden thrust of his hips, forcing his cock all the deeper — deep enough to have the tip brushing at an all-too-sensitive spot and your eyes start to roll back.

“yeah? what are you gonna do, princess?”

his thrusts didn’t stop after the first. if anything, he was just getting started.

“gonna go try to get yourself off?”

“n-no, jay!”

the sound of skin-against-skin soon filled the room, coupled with his teasing words and your pleasure-filled noises.

“you sure ‘bout that?”

the quick nods from your head had him smirking, hands grabbing at the plush of your hips with a possessive touch. he held you tight and fucked up into you like an animal in heat, like he was desperate to leave a mark on you to show everyone else who you belonged to — who he belonged to, too.

“promise, i swear,” words were becoming harder to form with the way he relentlessly pounded up into your warm heat, “no one— ah! fucks me like you!” your arousal was more than evident with the way slick began to coat your inner thighs, a creamy white ring appearing around the base of his cock with every thrust.

“that’s my good girl.”

[killiaia]

Bratty Jiu.

One girlsband. One fic by members. Leader to Maknae.

Start with Dreamcatcher.

The first time Jiu saw a video of you performing with the other group, she didn't react immediately. She blinked, staring at her phone screen as if she didn't understand what she was seeing.

You were there, center stage, surrounded by those girls. You were dancing with the same intensity that had always fascinated her, with the precision and energy that made him such an exceptional dancer. But what struck her wasn't your technique or your passion for dance.

It was the way you looked at them.

Those girls.

You smiled at them. You guided them with fluidity, your movements perfectly synchronized with theirs. Sometimes, you'd place a hand on the waist of one of them to adjust a posture. Other times, you'd meet their eyes with that natural assurance, that charisma that made you irresistible on stage.

Jiu felt a lump form in her stomach.

She had always told herself that she wasn't a jealous girl. That she trusted you. But at this very moment, that confidence seemed to be wavering, cracking under the weight of a feeling she had no control over.

The video continued, and the more she watched, the tighter her heart became.

There was one girl in particular who caught her eye. An idol known for her beauty and charisma. And you... you were giving her knowing glances. The kind of looks he usually reserved for people he felt comfortable with. To people he liked.

"Since when is he so close to her?"

An unpleasant heat invaded her chest. She tried to tell herself that this was just professionalism, that on stage, dancers had to exude that chemistry to captivate the audience.

But she couldn't convince herself.

The hardest part was watching you dance a duet with this girl.

It was sensual, fluid choreography. Your movements were perfectly coordinated. You guided her with ease, and she let herself go, her eyes plunged into yours.

Jiu felt her stomach twist.

She knew what it was like. A dancer herself, she knew that a good performance required connection, trust between partners. But seeing you, her boyfriend gives that connection to another girl hurt.

Too much.

She abruptly switched off her phone and threw it on the bed, as if the object were burning her fingers. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the panicked beating of her heart.

But the damage was done.

Jealousy was seeping into her like a poison, slow and insidious.

And worst of all, she knew you probably weren't doing anything wrong.

But that didn't change the fact that she hated seeing another girl in your arms, feeling that you'd shared something with someone else while she was away.

--

The air was electric in the training room of Dreamcatcher. After several weeks' of absence, you were finally back. You'd been on tour with another girlband as a dancer, an incredible opportunity you couldn't refuse. But now you were back where you belonged, with the girls of Dreamcatcher... and especially with Jiu.

Jiu sat in a corner, her gaze fixed on him. She said nothing, but her silence was louder than any words. From the moment you'd walked through the studio door, a radiant smile on your face, she'd never stopped watching you. Not in the tender, loving way she was used to looking at him. No, this time it was different.

You could feel the tension. You knew it by heart. Jiu wasn't the type to hide her emotions, and here they were written in big letters on her face: she was jealous. Terribly jealous.

- Jiu, aren't you going to welcome me? you asked, approaching her.

She crossed her arms, her gaze hard.

- You're already welcomed, aren't you? I'm sure your little touring companions have made your day.

You sighed. You'd expected this, but he still hoped she'd give him a chance to explain.

- You know very well it was just a job. That's all it was.

- A job? Really?" she hissed. Did you see the videos ? Because I have. Those girls looked at you like you were their regular dancer... or more.

- Stop being a fucking brat. I was just doing my job! Nothing happened!

- I saw how one of the members was looking at you like she wanted you to fuck her like a slut on stage. 

- I'm leaving. When you stop being a fucking brat and stop behaving like my girlfriend, you let me know. 

- You like it when I'm a brat. 

- I do! I do! I like it when you're my submissive little brat but not when you're a jealous bitch. So I'm outta here. You know where to find me. 

--

You come home completely exhausted from training. You'd have liked to have had a bit of a vacation, even though you've just come back from tour, but no. As soon as it's over, you're back at it. As soon as it's over, you're back at it. 

It's been a hard day. You had to train with several bands. Some to appear in their video as an extra, others to be a back dancer.

You didn't see Jiu all day, and her reaction irritated you, but on the other hand you understood her. You were jealous of her performance at some tour , but you're more the type to say nothing. You'd have liked to see her and tell her it was all childish and that you wanted to be with her.

But that's not how it goes. 

As soon as you've put your key in the lock of your apartment door, you notice that it's not locked. Suspicious, you slowly step back on your guard.

A burglary? You wrap your keys around your hand, ready to fight, but what lies ahead doesn't make you want to fight. Quite the opposite, in fact.

In front of you, dark hair in a mess, nibbling lips, enchanting curves, long legs, thighs that just want to be kissed, hardened nipples where your tongue just wants to lick them, but above all that pussy. That pussy just begging to be fucked.

Jiu is completely naked in front of you.

"Hey daddy. I wanted to apologize for my behavior. So I got you something. " 

You swallow slowly and ask 

"And what's that?"

With seductive steps, Jiu moves towards you. You don't dare move and Jiu clings to you. The warmth of her body, her nipples you feel against you.

Jiu grabs your hand and you let her, intoxicated by her.

Jiu licks your fingers and you hold back a moan.

"My mouth. " 

She moves your hand down to her breasts and with her hand forces you to grab one of them.

"My breasts. "

God, her voice. 

Gently, almost painfully, she brings your hand down, you expect to touch her pussy but at the last moment she puts your hand on her thigh.

"My thighs." 

You nod, you don't know why, but you nod anyway. With a sensual gesture, Jiu sticks closer to you and directs your hand to her ass and whispers in your ear. 

"My ass."

You want to fuck her right now. 

But Jiu still hasn't made you touch the last place. The most important, your favorite part of her.

So gently, sensuously and almost intoxicatingly, Jiu takes your hand, spreads the folds of her pussy with your fingers and murmurs erotically against your lips.

"My tight little pussy. "

You don't wait any longer. You kiss her and push a finger straight into her pussy and Jiu hasn't lied, it's tight.

Plastered against the wall Jiu looks up in pleasure, the intrusion sudden but too good. You don't give her time to think, you insert a second finger and the noises her pussy makes are obscene but so sensual. 

Jiu moans into your mouth and runs her hands around your neck to deepen the kiss. 

"I've missed you, Daddy. " Jiu says against your mouth.

"It's that Jiu I've missed. My little brat ."

Jiu wants to say something but you quicken the pace of your fingers. You pull your fingers out of her vagina, Jiu wants to protest but her protest dies in her throat when you start touching her clit. 

"Do you like it? You like Daddy touching your pussy? My needy brat. "

Jiu undulates her pelvis to get more friction from your fingers but you slap her pussy, making her tremble with pleasure. 

"Don't you fucking move. Stay against the wall and spread your legs. "

Jiu nods and spreads her legs. You kiss her and get down on your knees. Before you her pussy looks so appetizing. Gently, you step forward and lift your head, staring into Jiu's eyes, and lick her clit.

"Oh my god. " Jiu says, biting her lip.

You're licking everywhere. Her clit, with your fingers you spread the folds of her pussy and lick. You grab her leg and pull it over your shoulder.

"Daddy! "

With this new angle, you have better access to her pussy. You place a few kisses on her clit and feel Jiu's hands in your hair. 

With your tongue, you make circular movements on her clit and Jiu presses her pussy against your mouth. You grab her buttocks and stick to her pussy, making Jiu wobble. She catches herself on a shelf behind and your next move is unexpected. You put both hands under her legs and lift Jiu off the floor.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD" Yells Jiu, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Plastered against the wall and in the air. You feast on her pussy. Jiu presses your face against her pussy and you feel the young woman roll her pelvis, she wants to cum. 

This happens when you insert a finger into her asshole. You feel Jiu's legs trembling and you quickly pull out of her vagina to grab her and place her gently on the floor.

You're face to face and Jiu is still trembling. Breathing hard, she looks up at you and you see envy, desire and, above all, love. Gently, you approach her. You grab her chin and Jiu plants her gaze on yours. You approach her and kiss her. Jiu wraps her arms around your neck and deepens the kiss. You place your hand on her cheek and insert your tongue into her mouth. 

After several seconds, you part breathlessly. 

"More? "You ask.

"I want to suck your dick daddy. "

"That's my brat. "You say, kissing her on the forehead. "Here? " 

Jiu nods and you stand up. Your gaze anchored in hers, you remove your belt and pants. Jiu supports your gaze but she quickly looks away when you pull out your cock. 

Just as you're about to say something, Jiu swallows your cock. No game, no tease, in one motion your cock hits the back of Jiu's throat. 

"Holy shit," you swear. "Did you miss it that much? " 

Jiu says nothing. She doesn't answer you, she's focused on sucking your cock. With a wet pop, she takes your cock out of her mouth and looks at you. She grabs your cock and starts to wank you gently. She places several kisses on your cock. She starts from the tip and works her way up to your balls. 

"I've missed your cock so much. " 

You'd like to say something, but the way Jiu is licking your balls is stopping you. On top of that, Jiu starts jerking you off. Slow movements, then speeding up. 

Jiu licks all over your cock and engulfs your dick again. She bops her head and you groan.

"Fuck, princess." You moan.

The only sound you hear is Jiu's gags. Jiu is starving, the speed at which she bops her head makes you lose your mind. 

With a wet pop, Jiu pulls out your dick and jerks you off, licking the tip.

"Daddy gonna drop a big load of cum down my throat?"

"You bet. "

Jiu gives you a beautiful smile and takes your cock back into his mouth.

"Fucking bratty princess. You suck my dick like a pro. "

Jiu moans around your cock. She loves compliments.

All of a sudden you grab Jiu's hair and without warning, you thrust.

Although surprised, Jiu takes it like a pro. She grabs your hips and even forces you further down her throat.

It suits you.

Your thrusts are faster and more violent. But Jiu holds on, she gags and her eyes fill with tears. You don't stop, you feel yourself coming and with a sharp thrust, you sink into her throat and spill your hot cum.

After a long, hoarse moan, you withdraw your cock and fall gently to the floor. Jiu catches his breath and looks at you.

"You are so fucking good princess. "

Jiu looks you straight in the eye and opens her mouth. Without a word, she swallows your cum. 

You waste no time and grab Jiu. You bend her over the sofa armrest and spread her ass. Jiu says nothing and lets out a moan as you start inserting two fingers into her pussy.

"Tonight I'm taking care of all your holes. I'll start with your pussy."

"Please..." begs Jiu. 

You position yourself behind her and take your cock in hand. With your cock you tease Jiu. You run your cock over the folds of her pussy. 

"Put it in. " 

Jiu rests her head against the sofa and with her hands spreads her buttocks. The view is absolutely breathtaking. You don't hesitate for a second to ram your cock inside her, wringing a moan of pleasure from her. 

"I've missed your pussy so much. "

Jiu would like to say something but you speed up the strokes of your pelvis. The only sounds that come out of her mouth are moans.  With your hands you grab the young woman's hips and speed up again. 

"And you dared to think I'd fuck another idol when I've got you. How is it possible to do without you? This tour has been hell. "

"Oh god!" Jiu moans.

"Evenings of loneliness. "You penetrate Jiu. "Evenings imagining you sucking me off." Another blow. "I imagined you like tonight, bent over and me taking you like the brat you are. "

"Don't you dare compare yourself to others ever again. You're my brat. Is that clear? "

"YES DADDY! "

You pick up the pace and the sound of flesh against flesh gets louder and louder. You lean over Jiu and kiss her neck, drawing a little moan from her. You kiss the back of her neck and, with one hand, knead her breast. Jiu wants to moan, but suddenly you grab her face and turn to kiss her. Jiu moans into your mouth and you continue to fuck her pussy.

"I'm going to cum. "Jiu moans against your mouth.

"Go for it. "You answer against her mouth. 

Jiu closes her eyes and concentrates on her pleasure. You straighten up and grab Jiu's hips firmly. You don't hesitate for a second and fuck Jiu like the brat she is.

The strokes are more powerful, faster. You feel Jiu's pussy tighten around your cock. 

"Oh Fuck! "Jiu shouts. 

You feel her pussy clench and Jiu starts shaking, her breathing jerking. Gently, you lie on top of her and kiss the back of her neck.

"Good girl. "

You don't give her time to come to her senses. Your cock is quickly replaced by two of your fingers. 

"It feels so good," says Jiu. 

"And this will be better," you reply to Jiu.

With your hand you spread her ass and start licking her asshole.

Jiu arches her back in pleasure as you lick her hole. 

"Oh...Daddy.. That's...so...so...good."

You concentrate on licking her hole as you continue to move your fingers in and out of her pussy. 

You feel Jiu undulate her pelvis to get more friction and you decide to slap her ass. 

"Don't fucking move. "

Jiu relents and with her hands spreads her ass even wider. 

After licking her asshole you stand up and position yourself behind her. You grab your cock and put it in front of her asshole.

"I'm going to take it slow. "You warn Jiu.

"No!" 

"What? " 

"Don't be gentle! Fuck my asshole like the brat I am. "

My god the voice with which Jiu said that. If you weren't hard, you'd get a hard-on straight away.

You push your cock into her ass and Jiu encourages you. 

"Come on daddy. FUCK ME IN THE ASS. "

A powerful thrust drives you into her ass and Jiu screams with pleasure. Your thrusts are powerful and bestial. You grip her hips, your thrusts move the couch and Jiu grips the couch. 

Jiu puts her hand under her body and starts touching her clit.

"I love having your big cock in my ass so much. Fuck me. "

"Your ass is so tight. "

"Fill me up. Fill my ass with cum. "

Your thrusts are slower but much deeper. You manage to shove your entire cock up Jiu's ass. 

"I'm so going to fill your ass."

"Do it. Do it daddy. "

One last thrust and you cum in Jiu's ass. Jiu, still busy touching her clit, follows you a few seconds later and your cock is expelled from her ass.

Completely out of breath you stand back and admire your art. Your cum shoots out of her ass and down to her pussy. You slap her ass for the last time.

"Fucking brat. “

Jiu laugh softly.

[augustsblossom]

main mark grayson x full viltrumite fem reader, when reader is sent from viltrum after nolan failed to try and convince mark to join the viltrum empire but she ended up falling in love with him.

can you add some angst and fluff also a bit smut if ur comfortable pls.

thank you.

love this so much hope u like it !

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ main! Mark Grayson x fem viltrumite reader

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ a/n: forgive me if this is AWFUL I haven’t wrote fics in years so I’m still rusty and trying to find my groove again, this is also super short and rushed because again I’m just trying to get back into writing! If you liked this one I can def make a part 2 just lmk! Inbox me if you wanna see anything else <3 take care pookies mwah

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ WARNINGS: angst (not that good lol), swearing, annnddd that should be it

˚ ༘ *ೃ⁀➷ ALSO: please forgive me if I get anything wrong in this! I haven’t completely finished Invincible so I may have gotten some things messed up plus I’m not too good with keeping up with lore and information so pls correct me if needed! And this isn’t proof read but act like it is

————————————————————————

Nolan betraying Viltrium was the worst news the planet could receive. He was one of their strongest soldiers, but not strong enough to conquer earth? It didn’t make sense to the viltrumites.

They genuinely believe they were done for, so after finding out Nolan betrayed them they sent you. To be fair, Nolan TRIED, and when I say try I mean convince his son Mark to join the viltrum empire to continue taking over planets and growing stronger. So, being here now your job was to go to Earth and bring back Mark, Invincible.

You absolutely hated Earth like no doubt, and rightfully so because they are such a weak planet, so you were hoping it was gonna be light work to obtain mark and go home.

well.

Never say never right !

The plan was simple, disguise yourself and build a relationship with Mark Grayson to then basically sweet talk him into joining your empire. Super easy right?

Absolutely not.

Mark was a sweet talker himself. You met him in class when you asked a question about one of the assignments, and he was a sweetheart about it.

After completing the assignment you guys talked more, and got to the point where you were being invited to his home. Debbie oh so adored you. You were kind, gorgeous and respectful so of course you get brownie points from his mom!

The mission got complicated when his sweet talking was working a bit too well. Being a viltrumite, you weren’t entirely used to human emotion. Someone caring about you the way Mark did felt so foreign, you felt wrong for thinking about it the way you did.

Your friendship grew even stronger, you two were inseparable. Everything you did was together and for each other

You knew you were deep in shit when you’d catch yourself staring at Mark. While he was focused in class or explains Seance Dog for the 10 millionth time, you adored him. And oh were you so wrong about this being an easy mission

You knew you had to end it and tell him the truth before it got farther. It hurt you hurting him.

You practiced it over and over, telling him he should come with you back home, be apart of the viltrium empire and be together once and for all.

After a day of hanging out you guys finally got back to his place. You greeted Debbie as usual, knowing it most likely will be your last time. You absolutely hated the fact you even got yourself in this situation. You were supposed to simply get him to Viltrium and now you’re day dreaming about him being your boyfriend? Cmon girl.

You walked in behind Mark and shut his door, locking it and taking a deep breath before turning to look at him. He sat comfortably on the bed as he was already looking at you, sensing you were upset.

“You know… you’ve been really weird lately” Mark started.

“I mean, if there’s anything wrong or if I did anything I wanna know.”

You took another deep breath, preparing for the worst statement you can ever say.

“I’m a Viltriumite Mark.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The only noise was the neighborhood kids playing outside and Debbie watching tv. Mark was as still as ever almost like he wasn’t breathing, he kept quiet

“I know you’re invincible. I know your father is Omni-Man. I know all of it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat before going again

“Your father betrayed us Mark. We need you at Viltrium. Be with me at home where we can be this happy but better, we’ll have everything”

You were almost pleading with him. Scratch that, you were pleading with him.

Your eyes widened as you saw tears building in Marks eyes. He’s never cried in front of you, like ever.

“…This is why you came here? So you can get me for my dads fuck up? You used me and made me believe you were a normal friend I could have just so you can get me to join your damn empire?”

Marks voice raised with so much pain behind it, you never believed you would feel “bad” for a human but look at you now.

“No, mark you don’t understand”

He cut you off abruptly

“No YOU dont understand! Do you know how much I’ve cared about you helped you loved you? God you made me get feeling for a fucking spy”

And look at the monster you created for yourself. You truly only had one job, yet you made an innocent superhero fall in love with you for your own dirty work and fucked it all up. I guess you can say you finally understand why Nolan did what he did.

[midnghtprentiss]

Can I request for Jack Abbot x fem reader? Their child wanted pet(s) and Jack just wouldn't let him since he wasn't convinced that they would take care of it and he's busy with work and so does her. Their kid persuaded her and she tried to tempted Jack to give in. Doing everything just to let him say yes. Jack knew his answer but just wanted to mess you with them🫣. Kisses, fluff, suggestive. Thanks!! :))

a/n: this is my first request omg omg omg, i absolutely loved your request! i changed a few times but hope it matches what you wanted. have fun dear. sorry if there's some mistakes, english is not my first language. enjoyyyy :)

mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want - jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader warnings: jack as girls dad, suggestive content

Parenthood was amazing. You loved it more than you expected. You loved being a mom as much as Jack loved being a dad and he was really proud to be a girl's dad. Your twin girls were the reason for him to absolutely love the new version of him. 

Evangeline and Cecilia were his sunshine, his everything. He would die and kill if meant to make them smile. Even before they came to the world he was excited about the idea of having two versions of himself with the person he loves. He spent nights imagining how life would be so much cooler and brighter, he even confessed to you that he always wanted to be a girl dad but never had the chance to make it right before you. 

The whole pregnancy wasn’t easy, you had a lot of pain, restrictions and anxiety at the same time. Growing two girls at once was a hell of a full time job and apparently will be for a long time. You were eating more, sleeping more, feeling bigger than ever, you can’t even count how many clothes didn’t fit anymore. You started by doing less shifts and when you did, Jack made sure you didn’t work harder, which led you to a few fights. 

“Jack, pregnancy is not a disease. I am more than capable of doing my job and still have two children inside of me.” 

“I’m not letting you do everything you want so you can prove something to other people.” You laughed in his face.

“I am a doctor first and then a mother. So please, let me enjoy this moment before I’ll spend my days being known only as a mother.” 

Everything changed when you got to hold your girls for the first time and actually be a better mom than the one you have. It was a full time job, the hardest job you’ve ever had, 24/7 of being alert and on the edge of your seat for the smallest things. You didn’t showered for almost a week after you got to bring them home, you cried when they cried and the worst part of it all was the excruciating feeling that you were already failing. 

Jack was your number one supporter, your safe haven and he was happy to be there. He dealt with the sleepless nights like a champ, always holding the girls, giving them what they needed just for you to sleep for a while, he didn't even complain about being sleep deprived, he just accepted it. But he never told you how terrified he was of sucking at the only job he couldn’t fail. How he was afraid of sleeping and missing something important, or how anxious he was when they were out of his plain sight. He didn’t tell you he almost gave up being a doctor to stay with the girls. 

As they grew up, you both understood how to be better parents and that brought you closer than ever, creating boundaries and rules to make this right. You agreed on coming back to work at your own pace, making cohesive schedules and trying your best not to go home during shifts. You worked the day shift so he stayed with them and he stayed with the girls all day and he worked at night shift for you to be home during bedtime. 

Real teamwork.

Cecilia was like a mini version of Jack. She was bossy, talkative and had the same bad attitude as him, which sometimes made your life so difficult, but she was glued to you. Everywhere you went, she was there like a shadow. Evangeline was a whole version of you, she was sweet, calm and did her best to be nice to everyone and yet Jack was the only one who could calm her down when she wasn’t having a good day. 

There were nights Ange cried non stop because she wanted daddy and as a consequence Cece cried because her sister was crying. You have to call him at two in the morning, knowing he was busy with a trauma, trying your best to not cry on the phone, asking him to talk to her. Or when Cece was giving him an attitude because he wanted her mama so bad that everyone else was an enemy, he had to call you just for her to feel better. 

You decided to change your tactics again and put the girls to socialize in preschool. At first you hated the idea as much as Jack but eventually you decided to give it a try. They absolutely loved it. The first week was filled with tears and anxiety (from you, especially), the desire of bringing them home and putting the whole experiment behind. By the second week the girls begin to cry less and be more excited about going. It was a relief for your mind and both of you could focus more at work. 

At six years old you could see these girls were smarter than you imagined. They talked about what they learned at kindergarten and included details about everything they knew and saw. There was no better feeling than watching your favorite human beings embracing their personality. 

One day after school during a pick up, you noticed them speaking quietly and giggling with each other pointing at some drawings in their notebooks. 

“What’s happening here? Am I missing something?” Ange and Cece looked at each other and giggled louder. 

“Mama, we want a dog.” Cece screamed and lifted up her piece of paper. 

“Oh really? Why do you want a dog?” You asked curious. 

“Today Mrs. Sunny told us about responsibilities and she told us having a pet helped us with that.” Ange was so excited and her sister was agreeing on everything. “We are big girls now.” Big girls that made her father look under the bed every night for monsters.

“Girls, having a pet is a big thing. Me and daddy are really busy taking care of more things to have animals.” You tried to sound soft, knowing how emotional they can get. “Plus, I don’t if you’re ready for this kind of responsibility.” 

“We can help!” Cece jumped in, “We can give them food, water, snuggles and we can take them to our walks with daddy.” 

That would be fun, you think to yourself, Jack was going to have a stroke when you tell him that. Or better, you’ll let them speak to him. 

The idea of a pet was something you and him already talked about. During your pregnancy you had long conversations with your husbands on the subject, you grew up with animals and in fact helped you with the responsibility of taking care of the people you loved. He wasn’t against it, but you’re both busy and now with two kids taking a lot of attention and time, an animal would make it worse and more chaotic. 

“I agree with you, girls.” Of course you agreed with them, the smiles they gave you is more than enough. “We need to convince dad to let us have a pet, what do you think?” They squealed and laughed, starting to make some plans and creating some crazy scenarios where the pet was included. “I suggest you two work on something really good for him and we talk about this before dinner, alright?”

When you got home, Jack was already waiting outside. Crossed arms, polo shirt, faded jeans. What a view. The moment he opened the car door for them, they were already on him, talking about their day and showering him with hints about the conversation that would happen later. 

He just looked at you confused and nodding with whatever sentence was coming out of their mouths. You walked behind them, contemplating the sweet view of your family. 

While Cece and Angel were doing their homework, you were studying a few things for your lecture and Jack was making dinner. You approached him quietly and held his face to make him look directly at you. 

“We have a problem, a big one.” His heart almost stopped at your words. “They want a dog.” 

“Really?” He chuckled, going back to slicing the onions. 

“Something about Mrs. Sunny teaching about responsibility.” You poured yourself some wine and leaned against the counter. “They are on a mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want. It’s gonna be tough on you, buddy.” 

“What exactly did you say to them?” He put the knife down and stared at you. 

“I said the truth. We’re busy and getting a pet would add more chaos into our lives but I said yes.” You said quietly and he raised his eyebrows. “I can’t resist them, you know that!”

Dinner was chaotic. Cecilia and Evangeline were on fire telling all the good reasons for having cats and dogs. They even called themselves ‘doctor daughters’ and their specialty is love and snuggles. You held your smile the whole time, while Jack was so hypnotized by them he didn’t even blink. 

“Girl, I understand you really really really want that but we need to discuss it better.”  Their eyes were full of water and while he talked about their busy life, their school time and the extracurricular they do, a dog was harder. 

“But we are good girls, daddy.” You almost got up and went to the nearest shelter to get the damn dog. 

“I know, bug.”

After bedtime you were laying next to Jack, tracing lines in his chest and you couldn’t stop thinking about their wish of having an animal. Jack knew this conversation was about to happen for the way you tucked them in bed and he heard you saying you would try to convince him using your ‘supermom powers’. Before the conversation started he was already laughing. 

You smacked his chest and rolled your eyes, trying to focus on whatever you were about to say to him. 

“You know why we can’t have a dog.” You looked at him. 

“Why not? Are you afraid he will steal your prosthetic leg?” He burst out laughing holding your arm.

“You would like that, didn’t you?” He teased and your eyes studied his face. 

“Jack, we are raising two girls. A dog can make our job easier.” You think about your next words. “It can teach them responsibility.” 

“A dog can be dangerous.” He found it amusing how you rolled your eyes every time you disagreed. 

“Men are dangerous, a dog is the sweetest thing they can have. Besides, we can use that to make them stop asking for another sibling.” You reminded him, getting more comfortable against his body. 

“You have a very good point, love.”

“Of course I have.”

“A sibling?” You giggled, hiding your face between his chest. “They can have a dog and a sibling, then.” 

“Easy there, tiger. It’s debatable since I’m the one who carries the children here.” 

“Everybody wins something here, just saying.”

“You’re a trouble, Jack Abbot.”

“You married me.” He held your face, caressing your cheeks gently. 

It took Jack three days to get a dog. He talked to an old army friend of his that had the contact of a guy that had retired dogs and just like that, you got a dog - Luke. He’s the nicest, trained and responded very well to the girls clinging on to him. 

You’ve never seen them so excited and happy to have a furry friend and the best part is watching Jack pretending he’s not blusinh watching his girls run around the backyard. You were sitting next to him, listening to Angel and Cece squeal every time Luke licked their faces and screamed when he runs from them. 

“About the sibling situation.” He smirked and watched your face with the same look that got you pregnant before. 

“Not before bedtime, Abbot.” You pushed his shoulder. 

“Can’t wait for our talk later.” 

Maybe life is worth it for the moments like that where everybody is truly happy.

[phrandallanton]

I've decided to work more on my Eltingville Club OCs. Changed a lot about Vinny, and just wrote a bit about Joesph more. So here's all that! Buckle in, I wrote a lot. More then what I thought I would. Like a WHOLE lot more. More then I ever wrote for a regular OC. (If there's any spelling or grammer mistakes, please let me know!!! Thank you 💕)

"Vinny" (still not her real name lol)

Vinny is a pretty average, rather dumb girl who grew up in a southern town from the middle of nowhere and recently moved to eltingville with her uncle and cousin Joesph due to complications with her family back at home. Though she's not as much as a nerd like the eltingville club is, she is as ignorant and aragont, just not in the geek way to a sertant extent. Vinny absolutely hates anyone that she deems to be "living a better life" than her. This mostly includes popular kids/celebrities and people who are in a relationship. She feels entitled to the kind of attention they get and she doesn't think "they" deserve any of it simply because she's doesn't have it.

Vinny doesn't show it upfront not because she's actively trying to hide the fact that's she's a jealous hating freak, but because she's a coward and knows her actions cause consequences if caught. So most of her harrasment and shenanigans comes from her sitting behind her computer. Yes, she has "70 ALTERNATIVE ACCOUNTS!!!!" She'll harras kids from her school, celebrities, and make tons of forum/blog posts about stuff like how it should of been her to kiss Han Solo and not Leia. (Yeah, maybe she still a hating geek like the Eltingville Club) Though due to her not being the brightest, her harrasment tends to backfire. However, suprisingly enough, her shenanigans will still remain anonymous for the most part.

Vinny only hangs out with the Eltingville Club because Joesph wants her to. She always ends up running her own friendships that she has due to her self destructive behavior, and the Eltingville Club is perfect for someone like that! She is rather possessive of Joesph since he's the only person who tries to include her and actually hangs out with her. He let's her paint his robots and treats her more like a sister rather then a cousin. Of course, this means she gets a bit jealous when Josh comes over to hang out with Joesph.

Which led her to befriending "Greedo318" on the internet.(I can't remember if Greedo had been around since before the epilogue or not. So if not then cancel this part out, or this can be an AU where Greedo did exist for this long) Vinny definitely has no clue that "Greedo318" is Bill and vice-versa. Worst of all she has a crush on "Greedo318", or at least the idea of him. Come on It's a dude that validates her feelings and bad actions, it was bound to happen.

Vinny enjoys hanging out with the Eltingville Club because of the drama. Oh boy does she eat it up. Until something is said about her in a negative way, then she's... throwing it up(?) She's convinced Jerry has a crush on her, or at least finds her to be attractive, all because he's the one out of the four that's the "nicest" to her. So take that as you will.

For Bill she goes back and forth with wether or not she likes him. He'll make comments that she'll takes personally which leads to her trying to ruin something for him. Luckily for Bill, it'll backfire on her just like how everything else does. But then there's been moments were they work together to make someone's life miserable, or even yap about comics.

She couldn't care less for Josh of course. Honestly she's a bit convinced Josh and Joesph might be gay for eachother. Not too sure on how she feels about that. Then there's

Pete, who she can't come up with a solid opinion on. She probably thinks his accent is attractive in a way, and likes that he enjoys horror movies too. (Vinny likes seeing people getting brutally murdered, go figure.) But he's still a bit too "weird" to her.

Other then her negative traits, Vinny is rather odd but your nice typical teenaged girl. She tells stories about her home town, like how the mayor there was an actual pig.

She also has a pretty low IQ, just as low as her self-esteem. So yeah...she's definitely saying some dumb crap and having things fly over her head. She loves animals, arts and crafts, and reading comics cause that's all she really had back at home.

She only recently got introduced to all the other geek stuff by the help of Joesph. Her main obsession is virtual pets since they remind her of the animals she took care of at her grandparents farm when she was younger. Her favorites are her Tamagochi and Furby. She probably also has Neopets and later on got a TON of Webkinz. She would also totally play the heck out of the sims games.

Joesph McGee

Joesph is still the robotics/technology freak he is. The Eltingville Club at this point is probably questioning if he's neodivergent. He's the friendliness guy to walk the planet for the most part. He hates it when the club fights and breaks up. Then gets happy when they make up, thinks it's going to stay that way, and the pattern continues. ("Bill, look at me, this isn't you 🥺" type ahh)

His best friend is Josh, cause of course the two sci-fi nerds are friends! He tends to take his side for most of their arguments and when the club breaks up he's hanging out with him afterwards. He's pretty close with Jerry too, considering they're the only two pretty sane ones from the group. Also Joesph admires how good of a dungeon master Jerry is. He thinks Jerry is cool.

Then there's Vinny of course, he adores her and is pretty protective when it comes to her. He doesn't like that she acts out the way she does, though he doesn't even know half of it. He just wants the best for her knowing her problems just like everyone else in his life.

He's chill with Pete, he likes that he can just pick him up with little to no effort. Pete doesn't like it. Though Pete's liking towrds gore does make him a bit scared.

Bill is a whole other can of worms, Joesph genuinely believes he's a good person that's going to change. Who's gonna tell him? Actually, don't tell him. Let him be delusional.

He's also pretty good friends with IronJaw too, he doesn't mind the spit. Actually, he thinks his braces are sick and wishes he could have them. Would make him look like he had some sort of cool technology thing in his mouth. They don't hang out much but he enjoys talking to him when they're at the comic book store or at school.

Joesph can have his nerd rage moments, though it's very VERY rare. It would take a lot for him to genuinely get mad, and even then afterwards he'll probably end up crying. Most girls actually find him attractive compared to the other guys, until he starts yapping, then they hate him. Poor Joe. He has more potential then the other guys yet still can't get any action. Not that he really cares though, as long has he has robots, he's good.

[ticifics]

Right Motivation

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: "Come on, Lizewski, is it motivation you need? I can offer you something." The words slipped out before you realized. “Would you be willing to do anything?” Dave asked, his voice deep and firmer than usual.

Warnings: just a very motivated Dave to get a kiss

A/N: this reminds me that i should have gotten past a level in god of war but it's just impossible and i'm absolutely frustrated with it

To my dear @gingerteafairy, you inspired me to write this, I hope you enjoy reading it <333

Your room seemed smaller with Dave there, not because of lack of space, but because of his presence. It wasn't the first time he had entered your space, but you always felt nervous seeing him with your favorite stuffed animals and books — and maybe you hid your posters of shirtless men, after all, some embarrassments can be avoided.

Your mother always smiled a little when she saw you bring Dave home, and it was extremely embarrassing to hear her say how much you looked like lovebirds after he left. Your father, however, always reminded you to keep the door open. Those quiet boys are the worst, he said.

You always had to remind them that Dave was your friend. Just that, a friend. They never seemed convinced of it. And to be honest, a part of you didn't want to believe it either.

Today you had brought him here under the pretext of not being able to pass a level in the video game. You had almost lost your mind after continuing to fail and fail over and over again. Your pillow had to muffle many screams of indignation.

But now you found it funny how it was Dave who was visibly frustrated. Your backpacks were forgotten near the door, as was his coat. Your mother had made sure to stuff them with generous slices of pie before leaving, but not before commenting that you should use condoms. At least she had the decency to speak quietly, so that only you could hear.

Now, in your room, he was sitting on the floor in a sloppy manner, his back resting on your bed while his hands firmly gripped the joystick. You couldn't help but pay attention to how his fingers moved: fast and precise, it was mesmerizing. Not only that, but how his hands seemed to swallow the joystick, the way the veins formed a high relief on his pale skin. What would it feel like to have those hands on you? You swallowed at the thought, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

Your movement caught his eye. “Okay?” He asked, tilting his head so he could look at you on the bed. His dark eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Sure,” you replied, still perched like a lazy cat on the mattress, though there was a slight blush on your cheeks. “Just seeing how bad you are at this game.”

“That’s what you get for trying to help someone,” he huffed, his blue eyes returning to the game.

You laughed. “Seriously, it took you twice as long as I did to get to that part.”

“Sorry, not everyone can be perfect like you.”

You froze, feeling your heart stumble in your chest. This was the kind of dangerous thing he shouldn’t say. A choked laugh bubbled out of your lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He rolled his shoulders, his voice lower when he spoke again. “Believe what you want.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, your eyes fixed on his dark curls. Usually, it was Dave who left everyone confused with his words, but in moments like this, he always had the ability to say things that left you speechless.

Without thinking, you crawled to the edge of the bed, lying on your stomach with your head next to his. His scent wafted up to your nose, but you tried not to pay attention to it. You scooted a little closer, your lips almost brushing against the shell of his ear. “Less talk and more action, Lizewski.”

Dave tried to focus on the game, but you knew you had messed with him. The tension in his shoulders said it all. He blinked a few times, his fingers hesitating over the buttons on the joystick, before turning slightly towards you. His face was closer now, and his blue eyes searched yours. The silence between you seemed to stretch, heavy, but charged with something you couldn't quite define. It was as if the air in the room had changed, become denser, more… electric.

"Are you trying to distract me?" he asked, his voice lower than before, but still tinged with nervousness.

"Maybe." You arched an eyebrow, showing more confidence than you actually had. Your heart was hammering, but you refused to back down. "Come on, Lizewski, is it motivation you need? I can offer you something." The words slipped out before you realized, but you didn't regret it.

He blinked, clearly surprised by the provocation. For a moment, it looked like he was going to choke on his own saliva, but then he swallowed hard—a movement your eyes made sure to follow—and something in his expression changed. There was still hesitation, but it was replaced by a strange determination, as if he were trying to anchor himself to something.

“Would you be willing to do anything?” Dave asked, his voice deep and firmer than usual. His eyes locked on yours, and the entire room seemed to shrink into that moment.

Your throat went dry. It was as if the way he looked at you had a tangible weight, something that held you in place. Your mind tried to find an answer, but all you could do was nod slowly, lost in the thousand and one meanings his question implied. “Yes.”

His smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, small but filled with a new, almost irresistible confidence. “Okay.”

He turned his face back to the screen, and suddenly he looked like a completely different person. His posture changed, the joystick now felt like an extension of his hands. Dave played with a fierce determination in his eyes, his movements precise and quick, as if he were on an impossible mission to fail. You could barely pay attention to the game, because everything in you was focused on him—on the way he frowned, the way his tongue slipped slightly between his lips as he concentrated. Something inside you twisted violently, the anticipation eating away at you from the inside out. When he finally passed the level, the sound of the game announcing his victory seemed like a distant echo.

You blinked, realizing you had been holding your breath the whole time. “Congratulations,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, filled with something you couldn’t even name. It was as if an electric current had passed through the room, pulsing between you. Dave looked at you with that shy smile, but his eyes were different now—more intense, as if searching for something in you that he didn’t have the courage to say yet.

You followed his every move as he stood up, your fingers fidgeting as if trying to contain your own restlessness. Your eyes traced the path from the disheveled hair to the way his T-shirt fit his lean, muscular torso. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand splayed on the flowered blanket as he leaned toward you, and it was impossible to ignore the heat that rose up your neck, your skin alight under the weight of his proximity, more aware than ever of another person’s body.

Involuntarily, you shrank a little in the bed, feeling small in front of him. Up close, his shoulders seemed broader and there was something about him that made you want to get closer. He was standing so close now, and the tension felt like a rope stretched taut between you, ready to snap.

Dave paused, hesitant, and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Can I… can I ask you something?" His voice was husky, filled with uncertainty, but there was something else there. Something that made your heart beat faster.

You nodded, your lips slightly parted, your breath shallow. "Yes."

He bit his lip, his eyes flickering down to your mouth before returning again, meeting yours with a vulnerability so genuine that you almost lost your breath. "A kiss."

Your heart stumbled, then raced. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. A kiss. Dave had asked for a kiss. How could one of your dreams be unfolding right in front of you? It was impossible to ignore the way his gaze seemed to burn into you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

A slow smile played across your lips, the kind of smile you knew was slightly teasing. “A kiss, huh?” you repeated, your voice soft, almost a purr as you looked at his mouth. The way his lips were parted, pink and absurdly inviting.

He nodded, his cheeks tinged with red, but he didn’t look away.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands pressed against the mattress to steady yourself. Your eyes never left his as you approached. The room seemed frozen in time, the air thick, almost suffocating. When you were close enough for your breath to brush against his skin, you tilted your face slightly, pressing your lips against the soft skin of his face. His breathing hitched as you remained close, your mouth a ridiculous distance from his.

“Is this where you wanted it?” you asked, your voice low and deliberately teasing, framed by a lopsided smile.

Dave stiffened, his lips parting in silent protest before he shook his head. He looked like he was about to short-circuit. You loved it.

“No?” You leaned in again, the smile on your lips growing as you placed a second kiss, this time closer to his jaw, moving purposefully slowly. “And here?” You questioned, closing your eyes for a moment as you pressed your nose into the crook of his neck, filling your lungs with his scent. How many times had you imagined this moment?

He shook his head again, visibly shaken.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could say anything else, he closed the distance between you in one quick, unexpected movement. You sighed against his mouth, surprise quickly replaced by appreciation. His hands rose to cup your face, hesitant for a split second, before steadying themselves against your skin. His fingers were warm, a little shaky, but there was an urgency to his touch that felt impossibly right, like he was trying to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

The kiss started out soft, almost shy, but that hesitation disappeared all too quickly. He tilted his head to press his lips against yours, and the awkward urgency of his movements was as palpable as the rapid beating of your own heart. You found yourself gripping the front of his shirt without thinking, your knuckles pressed against the fabric, searching for some point of balance as the world around you seemed to dissolve.

His lips were soft, but there was a strength there that completely disarmed you. He pushed you down the bed until your back was pressed against the soft mattress, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands trailing down your sides in an exploratory manner. The heat of his palms made your skin tingle, and you could feel how breathless he was, but still he seemed unable to stop. You tried to pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as you felt some of his weight pressed against your chest.

When you finally broke apart, panting, the silence between you was deafening. He opened his eyes first, and his were so close, so intense, that you felt your breath catch. Your eyes dropped to his lips, glossy and pinker than ever. Because of you, his mouth was like this because of you.

“I’ve… wanted to do this for a long time,” he admitted, his husky voice scratching his throat, as if the words had been stuck in his throat for years.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared at him, trying to find something to say. “Men really are capable of anything with the right motivation,” you teased, but your voice came out lower, shakier than you intended. Revealing some of your own nervousness.

Dave smiled, a small, almost uncertain smile, but his eyes were shining with something new. He didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, more intense than the first.

This time, there was no room for hesitation. His hands moved down to your hips, kneading the covered flesh, pulling you even closer, eliminating any distance that still existed as he crushed you against his broad chest. Your fingers dug into his hair, tugging lightly, and you were greeted by a low growl from his throat, sending shivers down your spine. The kiss was everything you never knew you needed: clumsy, hungry, and most of all, sincere.

When he pulled away again, he wasted no time, his warm, soft mouth quickly finding its way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you whimper. His kisses set your skin on fire, making you crave more. “Dave,” you sighed, your body arching to allow him to continue.

“Fuck, look what you’re doing to me,” he cursed, the words vibrating against your skin, this time in an almost reverent tone, as he pulled away just enough to look at you. His eyes, so intense, seemed to examine every detail of your face, as if he wanted to memorize the moment. His hands remained firm on you, his fingers pressing lightly, as if he still feared that you might slip away. “I’ve never played with such a desire to win,” he admitted, his voice low and husky, thick with emotion.

You laughed, a soft sound that turned into a shaky sigh as his fingers trailed up your side, stopping near your ribs. “I would have kissed you even if you had lost, Lizewski,” you confessed, heat rising to your face.

He stopped in surprise, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made your stomach turn. “Really?”

You nodded, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “Really.”

He laughed then, a sound that was both incredulous and relieved, and lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "Shit, that would have saved me a lot of nervousness."

“I don’t know,” you murmured teasingly. “It was kind of fun seeing you so focused. Kind of… sexy, even.”

Dave let out a snicker, but there was a glint of newfound confidence in his eyes. He leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slower this time, more exploratory, as if he wanted to enjoy every second. The rhythm changed, but the intensity didn’t diminish. His hands moved down your waist, stopping at the curve of your hips, while his fingers drew slow, mesmerizing circles on your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. You felt your own hands move of their own accord, sliding down his chest, exploring the unexpected firmness beneath his shirt. Each touch felt like a promise that you were just getting started.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Dave looked at you with a mix of adoration and amazement, as if he was still trying to process what had just happened. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, feeling your heart warm at his vulnerability. “Well, if it’s not real, I don’t want to wake up.”

Dave laughed again, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “This is so much better than anything I’ve ever imagined.”

“Imagine it, huh?” you teased, arching an eyebrow as your smile took on a hint of mischief.

A blush crept up his face, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah… I’ve kind of… imagined it more times than I should have,” he admitted, his shoulders rising slightly in an almost childish gesture.

You couldn’t help but laugh, warm and genuine, and you ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re so adorable, Lizewski. How did I not realize that before?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured, his hand coming up to touch your face again, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

The silence that followed was comfortable, full of unspoken promises. Your heart was still racing, but now it was accompanied by a strange and delicious sense of peace. When he smiled again, a small but genuine smile, you knew it wasn’t a passing thing.

“So,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, but still thick with emotion. “I guess this means I win, huh?”

You laughed, your fingers lightly brushing his neck. “Yeah, Dave. You win.”

“Does this mean I can do it again?” he asked, his eyes shining with a mix of insecurity and newfound boldness.

You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you pulled him in for another kiss, soft but full of a certainty that you were both discovering together.

And as the heat of the moment enveloped you once again, one thing became clear: this was just the beginning of many kisses and, who knows, of something much bigger that you both couldn’t wait to explore.

[mashtatosworld]

on set

summary: you're a trainee make-up artist for Big Bang, but you're more than that to him

Working with Big Bang was easily the best part of your apprenticeship.

Unlike other artists who wanted layers of product, constant touch-ups, and precise contouring, the guys mostly required light work: a bit of foundation, some powder, a touch of eyeliner if the concept called for it.

It made your job more enjoyable, especially since they treated you like part of the team rather than just another staff member.

It made for a relaxed atmosphere in the makeup trailer, where laughter and teasing were as common as powder brushes and eyeliner pencils.

Seunghyun was the worst at sitting still, always shifting in his chair when you tried to fix his brows, even running away when you brought out the tweezers. While Daesung, ever the considerate one, sat perfectly still and thanked you each time you adjusted something. Youngbae, being the perfectionist he was, always asked to check his reflection halfway through, nodding in approval before letting you continue.

But Jiyong?

Jiyong made your job interesting.

The others mostly kept things professional, but he had a habit of getting under your skin - both figuratively and literally. He was always touching, always leaning, always there.

If he wasn’t stealing your makeup brushes to twirl between his fingers or teasingly drag over your nose while you were moisturising his skin, then he was casually resting his chin on your shoulder while you worked on someone else, peering at your technique like an inquisitive cat.

The worst part?

You didn’t even mind.

You kind of liked it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

“Is that my sandwich?” you asked, watching as he took another bite of the meal you had left on the table - having stepped away only for a moment to grab your compact mirror.

Jiyong glanced up from his phone, completely unbothered. “You left it unattended. That’s a free-for-all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was my lunch.”

He had the audacity to smirk, chewing slowly before holding up the other half. “You can still have the rest.”

"Keep it." You rolled your eyes, being extra forceful as you dabbed his face with powder. But the damn smirk never dropped from his face.

The next day was the same.

You had left your breakfast bar on the make up table and when you returned, it was half-eaten, carefully wrapped back up again like he hadn't taken several bites.

You snatched it from the table with a huff, but before you could start eating, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small container.

“I got you something,” he said, placing it in front of you.

You frowned, eyeing the packaging. “What is it?”

“Kimchi fried rice,” he replied, shrugging. “Figured you’d want something better than a cereal bar anyway. And we can share this.”

Your heart did a dumb little flip at the casual way he said it.

Daesung, who had been watching the exchange, snickered. “You guys act more like a couple than some actual couples I know.”

Jiyong didn’t even blink. “She’s madly in love with me,” he said, shooting you a playful grin.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah, totally.”

Totally.

Because you couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading through your chest as you dug into the food he had brought you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

After that, you two frequently shared lunches together, eating quietly to one side. Sometimes he was keen to speak, other times, you two ate in comfortable silence.

But these interactions had clearly been noticed by others.

One afternoon, while you were fixing the lipstick of one of the lead models for the music video, she brought it up.

“Hey make up girl,” she said smoothly, her tone edged with something sharp. “You and GDragon seem… close.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… I guess? We work together a lot.”

She hummed, lips pursed as if she wasn’t convinced. Then, without hesitation, she asked, “Can you ask him out for me?”

You nearly choked. “What?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving you a look like it was obvious. “I’ve been wanting to get drinks with him, but he hasn't spoken to me yet. Since you’re close, I need you to set it up.”

You hesitated.

On one hand, you didn’t want to.

You liked Jiyong - more than you probably should.

But on the other hand, she was a well-known model in the industry, and refusing her could put your job at risk. She was demanding. You'd spent most of the week fetching her sparkling water or finding her phone as if you were her personal assistant.

So, against your better judgment, you agreed.

Later, when Jiyong was sitting in a makeup chair waiting for a quick touch-up, you carefully approached him. You took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. “Hey, um, are you busy later?”

He turned his head toward you, intrigued. “Why?”

“There’s this downtown bar,” you said carefully, watching his expression. “And I know someone that would like to go with you.”

Jiyong blinked, then smirked. “You mean you?”

You froze. “What?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like he found your shyness cute. “Why not just say it? Of course I’ll go with you. I had wanted to ask you first, but I guess you beat me to it.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. You were completely stunned. This was not how this was supposed to go.

But before you could correct him, he was already grinning, standing up and lightly pinching your cheek. “Cute. You should’ve just told me earlier, Jagi.”

Jagi?!

From that moment on, everything shifted.

Jiyong treated you like his girlfriend.

He started calling you pet names, saving a seat for you beside him in the van, throwing an arm around you in between takes. At one point, he even pulled you onto his lap when there were no seats left, completely unbothered by the way staff and models alike stared.

And the model? Oh, she was fuming.

She spent the rest of the day on set making your life miserable.

The final straw had been when she 'accidentally' knocked your makeup brushes onto the floor, forcing you to scramble and clean them up before someone slipped on one.

Your mentor had scolded you, sending you away to go clean them with an annoyed tut. By the time the day was winding down, you were exhausted.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were standing at the sink as you washed the brushes with a scowl.

That’s where Jiyong found you.

“Hey,” he called, voice softer than usual. “I was looking for you.”

You didn’t answer right away, focusing on the brushes. He stepped closer, leaning against the counter. “So, about our date tonight - ”

“I might not be able to go,” you interrupted quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Jiyong frowned. “Why not?”

You swallowed, watching the muted colours stain the porcelain sink. “Because I might be fired before I leave today.”

His entire demeanour shifted. “What?”

You exhaled shakily. “She - ” You didn’t need to say her name. You both knew. “She’s been making my life hell all day. I think she’s trying to sabotage me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already complained to my boss. And if she does…”

Jiyong’s jaw tightened. Then he said, voice firm, “If anyone’s going to be fired, it’s her.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his seriousness. “Jiyong - ”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “Just focus on our date later.”

You put the brushes down and wiped your hands on your jeans. “That’s still happening?”

He gave you a look like you were crazy. “Of course.” Then, softer, “You still want to, right?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you hadn’t really thought about what this all meant.

But the idea of going on a real date with Jiyong - of being his, even if just for a night - excited you.

He studied you carefully, waiting for your answer.

Finally, you nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips. He took a step forward, trapping you against the counter, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“Good,” he murmured. Then, before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you - soft, slow, but with enough confidence to make your knees weak.

When he pulled back, his voice was a whisper against your lips.

“I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

Your mood significantly improved after that.

Nothing could ruin your high.

Especially when, the next morning, you arrived on set to find that the model had been replaced.

And Jiyong?

Well, let’s just say he was more than happy to continue calling you Jagi.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this will probably be a part of a mini collection 😝

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford