#and to stop feeling like i'm being constantly stabbed in the chest

[not-rigel]

Admit Defeat

warnings: smut, facesitting, fingering, bottom! sevika (if you squint), lots of flirting, y'all are in love, sub! sevika (if you squint), yearning, lesbians being lesbians

work count: 4k

You don't remember who made the first move. You don't know what you had done to get Sevika to return your feelings. At some point, the two of you switched from only speaking in work-appropriate conversations to constantly flirting. The switch was far from gradual, a near overnight shift in dynamic. For weeks,  Sevika has been laying the charm on thick and you've been returning the banter. 

Tonight was no different. The two of you inside the near empty Last Drop, chatting over a game of billiards. Billiards isn't yours or Sevika's typical game but watching her bend over the table was too tempting a sight to pass up. 

“I ever tell you about the time I almost bled out?” Sevika says, chalking up her cue. 

“Just one time? That's a little boring, Sevika,” you tease. 

“I'd have to be stabbed to be bleeding, and you know how often that happens.” 

The answer was seldom. Sevika got into plenty of fights, but most ended with her mechanical claws in her opponent's gut. Never the other way around.  

“Go on. Tell me,” you urge. She finishes chalking her cue and sets it down on the edge of the table. Your eyes follow her as she walks around the table, searching for her shot. She studies the eleven ball, considering the difficulty. 

“Eleven, back left pocket,” she calls. She bends down to line up the shot. But instead of taking it, she begins her story. 

“I was at the harbor, the smaller one, on personal business-” 

“You were gambling,” you interrupted, leaning your weight to rest your hip onto the table. You watch Sevika's eyes follow your movement. 

Sevika shakes her head, “It was for personal business. Needed new plating for my arm, one that can withstand higher temperatures. I heard from a trusted source-” 

“At the brothel,” you interrupted again. She still hasn't taken the shot. Still bent over the table, cue lined to hit but her arm hasn't drawn back yet. 

Sevika laughs at your correction, “I heard at the brothel that someone was looking to trade down at the harbor. I went down there with an alright gun. Wanted to be rid of it anyway. I get there looking for the guy and I find he's got four other people with him, fucking bruisers by the looks of it.” 

Sevika takes a break in her story to finally take her shot, the eleven ball gliding across the felt and into the pocket she called prior. She stands, walking over to where you're leaning against the table. She smirks as she draws closer to you, stopping just close enough for you to feel her body heat. You look up at her, gaze dropping to her lips for a moment before moving back up to her eyes. 

“It's your turn again,” you tell her. You tilt your head toward the table, not breaking eye contact. 

“You're standing in front of my shot.” 

“My bad,” you playfully shrug, taking a large enough step back. Sevika immediately fills the space, stepping even closer to you than she was before. Another centimeter and your chests would be touching. 

Up this close, you'd have to crane your neck to make eye contact. But since you can't find it in you to look away from her lips, you don't have to look as far up.  Her tongue creeps from her parted lips and wets her bottom lip, surely to tease you. 

“As I was saying,” Sevika continues, aware you're watching each word, “I don't pay attention to the other guys, figured if I didn't treat them like a threat they weren't gonna fuck with me. And it worked for the most part. I get through the trade with my guy, no issues. I'm thinking it's over so I shake his hand, close the deal and wait for him and his goons to leave, cause I'm not gonna turn my back on them.” 

You nod, trying to follow along with her story but your attention is divided between how her lips quirk up into a smirk every other sentence. You loved this side of Sevika, the side that can't stop talking. The side that loves sharing her time with other people. The side that is heartfelt and open. 

“You still listening?” She says, pulling your thoughts away from her mouth and secret softness.

“Just skip to the good part,” you huff. You're not impatient and you could listen, and watch, her talk for hours. But the attraction between the two of you was a few degrees warmer tonight. You can't afford to overheat, especially since you work together. 

“Right. The good part. They think I'm looking for a fight so they jump me. I handled them fine enough, taking a few punches. Was focused on keeping them off of me. One of ‘em came charging at me with a knife, no fucking clue where he got it from, and aims right at my ribs. I wasn't really thinking, I just pushed his arm down. Fucking slashed my thigh open,” she continued. She bent over the table again and this time you could see her back muscles ripple underneath her shirt. 

You shift your hips slightly, so they brush against her side. 

“Can I see?” You ask. 

She stood up without taking her shot, taking a step to trap you between herself and the table, “I'd have to take off my pants.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

She chuckles, “Thought you'd let me kiss you before trying to get me undressed.” 

This was the moment one of you would usually chicken out, coughing up a practiced excuse. But tonight was different. Seizing a confidence you've never held in your life before, you close the little distance there is between you. 

“Kiss me, then take your pants off.”

“Thank fuck,” she sighs. 

She reaches her right hand out, cupping your cheek and guides you to her mouth. There is a moment of hesitation from her, when your lips are a hair away. A chance for you to withdraw. But you won't take it. You push up on your tiptoes, smashing your lips into hers. 

Sevika hasn't felt genuine attraction like this in years. Her body feels like it moves on its own accord. Doing the opposite of what she usually does in situations like these. Fingers tracing over skin instead gripping. Tongue feeling the softness of your lips instead of claiming. Heart beating wildly out of her chest instead of being steady. 

Her chemtech arm holds you by your waist. Between her hips pressing into yours, the table behind you and her arm holding you up, you still feel like you'll melt right to the floor. 

Needing more purchase, you wrap your arms around her neck. Her hair tickles your fingertips and you need to feel more of the soft strands. When you tangle your fingers into her hair she shudders, her knees go weak and weight shifts to rest on you.

You take the time to kiss down her neck, feeling her breaths catch in her throat. Feeling her skin vibrate with her moans. When your lips press onto her pulse point you can feel her erratic heartbeat. It almost overwhelms you, how much she softens for you. 

You're surprised when she guides your hands from her hair down to her breast. Without any hesitation, you fondle her breasts, thumbs rubbing over where you know her nipples are. She's letting out moans above you, the sounds deep and throaty. 

She gasps out a ‘wait’ and you pull your hands and face away.  After she catches her breath she asks if you want to go back to her place.

She's staring deep into your eyes and you regret having looked at her mouth so much tonight. She has the prettiest eyes you've even seen, the most enchanting shade of gray you've ever seen. Like a thundercloud full of heavy rain, her eyes always held back a rough storm. Usually she's unreadable, but right now you know exactly what she wants. 

“Mine is probably closer,” you offer. 

At that Sevika nods, muttering out a soft “Take me.” 

You grab her hand and lead her out the Last Drop and in the direction of your apartment. It's far closer than Sevika's, hardly a five minute walk. Three minutes if you were really in a rush. You make it home in two and a half. 

It's a simple studio apartment, small but well within your needs. 

Once you step inside, she grabs you from underneath your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around her torso. Your hands find their way into her hair, fingers dancing on her scalp. You needed her weak for you, and she was falling apart at the seams the more you touched her. She carries you over to the bed, hiding in the corner of your apartment. She sits down on your bed with you sitting on her lap.

Her hands grab at your shirt, shoving the offending fabric over your breasts until you break the kiss to pull your top over your head. You return to the kiss the moment your shirt is discarded behind you, pushing Sevika down into the mattress. She gasps into your mouth as her back thuds against the bed. 

Her hands are flat against your lower back, inching downwards to slip her fingertips beneath the band of your pants. Sevika guides your hips to grind over hers. You rut your hips into her, no rhythm or pace set. 

"You've got such a pretty face," you tell her. "You wouldn't want me to sit on it, would you?" It's something you've been waiting to experience, waiting for the right person. If there was anyone you wanted it with, without hesitation, it's Sevika. 

"I've been waiting for you to say that for so fucking long," Sevika laughs. You laugh with her, finding humor is how long you've spent dancing around each other. 

You roll off of her lap onto your back to shimmy off your pants and underwear. Within seconds, Sevika is sitting up to help you out of your clothes. You lift your hips and she pulls your pants and underwear down on one try. 

Seeing you near fully naked, Sevika admires your body. Every curve is in its perfect place. Every scar is like fine details painted into your skin. Each blemish makes you more and more of a masterpiece. She always thought you were breathtaking but the word felt much more literal now. Breathing was wasted energy, anything other than pouring her full attention into admiring you was useless to her. 

“Sevika… you're staring,” you said under your breath. 

“I- I'm going to die tonight,” she sighs, leaning down to press kisses to your shoulder. She kisses your shoulder until she's grounded herself, no longer lost in passion boiling over in her head. 

“I need you on my face. Now,” she says against your shoulder. 

“Patience.” 

“Fuck that. I need you. I can't wait anymore.” 

She grabs your hips, flipping you over to straddle her waist. She unclasps your bra, pulling the straps off your shoulders. 

“You're still dressed,” you gasped, trying to find an excuse to slow her down. 

“We'll get to that later. Sit on my fucking face.” She grabs at your hips trying to pull you up and shimmy herself down. You admit defeat when she pouts. 

You crawl up her body and place one knee to the left side of her head before swinging the other over her head. You don't sit down on her face yet, shifting your hips back to hover over her shoulders. 

“Fuck, please sit on my face. I can't wait.” her hands grab your thighs, metal and flesh fingers alike digging into you.  

You're ready to give yourself to her, but you're stopped by the look in her eyes. This time she's the one to take your breath away. 

You reach down and stroke her cheek, “You're so pretty.” 

Her hands loosen their grip on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin.

“You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful,” she whispered. The moment was so fragile but nothing could break how she felt for you. 

You feel the need to say something in return but the only words that come to mind are about how you're falling for her. And you can't give yourself away just yet. So you shift your hips over her face. Before you take your seat, you notice that you've forgotten a step in your haste. 

“Wait, we need a safe signal.”

“Like I'd fucking tap out,” she rasps, frustrated that you're so close but just out of reach. 

“Still, we need one.” 

“Fine. I'll tap you twice if I need you off. That work?” 

“That works,” you nod, shifting your hips to position right over her mouth. 

“Oh fuck, thank you.” She sighs before you lower your cunt onto her mouth. 

She starts with kisses to your folds, breathing in your scent while she can still breathe. Her lips press kisses everywhere she can reach, mostly over your labia. Her nose nudges right beneath your clit and you drag your hips back to get her right where you need her. Nose now bumping against your clit, your thighs clench from the added simulation. 

You can feel the tension, built up on months of pent up emotions, dissolving with each pass of her tongue. The tension melts down, collecting inside of you and waiting to be released. Her kisses become open-mouthed as your arousal coats her lips. You jerk your hips, moving your clit over her mouth. She licks around the bud, feeling it twitch and beg to be touched. 

Looking down, you can see her eyes are closed, eyes rolled back behind her lips. Her tongue swipes over your clit and you nearly throw your head back to moan, but you can't tear your eyes away from her. She looks too beautiful beneath you. It makes you feel like you're doing more than taking your own pleasure. It makes you feel like you're not on top, you're on your throne. Your insides clench again as she flicks her tongue over your clit. 

Sevika's hips squirm, trying to find some friction to calm the tension inside of her. Everything about you fuels how much she burns for you. She felt warm whenever you were around but with you filling her senses in this moment, she was close to combustion. She could distantly feel a liquid heat drip from her cunt. With each slow drip that leaked from her, her core coiled with excitement. 

Channeling her yearning into eating you out, she works her tongue over your clit. When you start to shift your hips again, she flattens her tongue letting you move wherever you please. 

You grab her by the hair, grinding onto her tongue to chase your orgasm. It's an orgasm you've been chasing everytime you've masterbated thinking about her. A fantasy that has been just out of reach, and even now it mocks you by running away. 

“Sev, I'm so close,” you choked out. 

You ride her tongue, desperation drowning out the aching in your muscles. Your thrusts are messy, but her tongue finds you each time. No matter where you move, Sevika is there. 

Your orgasm is done with being chased. It meets you, just the way you always imagined it would. It breaks the laws of physics, making gravity cease to exist. Your entire body is weightless as you gasp and choke out Sevika's name. Your grip on her hair is the only thing tying you to this world. 

When the world finally rights itself, gravity working as it should, you lift your weight off of her. Her hands pull your hips forward, setting your dripping hole over her mouth. There's so much more of you to be had and Sevika wasn't ready for the moment to end. 

She laps at your opening, groaning with every bit of cum she licks away. Your taste is even sweeter now, or maybe it was psychological. Sevika wouldn't put it past her to think you taste better after coming. You did things to her that she couldn't explain. 

She is pulled from her thoughts when you jerk your hips away and she detaches her lips. You swing a leg over her head and dismount inelegantly.

“Thank you,” she gasps after she catches her breath. When she no longer needs to gasp for air she takes a deep inhale through her nose, catching your lingering scent that coats her face. 

She doesn't have enough time to react before you straddle her hips and push at her top. You're surprised by your surge of energy but you'd be damned if you didn't return the favor. 

“Sev… Fucking strip for me,” you purr. 

She moans your name, hands reaching up to hold your face and bring you down for a kiss. You dodge the kiss, needing her naked for you. 

“Sevika, I want you. Please… you're too beautiful for me not to see.”  

That makes her heart skip a beat. Sevika doesn't accept compliments but you said that word like it's the truth. So she believed you. 

“Okay,” she nodded, her turn to admit defeat tonight. 

You lift off her lap, moving to unbutton her pants. She lifts her hips and you pull down the waist band. Her pants take more force than you expected to pull over her ass but after a couple tries, they slide all the way down to her knees. She begins to kick her pants down to her ankles then toes them off. 

“The scar is pretty obvious,” she says. You're confused for a moment then you remember why the two of you are in your bed in the first place. On her left thigh is a gash, a centimeter thick and 7 centimeters long. It was a deep cut, evident by how raised and pale the scar is. 

“Shit, that's really fucking bad. How'd you survive?” 

“Took two extra doses of shimmer. You'd be surprised by how life saving that shit can be.”

“Huh,” you shrug. She shifts her hips beneath you and you're back in the moment, forgetting her near death experience. Fuck the reason you finally got her into bed, you have her now and nothing else matters.

You are about to tug at her boxers when her chem tech arm reaches down and tears them apart with two tugs. You snort at her impatience. The amusement is soon gone when you see her cunt. Your imagination has failed you, she's prettier than any fantasy you've had. A trail of opaque, white cum leaking from her. 

“You fucking came?” you asked. 

“I can't control myself with you,” was the best explanation she could give. 

“Oh fuck,” you curse. You bend down to press kisses to her torso, trailing down the valley of her muscles. You don't care that you don't have her top off. If you were going to get your way tonight, it will be coming off eventually. But right now you want to feel her. 

You set your pace slow, kissing downwards to her thighs. She opens her legs, making space for you between them and you gladly take it. 

“Sevika, what do you want?” You doubt you could do anything she wouldn't want but it never hurts to be sure. 

Sevika stops to think for a moment. She imagined every single sexual scenario with you. So which one would she choose? A few crossed her mind but one made the coil of excitement return above the rest. The thought of your fingers, more slender and soft than hers, fucking her until she melts into nothing. 

“Finger me,” she pleads. Sevika keeps surprising you, using a desperate tone that goes against her character. 

“Oh shit, I'm going to fuck you so good,” you sighed. 

You get comfortable on your knees, intending to stay there as long as you can. You trail your fingers over her thighs, tracing words into her skin. You can't tell her that you're falling so you write it out. On her left thigh, ‘I love you” is etched. On her right thigh, “Stay with me” is drawn. 

“Stop tickling me, I need you inside me,” she whines. The sound almost kills you, her velvet voice whining for you to enter her. 

You trace your right hand over her thigh and toward her cunt, teasing just a little more. She gasps when you insert your middle finger. Maybe you do too, with how good she feels. You knew she was wet but what makes you lightheaded is how warm she is. 

Her whines no longer shock you, coming out of her with each slow stroke of your finger. Adding a second finger takes her moans up in pitch. Your fingers feel a thousand times better than she dreamed, non-calloused fingers pulling the coil inside her tighter. 

“More,” she pants. You don't want to leave her word up for interpretation so you ask for clarification. 

“More what? Another finger? Faster? Need me to rub your clit? Tell me,” you urged. 

“Faster! Touch my clit!” she gasps out. Sweat begins to coat her forehead. 

Your fingers pick up their speed, curling against her sweet spot. Without removing your fingers, you move over her right thigh, walking up on your knees before settling down. 

In this position you lay at her side, face next to hers and arm reaching down to finger her. Your palm rubs over her clit with each thrust. You dip your head down to attach your lips. She sighs into your mouth, lips parting to let you control the kiss. 

Everytime your lips meet, you find a new favorite way to kiss her. Now, you find you love biting her lip. She pants and moans into your mouth as her pussy squelches from your fingering. She sounds wetter with each thrust, your fingers gliding in with more and more ease. 

“Please,” she pants, “I'll make a mess.” 

It's your turn to groan into her mouth. That sentence was a threat and a promise. She shifts her hips nudging your fingers to the exact right spot. 

You feel her orgasm wet your fingers as she whimpers out your name. Nothing could've prepared you for how magical making Sevika squirt for you would be. Her breaths huffed into your mouth. Her thighs clamped around your hand. Her pussy leaked all over your fingers. 

After thirty seconds pass, her thighs unclench and you remove your hand. You bring it up to your lips but Sevika grabs your wrist before you can taste her. 

“Can we… I want us… I want to be yours.” Sevika says when she catches her breath. 

“As long as I can be yours.” 

She guides your wrist to your mouth and you take your coated fingers into your mouth. Her taste bursts over your tongue, earthy and slightly salty. You lick your fingers clean and commit her taste to memory. Not that you would never taste her again, but it's something you need to remember. Any moment spent not tasting her will be torture from now on. 

Sevika wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in to lay on her chest. You settle in, placing your head over her heart. The two of you hold each other, you're listening to her heartbeat steady itself. 

“Sorry about your sheets,” you hear her say, words rumbling in her chest. 

You sit up to inspect the damage. The image makes you laugh. Between her thighs is a little heart-shaped puddle. 

“I lo-” you stop before the words come out, “I don't care. It'll wash out.” 

You lay back down to cuddle her, “You came in a heart-shaped puddle, by the way.” 

Sevika snorts, not surprised that her body was outing her feelings for you. She presses a kiss to your forehead, settling for gratefulness that she didn't chicken out tonight. 

“Why did it take so long for us to do this?” you ask. 

“I was afraid you'd figure out that I'm in love with you,” she says. She meant to hide the words but they found their way out. Sevika loves the way you soften her, how you break away all the walls to her heart without trying. 

Your voice is a whisper when you speak, “Are you still scared?” 

“I'm terrified.” 

“Me too.” 

“Scared?” Sevika tries to get you to clarify. She needs to know. 

“No. In love with you.” 

[dumbass-sappho-stan]

hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: the tennis girl weaves her way through simple lover's quarrels and one manipulative blonde boy.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦(?), 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sleepy 𝘛𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ! ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​: 7.7k

Read Part One here!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

The days following your fight with Art were rife with silence and solitude. Sequestered alone in your dorm, you lay there either working on your piling homework or listening to 'emo'-esque music to help funnel your emotions, but that still didn't help.

As much as you hate to admit it the one thing that did was tennis. Wanting to avoid Art and even Tashi, you went as early as possible. Every morning since the fight for at least a solid week, you got up at 4:30 AM, dressed, jumped the court fence to practice for about 5 hours, and exited just as the other 'early' players showed up.

It invigorated you to be energized early in the day and you sometimes smashed the ball or even your racquet if you felt like it. Being alone wasn't a new circumstance for you but it was certainly novel as of late. You were so used to Art's presence on the court and in your life.

Dinners were spent together, and silly chats you two had were the norm for at least a year. Not to mention the bizarre push and pull with the romantic tension between you two. Even before Stanford, you'd labored to get his phone number, after begging Tashi for a few days and speaking to him on the phone constantly.

Though, the blonde seemed just as ardent as you in your aversion to one another. He had tried calling you multiple times and texting but it was fruitless. You'd picked up the phone once to only put it back down.

 ⋆★⋆

"I'm so sorry," Art sobbed, he sounded as if someone had stabbed him, "I'm so, so sorry." You said nothing and stayed neutral. You, unfortunately, picked up the phone after Donaldson had called it 23 times in the past 2 days, and decided the 24th would be the last. It was time to be the bigger person and end the fight between you two.

"Me too, Art." Muttering drily you heard his hiccups stop, and a loud sigh of relief. You could almost feel the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

He whispered your name softly, "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I wanted to say what I thought you wanted."

A sharp pain shot through your chest as those lethal words left his lips and pure white-hot vexation replaced whatever emotion had been there previously. It was silent between the two of you, which confused the boy.

Art called your name but was interrupted, "You know what I want Art Donaldson?" You roared, "For your fucking castration to be slow and painful!"

 ⋆★⋆

The poor cutesy, pink Motorola Razr was no longer a phone after the conversation and lay shattered on your floor for days before you finally felt bad and threw it out. Your new one, a hue of bright cherry red, felt much more fitting for this new lifestyle.

Tashi you didn't actually avoid, more like you didn't tell her what was wrong. If beating around the bush was a professional sport you would've left tennis ages ago. Every time you and Tashi would be talking, in your small instants outside of your room or the court that week, Art would approach and you'd immediately give these automated lines;

"Oh shit, Tashi, sorry I got an essay to write!"

"Oops! I forgot I had a thing I have to get to so.."

"It's what time? I gotta go walk my fish!"

Ausispously, these went unnoticed by Tashi because in every single one of the instances you slipped away back to your dorm and to your desolation, without as much as a blink from your friend. If you weren't so content in your loneliness you probably would have been much more uncertain or at least unhappy about her sudden disconnect from you, but chalked it up to Patrick being in town for a longer period.

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𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

The loud pounds landed dully against your door and woke you up immediately. Your body sat up and the sun's harsh blare into your tiny room flashed in your face, nearly blinding you upon waking up. You frantically glanced around your dorm room, seeing if it was something inside rather than external.

But no, all in your room were your postered walls full of music artists, art pieces themselves, silly photos of you and your friends from home (though most of those photos were overshadowed by Tashi's), and other miscellaneous items that sat around. In the small moment of silence between pounds, you began to slightly enjoy the pleasing sight of how pretty your room looked in the California dawning sun.

However, you were quickly slapped back into reality because the pounding had not ceased; seemingly getting louder if it was imaginable. What the fuck... That specific thought rattled through your foggy brain and your face contorted to deep confusion—even fear. Yet, you finally got the motivation to gradually inch toward the door, not even knowing who the fuck could be on the other side. The door rattled and shook explosively the closer you got until a hand to the handle.

The metal felt cool and smooth under your grasp. Soon flinching at the pounding and slightly wondered how your neighbors didn't get pissed off yet. But, you focused and opened the door.

Then there he was, Patrick Zweig, in all his glory posed in a mid-pound gesture at your dorm room door, staring straight at you.

"Hi,"

"Hey..."

Patrick soon pushed his way past you, walking into your dorm unphased. "Okay, just come right in.." You muttered, shutting the door behind you before turning to him. He stood in the middle of your room, inspecting it like he's the fucking DA. Nevertheless, he looked quite pretty as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with some dorky slogan and jorts—fit for California weather.

The silence was palpable between you two, Patrick seemed unbothered, almost jovial, and the signature devilish glint in his eyes. You, in contrast, glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

"Don't you look joyful?" Patrick chuckled, a playful smile soon following. Your scowl didn't budge but despite that, he came toward you with arms open wide, and enclosed you in a hug, "I'm certainly happy to see you." His words were muffled in the tangled mess that was your hair at this early of an hour. You hugged back briefly, then pressed him off.

"Pounding at my door at..." You glanced at the digital clock, "Jesus Christ, 7:15 in the morning?!" A small chuckle left Patrick again at his ability to get a rise out of you. You crossed your arms angrily and pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

"Well, I'm eager to see one of my two special girls," He quipped, leaning back on your window sill with a surprising suaveness. That had become his nickname for you and Tashi over the past months. His 'special' girls were his way of flirting with you and getting on your nerves all at the same time. Both he and your best friend found it hilarious.

"Zweig, you have a pretty fucking odd way of showing 'enthusiasm'," A scoff left your lips just as you sauntered to the bathroom that was tangent to your room. The brunette soon followed and leaned on the doorway as you started your routine.

"I adore you, pookie!" A shutter audibly left you when he drawled out the terribly cheesy nickname. That one was the worst.

"Bleugh," You gagged, "Jesus Christ, Patrick why can't you be normal?" Somehow you frowned even deeper if that was even possible.

The boy laughed in reply, "Because who would be around to force you to have some fun?" Patrick looked at you with those eyes, his pretty forestry eyes that have broken hearts all across the country, they were meant for you. It made you want to stare back with your own, basking in it like a summer's day. And that smile, god— his smile was the sun itself. If Art was the ice, Patrick was the fire, the sun. The sun's light could always melt the winter's snow, you assumed he was with Tash for that similar reason. Opposites attract.

You started to feel yourself blush, your mind overthinking and repeating thoughts that all were about him, Patrick.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

Hastily, you rushed to turn on the faucet and started to forcefully wash your face. Hopefully, it would wash away the shame that overtook the sudden rush of emotions for your best friend's boyfriend. Damnit, this is what happens when you don't get laid for a week... Scolding yourself internally, you washed your face and sighed to look back at him. As you expected, his eyes were still on you. But something had changed, the playfulness just wasn't there. It was something else, but you didn't have the time to place it before he looked away.

"So," Patrick spoke your name, "I haven't seen you for my entire time here, and..." He paused for effect, "I missed you."

You gasped dramatically and put a hand to your chest, "Me? Patrick Zweig misses me?" Teasing him with a smile, "What an honor! What's next, I get taken to the Dollar Tree?"

Laughter bounced off the small walls as the two of you were terribly unfunny and it was mutually known. It didn't stop you two from laughing at the stupidity of it. The laughter endured for a moment or two before it died down.

"But really," Patrick started to pull himself together, "I did miss you. Y'know how Art is these days, and Tashi only wants to talk about fucking tennis..." He stepped closer to you, close enough for his hand to slightly caress your free arm. "You're honestly my only friend right now..."

You laugh awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere from his own. Patrick was looking at you, you knew it, but if you looked now you wouldn't be responsible for what you would do after. Self-control was one of the better traits you'd taken from Tashi—you stepped away from his touch and smiled thinly.

"Oh come on Patrick," The shitty tile of your bathroom floor seemed more and more interesting as the seconds passed, "Tashi's just trying to help you." You knew what he was referring to as Tashi complained of Patrick's inability to listen to criticism.

Patrick scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, regardless didn't reply. He dropped the subject, realizing ages ago you'd always choose to defend Tashi over anyone else. He shifted back to his original plan.

"Okay, that's whatever, would you like to go out tonight then?" He asked, his original jovial tone returning, and suddenly like that, everything was okay. The bizarre tension was gone and you could meet his gaze with a knowing face.

"I'll think about it." That answer seemed good enough for Patrick, you witnessed a cheesy exclamation and a terrible fist pump to follow. You sighed at his absurdity but it finally got him out of your doorway as he sauntered back out to your room.

"Great! I'll see you at 8 tonight," He announced, walking toward the door and out the door before he could hear your faint, "Patrick I don't-"

It was suddenly silent in your dorm again. Which, you were grateful for as it meant now you had time to concentrate; you could possibly continue your new 15-step life plan of isolation and become the second-best tennis-female player of all time, Tashi would be the first. Or get black-out drunk tonight and forget all about everything. Each option was very crucial.

A few hours of homework later, you had determined two things like you had done a week ago. One, yes you did need to get black-out drunk, Two, you had to make more male friends that weren't your best friend's boyfriend or said boyfriend's best friend.

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The club was hot and sweaty, it felt as if it'd swallow you whole with the number of people who crowded around you. Dancing, grinding, touching. You hadn't drunk enough alcohol for you to start to enjoy this feeling so off to the bar you went. Patrick followed in tandem, keeping a good trail on you as he was the "designated driver", though you were sure that both of you were going home in a taxi that night.

Patrick ordered a round of 10 shots of assorted types of strong-smelling alcohol and smiled at you, though the smile made you queasy. It exactly mirrored Tashi's smile when she forced you to do shit.

"My favorite girl, pick your poison," The brunette snickered, taking in the blank features that had taken over. "Unless you're a pussy."

"Oh, I'm a pussy?" You raised your eyebrow in defiance, "Please, Patrick, watch and learn." Mirroring his confident smirk, you picked up one random shot and took it back. Then another, and another, and another... Soon there were only 3 shots left for your friend and your tongue started to go numb. The boy laughed at your efforts and followed your lead by taking the rest of the shots.

Shortly, you were on the dance floor, the colored lights seemed so much more welcoming and the touch of strangers felt like a blaze. You drunkenly danced with Patrick, spinning and moving against each other, hands above the waist for both of you as it felt anything but personal. Occasionally you two would make eye contact for too long and would just erupt in giggles and he'd take you for another spin. Patrick knew how to have fun and pulled you along for the ride.

During some Nelly Furtado song, you'd finally gotten fatigued of the club after who knows how long of dancing, drinking, and other illicit activities that involved a certain plant. You tugged at Patrick's collar of his shirt and he stopped his movement.

"Patrick," You slurred, "I wanna go home.." He looked down at your figure and nodded his head. Patrick led you off of the dance floor and finally outside of the club. You clutched onto his shirt on the walk to the car, which honestly felt like miles. Patrick filled the air with little comments about the people who had filled the club and it made you giggle. Though, as drunk as you were anything could've made you laugh.

"Yes! The car!" The grip on his shirt tightened as you through one of your hands in the air in celebration, "I'm so fuckinggg... tired.." You dragged out your constants as you both made your way to the car. Ultimately, it was more like Patrick was walking and you slanted onto him, trotting along.

"Mhm," Patrick hummed, he'd kept one hand on your waist but you hadn't really noticed it. There were many things you didn't notice in your inebriated state.

Patrick, luckily, hadn't drunk as much as you and was sober enough to drive you home. You laid your head comfortably on the window as you observed the blackened city and yellowed road soar past you. It was serene, you and Patrick. It was the first time in the past week you felt a smidge above the bare minimum. Your head was hazy and everything felt so miniature; boxed in.

The ride home was rather reserved, with no one speaking other than you drunkenly giving him directions to your dorm. Eventually, after he had to call Tashi, he stopped in front of the building.

"We're here, Sleeping Beauty," Patrick murmured quietly, slightly nudging you with his hand. When you responded with a groan, he sighed and got out of the car. You perked up a bit and lazily followed his figure until he opened the door. The lack of movement signaled to Patrick that he would be the one to get you out of this car.

Patrick heaved you out of your seat, to your disdain, and he held you close as he closed the passenger door behind you. Your face was squashed in the curve of his neck. He smelt like really lovely cologne and sweat.

Looking up at him, Patrick met your gaze with his own and smiled, "Hi." You smiled back, "Hey.." His hand stayed trained on your waist and you felt that warmth. The fervor you felt that night in the hotel room. It pooled deep inside of you, and it made the stupid smile on your face grow even wider.

"What are you smiling at?" Patrick grinned at your behavior and his hand that had been unlocking the door moved up to cup your cheek. Both of you stood there under the cloak of the night sky, staring foolishly at one another. He softly said your name, "What are you smiling at, pretty girl?"

The tone of his voice was something you'd never be able to interpret in your lifetime. Forgotten among memories and the intoxication, you thought about what led to the position you were in years later, and next to that night in the hotel room, this seemed to be another flick to the dominos collapsing.

Patrick didn't wait for your response, his lips were already on yours. He felt needy in this kiss, it was long and passionate. Your eyes were clenched shut, the euphoria you felt from being so out of it momentarily leaving your body to replace it with stone-cold regret. The kiss was split when you finally pushed one hand to his chest.

"Patrick?" You muttered, "What the fuck?" Patrick's air sobered at your words. He looked at you, the mere panic very visible on his face. Had he fucked up?

"What?" The brunette laughed humorously, "Did I, erm..." He was searching through his lexicon to say anything that could save whatever the hell just happened.

The shame began to quickly devour you, a sickish feeling overtaking your senses. Whatever just happened mortified you to no extent. You staggered back from Patrick, finally meeting his frenzied eyes.

Your eyes started to gloss over and you cried. Tears fell freely down your face as you felt the humiliation slap you in the face. All of it. The humiliation of Art not even liking you, Tashi's carelessness this week, and then this. The culmination of the efforts from the four of you, kissing your best friend's boyfriend. Or rather he kissed you, but what was the true distinction?

"What the fuck Patrick!?" You roughly wiped the tears that continued to fall, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said nothing, only stared, so similar to his best friend.

"Jesus... The both of you!" You barked, "The both of you two fucking astound me." Your words were sharp and cutting bore into Patrick, apparently, that's what got him.

"What," His voice trailed off as his demeanor only heightened in puzzlement, "What do you mean both?"

"You and your fuck-face friend, that's who!" Your words blended together, as unfortunately, you were still pretty shit-faced. "You and Art fucking around with my head..."

Patrick tensed, "Art's fucking with your head?"

"Yes!" You replied, throwing your hands out in anger, "He's still in love with your girlfriend, and decided to fuck me on the side!"

Patrick's eyebrows raised, he knew Art was trying to manipulate the situation by trying to break him and Tashi apart but he didn't know that you were weaved in here too.

"That's... fucked up." He attempted to comfort you, very awkwardly.

"Yes, it is fucked up Patrick, almost as fucked up as you kissing me." You shot back venomously, narrowing your eyes at him. Patrick went quiet for a beat. He looked at you, looked away, and back at you. He seemed to be deliberating something.

"There's nothing fucked up about it," He finally answered, "I wanted to."

An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips. Your face contorted. "What?"

"I want you."

It felt like a gallon of cold water splashed on you. You stumbled back even further from the boy, your expression no longer confused but mortified.

Thundering down the sidewalk, you callously ran to where you didn't know. You heard Patirck's calls after you but they didn't matter. It wasn't as if he ran after you. The haze from everything that had happened still lingered as you ran. The thoughts bombarded your mind aimlessly, wondering what Patrick meant or what he might say to Tashi.

Tashi...

You'd raced so far that you were there at her dorm, which was seated right next to the tennis courts. Vision hazy, you tumbled into the building. It felt dingy and humid and walking through the corridors you tripped about six times and fully fallen over 3; that didn't stop you though from your destination.

By the grace of god, you handled yourself well enough to place three ordered knocks on Tashi's door, then slump to the floor with a deep sigh. Honestly, you didn't expect her to open the door. You didn't know what time it was but it was late enough into the night (or the early hours of the morning), that the rest of the world was silent.

Everything went silent for a moment as you stared at that wooden door. You focused on a dent in the door itself, right near the handle. You were so immersed in the indentation that you didn't notice the door hinged open.

"Well, well, well... look who it is," Tashi stared down at you with a slight smile. There she was.

"Tashi!" Your mood was instantly lifted at her company and smiled right back. The nastiness, the dread, and the remorse were lifted instantly once you saw her. She let out a sigh once she saw your state— your outfit was skimpy, mascara and eyeliner were smeared all over your face, and you looked like you'd cried a river.

"Christ," She sighed out your name, "Can't you have a good night?"

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You and Tashi lay on her bed peacefully, and you exchanged no sentiments in those moments. She'd washed you up from your sordid state and now she was tracing designs in the curve of your hip. Tashi laid her chin on your head and you nestled on her collarbone. This was a frequent situation for either of you, as, during tournaments during your adolescent year, nights were spent braiding each other's hair, swapping secrets with smiles, and just being girls.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" Tashi hummed, staring out into her own cluttered room. Smiling like a fool you replied, "Talk about what?"

"Art, he told me about what happened." She continued, her hand moved from your hip to your hair. Tashi threaded her fingers through it gently and you let out a giggle.

"Pfft, Art.. that stupid, dumb blonde," Laughter filled the room, and you drew your head away from Tashi to meet her. "He's just stupid, that's all."

Tashi held back her own laughter at your intoxicated words, "I see.." You nodded in confirmation and laid back down cuddled back in. "Well, I just wanted you to know that this week I wasn't trying to avoid you," She resumed, "Art just told me about your emotional state, and knowing you, I know you like space."

You hoisted your head again and sneered, "You'd believe that twink?" Tashi giggled and rolled her eyes, "I don't think you can say that anymore," She spoke your name in a scold, "But, yes I did, he's pretty fucking convincing you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Convincing my ASS," Your eyebrows drew together in irritation at the mention of the boy, "He's stupid, just like the other one.."

Dead air obscured the room again, the only sound being you and Tashi's breathing. The warmth you'd felt from the alcohol returned again, but it felt different. It didn't feel as murky or slowing, it felt good. Yet, the disgrace from earlier was still in the back of your mind. You knew the next day would hold so much bullshit for you and your friend depending on Patrick's efforts or if Art decided to tell Tashi whatever Patrick would recount to him. The involvement of the two boys had made everything so muddled.

"Tashi,"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll love me forever?" You asked quietly, finally breaking the tranquility. The voice you had dawned felt foreign to you, it was desperate, vulnerable. Tashi pulled herself away from you to meet your eyes. Her deep sharp eyes scrutinized you with an unreadable gaze.

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh it off with a dry chuckle.

"I said what I meant," You slurred in reply, a pout, "Will you love me forever?"

Tashi scoffed, "I'm not fucking Mother Theresa," She said your name with a mocking edge. "You're my best friend, I..." Tashi stopped to carefully phrase her words so you could understand in your blitzed condition. "I like you more than any other person on planet Earth."

Your pout formed into a frown, and you stayed silent. Tashi then exhaled wearily, knowing she'd hurt your feelings but didn't say anything. It was a staring contest that you wouldn't win. Tashi did like you a lot, more than she liked her family, friends, and her boyfriend. But she wasn't good at pretending—she couldn't pretend she loved more than one thing. She loved one thing, and one thing only; Tennis.

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us." That response caught Tashi off guard and she blanked. "I'll love you seeds and all, Tashi Duncan." The announcement of your love for her wasn't on the list of things Tashi thought she would've heard tonight. A nervousness overtook her but you didn't notice, you just stared in determination.

"Seeds and all?" Tashi questioned, her demeanor shifted to something a bit fainter, similar to yours.

"Yes, Tashi, seeds and all," You said it as if it was the most common thing in the world and laid back down. A sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over you, it was so easy to fall asleep. Despite this, Tashi stayed awake and watched you. It wasn't uncommon for you to say sappy shit and for Tashi to combat it with banter, but this felt more amorous; for the first time in the girl's life, she felt confused.

Tashi glanced back down at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful and pretty. An involuntary grin graced her features as she lay next to you. Her face was inches away from your own, bringing her hand to brush away some stray pieces of your hair to simply stare at you.

"I love you too," The girl muttered your name, kissing the apple of your cheek, turning around to her side of the bed, and falling into a slumber soon after. Tashi had assumed you were sleeping and wouldn't remember it even if you weren't. But, unfortunately for her, you had heard.

Tashi Duncan loved you.

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𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄, 𝙊𝙃𝙄𝙊, 2011

𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯

The hotel bar's music softly played through the speakers, setting a particular homely affection amid the room. A few people were there, tennis players and normal patrons alike, drinking or crying over their loss today. Cincinnati, Ohio was one of the last stops any of these players had of making it to the US Open but unfortunately, they didn't make the cut.

You on the other hand? The 15-step plan was in motion but this time you'd be first. Going pro three years ago was one of the best decisions you'd made, in your life. The dream was cradled in the palm of your hand. Young, beautiful, determined, the brands just ate you up.

Being sponsored by Nike, doing commercials for popular products, and selling out was pretty amicable. The celebrity that came with it was a sweet taste that you sunk your teeth in. People shouted your name on the street and begged for your signature, they wanted you. The only downside was that now and again you'd have to see him.

God, You thought, when was the last time I heard this song... Instead of nursing your drink, you glanced around the room, observing the players. You recognized some from previous competitions and some you'd played today. Suddenly, noticing how everyone had someone to talk to, it was exposing to be the lone person at the bar. At 23 and no man, for now, was a smidge uncomfortable.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you...

While scanning the room, you saw her, sitting there with her computer propped up and sporting a shorter hairstyle. A jolt surged through you, you'd seen enough of her today, and you swiveled your head back forward. Another bad move, there he was. The blonde shaggy curls bedazzled you when he strolled in. Art Donaldson walked through the room and the world stopped turning.

Art walked into the bar in search of something. He just didn't know what. For the past few weeks since the Atlanta Open, he'd been on edge; for what he didn't really know. The looming task of the US Open had been teasing him for years, but he was young. He had time to play and win it, this year might just be his year. Though that's what he told himself. The US Open was what he was worried about. Yes, nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely not about certain brunettes.

Art made eye contact with you for a split second. A look flashed across both of your faces, both with varying feelings. Art's face showed an emotion of enchantment, like seeing a rare jewel. You looked like you swallowed sour milk. You shifted your gaze away from him and back to your drink. The alcohol stung your nose.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger...

Do you have to let it linger?

A shiver strained through you, wondering if the universe was truly trying to get you to buy 30 mg of fentanyl and a bottle of vodka. Art you were used to, both of you were established and young tennis players, it was foretold the two of you would cross paths after that day. Every time it did happen there were formalities exchanged between you two, and then you'd take 4 shots of the choice of alcohol that night and cry.

Art peeked back at you once more before back on his path to Tashi. She was perfect, he had known that fact since the day he met her. Shoved on the pedestal, his fiance typed stormily at her computer, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

A smile grazed his face, "Hey," He sat down across from her. Tashi barely acknowledged him with a nod. Art sighed and tapped on the rim of her computer, "Hey Tashi..."

Tashi exhaled and lips thinned, "Hi, what's up?" She curtly replied, "I'm working right now on our deal with Nike," Art's confidence slightly buckled under her glare and apparent annoyance with him.

"Oh, well, nothing..." He trailed off with his smile being replaced with a slight pout, unfortunately for Art, this irritated the coach more. "Well, then get out of my face. You have a game tomorrow," She articulated concisely instructed him with a tone a mother would use, "A game you need to win."

Art straightened up a bit, winning was important, he knew that but he missed Tashi. His paranoia surely wasn't helping her curtness as of recently, but he was still relegating it to US Open nerves. He just needed to win and it'd be fine. "Okay," He agreed, "I'll see you upstairs?" The blonde was met with a quick nod, the sound of typing only emitted.

"I love you."

"I know."

Art left the table with a sullen expression on his features, but you didn't know that. Now you were focused on what type of wood the table was, to avoid thinking about when was the last time the three of you were in the same room. Maybe it's maple.... Your thoughts were soon cut off by a buzz from your phone. The iPhone 4 buzzed madly in your pocket and you pulled it out.

It was some random number you didn't have on your phone.

415-xxx-xxxx

𝘏𝘪, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 3𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺.

A miniature smile begged to come onto your features, even texting you could hear the way he'd talk with his comforting, careful diction. But then the meaning of the message settled deep inside you. He wanted to meet you up? Why? Confusion replaced the thick nostalgia as the cogs in your head started to work. It confused you, but you were intrigued. Plus, what was the worst that could happen?

212-xxx-xxxx

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

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Idily standing in the dingy ice room, you'd start contemplating your life choices. Specifically, the ones that led you to this moment. Why did you approve of this? Why did you go to that fucking bar? You're not even supposed to drink the day before a game. Oh, that's right, you remembered, Patrick Zweig.

♬��♬☆♬☆

Earlier that day...

The cooling feeling of the concrete against your back felt like pertinent compensation after a day of sprinting around in the sun. You'd finally made it to the semi-finals after dominating through the bracket, some you'd played against during earlier tournaments, others were just painless to beat and move on to the following one. Nonetheless, the girl you'd just played had given you a run for your money. Not because she was good, but because you were distracted.

Tashi Duncan, coach of the FAMOUS Art Donaldson, observed your match. You'd noticed her when perusing the stands after the first game when you were looking for your friend who had come to cheer you on. Seeing her was the biggest mistake of your game, serve after serve it'd either be out or barely touched the net. It was utterly embarrassing and you'd lost the second game by 15 love. When it was the break you'd skimmed only to find her gone.

It pissed you off. Who the fuck does she think she is? You clenched your water bottle angrily, your knuckles shy of a shade lighter than normal skin tone. The spite of Tashi leaving your game (or so you thought) had lit that flame that you doused years ago. The flame of insecurity produced by Tashi Duncan.

You were relentless against the girl, hitting the ball with your full strength each and every time. An intense volley had occurred in the middle of the game, so intense that your opponent fell face forward in an attempt to catch the shot (she did not). The stadium was silent other than the loud sounds of your grunts and anger. It was hotter than the concrete you played on but just as hard. It pissed you off so much that when you won, instead of your normal self-indulgent bow, you smashed your racquet to the floor and a roar. The crowd scarfed it down, hailing you as a passionate and beautiful player, tenacious against competition.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go home and cry, but you were hustled off the court to where you are now. Stranded in the hallway and lying in your muddled emotions. It was now the men's bracket, but you didn't plan on watching anyone. Particularly Donaldson. Yet, trying to make it out of the vacant hallway, a familiar face entered your vision.

"There's the golden girl!" No words in a dictionary could express the face you made at that moment.

"Oh my..." You muttered under your breath, turning around to see Patrick Zwieg, in all of his sleazy glory. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here Patrick?"

Patrick laughed with faux hurt, "Aw, aren't you just a ball of sunshine!" He tried to get closer to you but you edged back. He gauged your expression and sighed, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me..."

You scoffed in disgust, "Christ Patrick, seeing you is like seeing a dog with cancer, it should be put down already." The brunette's lips pulled into a smirk, he crossed his arms and gave an irksome look.

"Well, I'm not a dog," He corrected, "I'm a cat and we got 9 lives." An exasperated sigh left your lips, your eyes meeting his with a tiredness. After the mind-fuck of seeing Tashi, you had no bandwidth for Patrick's bitchiness.

"I don't fucking care, Patrick," You hissed, finally starting back on your walk. Patrick started to slightly slip from his confidence, he hadn't expected this. He usually was able to keep you around for a good banter but you'd genuinely just stopped it this time. To keep you from going he snatched your forearm, keeping you from going any further.

Your glare deepened, "Let me go!" He didn't budge and kept you in place, although you started struggling to try and escape his strong grasp.

Patrick spoke your name calmly, "I just want to talk..." He sounded like he was talking to a feral cat. Grunting and now starting to whine, you struggled in an attempt to get away from him and this conversation. "About what? How you fucked over my best-" You stopped yourself, the word 'friend' died on the tip of your tongue. You two weren't friends, you hadn't been for years. Patrick caught this moment of vulnerability and used this.

"Friend? Please, she left you once you got better," He goaded with a sinister grin, "She couldn't stand that you could play and she couldn't."

The struggle became relentless as you started to shout for 'help' but it was useless. You were isolated. The best you'd gotten was dragging Patrick an inch or two across the floor, no escape was foreseen. A thin line formed on your lips as you glared.

"Shut up Patrick, don't fucking project your bullshit with Art on me,' You spat venomously, "He won, you're fucking losing, so what?"

Patrick chuckled drily, "Won what? The match? In case you forgot I won that-"

"NO!" You cut him off with a shout, "God no Patrick, he won at life. He's getting married to the girl you, and only you Patrick, lost because you're a dipshit." Face contorted into one of pure hatred for the man in front of you, and his hold finally slackened for you to draw your arm back.

Patrick rolled his eyes, "Newsflash, I slept with the girl I lost like.." He stopped speaking to count on his fingers, "Three weeks ago!" A triumphant and smug smirk graced his features.

"Great, so you can add home-wrecker to your tennis accolades?" You raised a brow and scoffed again, "You astonish me Zweig, you really do."

Patrick's grin didn't budge, "I aim to please," He did feel quite pleased with himself, and was even more pleased because he confidently believed you were jealous. Jealous that Tashi Duncan slept with him again and you didn't. He was sorely mistaken.

A heavy breath was taken in and you became focused. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to him, "Patrick, you may've fucking one that on match, let's say a battle." You began harshly, "But you didn't win the war, Art did."

Coming closer to Patrick to look him square in the eye, "Art is going to marry Tashi, he won. He will continue to win and be remembered." Patrick clenched his fists to try and calm himself, your words cutting in like serrated blades, "Who will you be Patrick?"

The question echoed throughout Patrick's mind, but you didn't waste time on his reply. Quickly, you stormed away after and resolved that the finest thing to do was to drink this moment away.

♬☆♬☆

A disgusted exclamation softly left your lips as you remembered that instant from today. Patrick always knew how to rile you up, to push your buttons until they'd break. At this point, you thought he enjoyed pissing you off. However, your internal monologuing was cut off by approaching footsteps. Darting up from the checkered carpeted floor, the blonde approached.

Art felt his palms begin to sweat when he saw your languid figure up against the vending machine. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him, even when looking like you wanted to kill him. He sauntered into the small corridor and shut the door behind him.

Then, he pivoted around to face you. A hush swallowed both of you. It had been the first time you two were alone in around 3 years, at least. Art looked nervous meanwhile you looked disinterested.

"So?" You asked expectantly, "What did you need to talk about?" Art uncoiled and bit his lip. What did he want to talk about again..?

"Oh uhm.." He stuttered, "Hi, so..." Art desperately combed his mind for an answer, "I just saw you and I..." He coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight, "I just wanted to know how you were."

You took a deep breath and then let out a sigh, "Great, so you wanted to waste my time?" Art visibly flinched at your response and his lips twitched in apprehension.

"No, I just missed you," He asserted quickly, trying to meet your tone. Art's deep blue eyes met your own and something tugged at your heartstrings. "We both missed you."

"We?" A wiry laugh echoed in the room, "I don't think Tashi misses me, Arthur, but a cute way of guilt-tripping me." You cooed mockingly with a smirk. A sour expression fell across Art's countenance at the use of his full government name.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and; after a beat spoke, "We watched your name today," Art stared at you intensely, "You were good, but what fucked you up during the second game?"

You clenched your fists, annoyed that he had been there too. "I don't know, it's called none-ya."

"What's none-ya?" He asked, confused by your retort.

"None of ya fucking business, Donaldson," You shot, "We aren't friends, we don't have tea parties and talk about fucking tennis."

"Well," Art started calmly, holding himself together, "Why don't we talk about anything but tennis?" You smiled fakly at his offer and stepped toward him, the height difference not really being too big, close enough to meet eye to eye.

"Then why the hell are we talking, Art, if we're not talking tennis?"

Art was silenced by your reply and stared down at the floor. He understood why you were acting the way you were, you were hurt. Aching. He would be too if he were in your shoes. The boy knew it wasn't him that should be talking to you. If anything would be solved between you and him, it'd first have to be solved between you and his fiance.

So, he looked back up at you, "I don't know why are we still talking?" The way Art said your name triggered some deep-buried emotions you had killed many years ago along with your insecurities. It was the seductive, whiny nature of Art Donaldson that kept you awake during the hard, lonely nights and right now it was your reality.

The space between you two was barely existent, lips almost touching... Your phone buzzed. The moment was ruined instantly and you quickly plucked out your phone. It was your coach, texting you verbatim to 'GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, NOW!' with five angry emojis.

Art's eyes searched your movements as you read the message. He was so intent on solving or fixing things with you tonight that he hadn't acknowledged that other outside forces could interfere. When he saw you play today and then back at the bar? It fell into place for him, he just had to have you again. He had to. He deserved it right?

You shoved Art aside and opened the door, focused on now going to sleep and preparing for your game tomorrow. Simply put, you didn't have time for stupid boys like Art Donaldson who wanted to play tennis with two balls. It was ineffective.

But, just as you were down the hallway he shouted, "Tashi misses you!" You ignored him, "She told me to tell you."

"Tell her," Turning around so he could directly hear you, "Tell her that she can go fuck herself, and," You had stopped speaking, storming off to right in front of the man, "Go fuck yourself too." It was easy to snatch the collar of his old grey hoodie and capture him in a kiss.

The clash of lips was a brutish one, Art being caught off guard and you kissing forcefully as if he was the last thing on earth. His hands traveled to your jaw and let you take control of the kiss.

It was a longer one, almost juvenile, letting yourself clash teeth or slightly push up against him. You finally pulled away, his bottom lip sliding through your teeth slowly, keeping eye contact while it bounced back in place.

The both of you were flushed a deep crimson, now both frustrated and sexually frustrated you let out an exclamation of anger and strode furiously down the hall, into the stairway.

There left was Art, his attempts hopeless and now he was alone. His hand shakily rose to his lips where you had just been. Fingers gently grazing his lip before letting out a shaky sigh. It'd been forever since he'd been caught so off-guard, it shook him inside. You always did, pushing his own buttons instead of yours. Art was always susceptible to your touch and words.

Yet, frowned when he thought of the way you had spoken to him tonight. You had become so jaded, so much more.. mean. It reminded him of how Tashi used to talk back at Stanford. Before the injury. How confident she was, somehow more than now, and how she had the world at the tips of her fingers. Art silently wished he'd handled that day differently than he did. But, deep down, he knew he didn't. Art got what he wanted at the end of the day, wasn't that beautiful?

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Hi! I really hope you guys liked this chapter, I really wanted to explore the character dynamics more and just flesh out the relationships. It'll get spicy, trusttt!

Please like or comment!! I would love to hear what y'all think or want for the plot, you guys were literally so, so nice in the last part!

Thank you for reading <3

🇹​​🇦​​🇬​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​:

@jackierose902109

@bloodyrevengedbullets

@ssababe

@skylerwhitwyo

[rafesfavgirl]

little old me — r. cameron

soooooo my deepest, darkest, most impulsive thoughts may have won over with this one. hopefully you like it or at the very least, understand why i wrote it :)

❝ who’s afraid of little old me? you should be. ❞

pairing: bf!rafe x dark!reader

context: rafe comes to realize you’re more like him than he thought.

words: 3k+

warnings: definitely +18. mdni. murder, dark!rafe, psycho!rafe, psycho!reader, jealousy, possessive behavior, p in v sex, unprotected sex, sub!rafe (kind of, but not really), choking, praise kink, cutting, stabbing, blood, violence, blood play (idek if it counts tbh), dark fluff (is that even a thing?), SMUT with fucked up plot… rafe and reader being crazy, basically

you stood by the bar beside your best friend, engaged in conversation about some guy who'd pissed her off today by standing her up on a date, your eyes focused on the scene behind her head, where your boyfriend sat on the couch in the living room, a girl with short brown hair beside him, trying to cling onto his arm.

you feel your grip around your glass tighten, as the girl's hand gets closer and closer to wrapping around rafe's bicep.

"do you know who that girl is?" you cut your best friend off in the middle of her sentence and she snaps her head to what or who you're looking at.

"oh, that's sofia," she tells you, taking a sip of her drink. "she works as a bartender at the club. always flirting with top, kelce, and rafe. why? you jealous?"

heat rises in your chest at the mention of the girl constantly flirting with rafe, but you play it off. "please," a scoff leaves your mouth. "you know he knows better."

you take sip of your drink, and pull out your phone to text rafe.

you: if that sofia girl touches you one more time, i stg i'm dragging her ass across the floor

rafe: chill baby

rafe: you won't

you click your tongue and type away, your best friend watching your every move.

"you good?" she asks.

"mhm," you hum, sending the message.

you: you think i'm kidding?

you: try me, bitch.

you look up to find rafe snickering at your text, which only pisses you off more as he texts you back.

rafe: shut the fuck up, and get over here.

you: fuck no. tell her my drink's empty.

rafe watches as you down the rest of your drink and set the glass down on the bar, before waltzing away and heading outside, throwing him a glare as you do. he rolls his eyes at your antics, but gets up to follow you anyway.

“where the fuck are you going?” he calls after you, trailing closely behind as you cross the front lawn. “you came here with me.”

“i’ll call an uber,” you reply, continuing to walk towards the road. “go back inside and let sofia touch you some more.”

“oh my god,” he groans and catches up to you, grabbing onto your wrist to make you stop and look at him. “will you quit being a brat?”

you tilt your head up at him, fire in your eyes as they lock with his. “and what are you gonna do if i don’t?”

—

a moan slips out of your mouth as your back hits rafe's bedroom door, making it slam shut—thank god, his family had gone to the bahamas—as he kissed you like a man starved.

"still got more to say about sofia?" he says against you, lips trailing down to your neck, and hands trailing up your thighs to hook them around his waist. "jump."

you do as you're told, your legs locking around him and your fingers tangling into his hair, as your lips connected again and rafe's hands trailed up your back—one pressing you against him and one sliding up your hair.

he turns and lets you fall onto the bed with him above you, your legs still locked around him, as he began untying the knot in your shirt. he pushes it off of you, revealing your lacy white bra.

"fuckkk y/n," he groans, hand reaching up to grab at one of your tits.

"you like it baby?" you ask, as he trails wet kisses down your neck and collar bone. "it's new."

"i love it," he says, fingers unclasping it from the front, and lips moving to wrap around your now exposed nipple.

his other hand massages your other boob, finger flicking at your sensitive nub.

you pull him up to attach his lips back to yours. "i want you, rafe. now."

he chuckles against your lips, the vibration turning you on more, the spot between your legs getting wetter. you flip the both of you over so you're straddling him. 

"i like this side of you, doll," he looks up at you with a smirk as you rid yourself of your bra, and he reaches up to grab both your tits. "should make you jealous more often."

"shut up," you say, leaning back down to kiss him, hands entwining into his hair as your hips press down into his.

a groan falls from his mouth as his hands roam over your body, your hard nipples pressing against him.

"need you, pretty girl," he said, hips lifting into yours.

"more than sofia?" you ask, pulling your lips away from his.

"more than anyone," he replies, hands snaking around the front of your waist to unbutton your shorts.

you move to the side so he can tug them off your legs, along with your lacy white thong, while you reach to pull his shirt off his head and he takes off his shorts.

you swing your leg back over him once you're both naked, hovering and grinding your hips above him, slickness coating his dick just enough to tease him.

"doll, come on," he whines, attempting to press you down onto his length.

you place both your hands on his chest and lean down towards his ear. "this'll teach you not to make me jealous."

"y/n…" his voice is much serious now, and you smirk.

"what?" you look at him with innocent eyes, hand trailing down to grab his dick and align it with your center.

you slowly sink down onto him, your body relaxing as he groans.

"so so good," you mewl, hips rocking against his.

he watches you closely, hands moving to grip your hips. he lifts you up slightly and slams you back down, eliciting a moan from your mouth.

"move, pretty girl," he demands, eyes locked on yours as you sit up. "let me see you ride me."

you give in to his words and begin bouncing your ass on him, hands trailing down to his abs to steady yourself. up. down. up. down. up. down.

"just like that, doll," rafe says, hand trailing up your body to wrap around your neck. "you look so pretty riding my cock."

that only makes you pick up the pace, hands moving to rest on his thighs behind you, as your pussy clenches around his length, your orgasm quickly building up in your core. rafe's hands move to grab your tits as you continue, his eyes watching himself slip in and out of you.

"you gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked when you threw your head back in pleasure.

"cum with me, rafe," you moan, your high inching closer and closer.

his fingers pinch at your nipples and that sends you over the edge, your hips slowing down as your high washes over you. rafe follows soon after, thrusts getting sloppier as he comes down.

 you slowly move off to lay beside him, and he reaches out to open the drawer of his nightstand and pull out a small towel. he uses it to clean the spot between your legs before cleaning off himself.

you position yourself under his comforter as he tosses the towel on the ground and joins you.

"remember how good my pussy feels around you next time you let sofia touch you," you say, snuggling into him.

a small chuckles falls from his lips as he wraps an arm around you and places a soft kiss on your forehead. "good night, crazy girl."

—

your eyes shoot open at the sound of rafe’s phone incessantly buzzing on the nightstand, as the sunshine peeked through his bedroom curtains.

making sure not to wake him, you reach over to grab his phone, rage boiling through your veins when you read the notifications on the screen.

3 missed calls from sofia.

sofia: hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday lol. lmk if you need to blow off some steam ;) xx

“oh, this bitch needs to be put down,” you mutter to yourself, immediately unlocking rafe’s phone—he gave you his passcode months ago without you even asking—and typing away to reply to sofia's message.

rafe: hey sof :) yeah, she's a lot. how 'bout you meet me at tannyhill around 2 today?

you hit send, and the three bubbles appear almost immediately.

god, this bitch was desperate.

sofia: perf, i'll see you then!!

rafe: just knock when you get here, i'll be home alone

sofia: you got it, see u later xx

you roll your eyes and proceed to delete the conversation, before moving to rafe's phone app to remove her 3 missed calls from his log. 

three. who calls a guy with a girlfriend three times? crazy bitch.

just as you're about to place his phone back on the nightstand, rafe groans and shifts, arm slinging over your waist, as a call from ward vibrates his phone.

"baby," you nudge rafe, but he just groans again, arm around your waist tightening. "rafe," you shake him this time and his eyes flutter open.

"morning, pretty girl," he smiles, hand scratching your lower back. "you ok?"

"mhm," you nod, pretending you had just woken up. "woke up from your dad calling, though."

you hold the phone out to him, which was now vibrating for the second time with ward's name.

"sorry 'bout that, doll," he takes the phone from you and sits up, answering the call and pressing the phone up against his ear.

"i'm gonna go pee," you mouth to him, and he nods, as you get out from under the covers and slip on rafe's shirt before walking towards his bathroom.

you close the door behind you and take a quick piss before washing your hands and deciding to brush your teeth.

hopefully rafe wasn't gonna be around the house at 2 today, you thought. you knew he went out golfing with the boys and hit the gym afterwards every saturday afternoon, usually returning around 5 or 6, so it shouldn't be a problem. unless ward had him do something today that required him to stick around the house—now that would really put a damper on your plans.

the door opens and rafe joins you, only wearing a pair of boxers. "mmm," he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder. "i'll never get sick of seeing you in my shirt."

his eyes meets yours through the mirror, and you lean down to spit and rinse your mouth.

"what's my baby doing today?" he asked, as you wiped your mouth dry.

"probably just hang around here," you shrug, hands trailing along his arms, as you leaned your head against his. "maybe lay out by the pool for a bit and make some lunch."

"for me too?"

you look down at him, and his eyes meet yours. "you're not going golfing with kelce and top?"

"oh, i am," he nods. "and i gotta take care of some stuff for dad too, so i'll probably be home a little later." perfect. "how 'bout we do dinner? you can dress up all cute and sexy, and i'll take you out on the town?"

"sounds perfect, baby," you smile, connecting your lips with his.

this was gonna be the best day ever.

—

after rafe left around eleven, you occupied yourself by taking a quick swim in the pool, before settling on a floatie and closing your eyes, as the sun beat down on your skin.

ring! ring! ring!

your alarm clock goes off at 1:50 pm, and you open your eyes to take your phone from the cup holder and silence it, happily slipping off the floatie when you realize it's almost time.

you grab your towel from one of the pool chairs and dry off before wrapping it around you, slipping on your crochet shorts, and waltzing inside with more of a pep in your step than usual.

you whistle as you walk through the house and stop in the living room to hang your towel off the back of the armchair and sit down, just in time for a knock to come at the door.

it's followed by another, before the front door creaks open and closes, as the sound of someone's footsteps get closer and closer.

"rafe?" the sound of sofia's voice fills your ears and you smile when she reaches the living room.

"hey, sof," you say, causing her to completely stop in her tracks, a few feet away.

"oh, y/n," she was clearly caught off guard. "i didn't know you'd be here."

"of course you didn't," you shrug, sitting up. "because you came here to see my rafe, isn't that right, sof?"

"uhh…"

"no need to lie, sweetheart," you drawl. "i've been expecting you." you pull out the pocket knife that you had stashed in the armchair earlier  to prepare and spin it around in your fingers.

the color instantly drains from sofia's face, as you flip the knife open, the blade catching the sun's light.

"here's the thing, sof," you stand up and slowly approach her, the growing crazy look in your eyes making her uneasy. "i'm a very possessive person, and i don't like sharing what's mine." you shake your head, eyes focused on hers.

"and rafe… tall and handsome as he is… is mine," you glide the edge of your knife across her collarbone as you round her, making sure not to cut her just yet. "and personally, i didn't take it very well when you called and texted him this morning."

"i- i don't know what you're talking about," her voice shakes, clearly afraid of what you might do if she admits to it. 

"hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday. let me know if you want to blow off some steam," you recite the text message she sent rafe from memory, making her breath hitch.

"that— that wasn't an accident," sofia shakes her head. "i didn't mean-"

"oh, baby," you whisper against her ear, making her head turn towards you. "don't you know i hate liars?"

"please," sofia begs, eyes closing shut as tears stream down her face. "y/n… you don't have to do this."

"and you didn't have to text my man," you tut, trailing the knife down her back. "but you did, so i'll make it quick."

"no!" she shouts, pushing you away from her, and beelining for the door.

"you really shouldn't have done that," you chuckle, a smirk coming across your lips, as you follow to tackle her before she reaches the door.

you turn her around, so you're straddling her, both your knees pinning her arms down. "i tried to be nice…" you say, gripping a handful of her brown hair as you lean down to cut across her collar bone.

she screams in agony. "stop, stop, stop!"

"consider this a lesson, sof…" you trail off, knife moving down to dig into the side of her stomach. "rafe," stab. "is," stab. "mine." 

you pull the knife out from her side, blood splattering on your stomach, as you drag it up her body, towards her chest.

"and," stab. "you," stab. "don't," stab. "take," stab. "what's," stab. "mine."

the color drowns from her face as her eyes turn lifeless, and she stops squirming underneath you.

at this point, your chest, face, legs, and arms are covered with blood splatters, your hand holding the knife bloodier than any other part of you.

you stand up and hover over her, a smirk coming across your lips at the sight of her dead body.

"look, dad, i took care of it, a'ight?" the familiar sound of your boyfriend's voice booms through the house, as you hear the backyard door slide close.

shit. shit. shit.

he wasn't suppose to be home until later. what the fuck was he doing here?

panic begins to build up inside you, as rafe's footsteps approach you, and you round sofia's body to pick up one of her hands to begin dragging her towards the front door. maybe it was a good thing she tried to run.

"yeah, i got it," you hear rafe's voice again. "i think y/n's taking a nap right now, so i'll take the druthers out and-" he suddenly stops in the entryway connecting the living room to the kitchen, eyes on you. "i'll call you back later."

he ends the call with ward, phone coming down to his side.

"i told you i'd drag her across the floor?" you joke, shrugging a shoulder.

"holy shit, y/n!" rafe rushes over and crouches down to feel sofia's pulse.

nothing.

he looks up at you. "did you do this?!"

"no…" you give him your innocent eyes, and drop her hand, pocket knife hiding behind your back.

"what the fuck, babe?"

"hey, don't act like this is all on me!" you argue, pointing down at sofia's body and pacing around the room. "she was the one who was texting and calling you nonstop this morning! she should've known better! no one takes what's mine. especially not you!"

"you— you did this… because of me?" rafe slowly stands, eyes refocusing on your crazed out state.

"of course i did," your shoulders falling limp. "i— i love you, rafe!" you shake your head. "i— i can't lose you. not-"

before you could get another word out, he was pushing you up against the wall, lips hungrily kissing yours.

the knife clatters onto the ground, as your bloodied hands tangle into his hair, and he hooks a hand around your thigh to bring it up beside his waist.

"you— you're not mad?" you ask between kisses.

"are you kidding?" he mutters against you. "fuck no. just a little more work for me."

"wait, wait, wait—" you place a hand on his chest, and push him away just enough to look at him. "what does that mean?"

"there may or may not be a dead body in the cargo bed of my truck…"

"you killed someone?"

"it was necessary?" he shrugs, a cute little smile on his lips.

a laugh falls from your mouth before you can stop it.

"what?" rafe asks, chuckling at the sound of your adorable laugh.

you shake your head, hand trailing down his hair. "we're so fucked up."

"and that's just how i like it."

i hope y'all don't think i'm absolutely insane now lolz. i swearrrrr i just wanted to try something new.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[masterwolftfs]

"Why are lyrics so fucking hard to write!" Jack angrily said to himself. He'd been stuck on the same line in this song for weeks now, desperately trying to get past it, constantly writing a lyric, scribbling it out because it sounded bad, writing another lyric, scribbling that one out too in frustration. Heck, even the music itself sounded bad to him now, he'd heard the same bar of notes too much to like it anymore.

For anyone else, it'd make sense to just pack it in and start fresh. But Jack was nothing if not a stubborn man, and he'd already shown the client he was writing this for the first draft and they loved it, so he couldn't turn back now. He'd rather die than admit defeat, especially to one pathetic line of one pathetic song.

His friends had been suggesting for days now that he just take a break, and as much as he didn't want to, and definitely didn't want to prove them right, he had to agree that a break would probably help his head start working again. So when his friends, Alex and Jonah, invited him out for drinks one night, while he still refused, he did take a break as suggested. Intentionally making sure to walk away from the city centre, knowing there'd be a higher chance of encountering them there, he set out for a late night walk and some fresh air.

Itd been about 30 minutes of walking when he heard it. A faint strumming of a guitar, playing the exact notes of the song he had written. For a minute, Jack just stopped, baffled and convinced he was going mad. Only the client had heard if so far, and even then theyd only heard an early version, but this was almost exactly how the guitar sounded in his song now. He pinched himself, and could still hear it. He covered his ears, it went silent. But again, as soon as he removed his hands from over his ears, he could hear it again. Baffled and honestly a little scared, he started inching towadds the direction he believed the sound was coming from.

He walked for about 30 more minutes, convinced he was going mad because it seemed no matter which direction he went, the sound never got any louder or quieter. He must be going insane, he thought, and the realisation broke him for a second. Weeks of hard work, weeks of being stuck and wanting to scream and punch his computer and destroy everything in his house over this one line and then the ONE time he goes for a break, its still there, taunting him, hurting him. Maybe he just wasn't cuf out for all this. Maybe-

A sudden cold sharp feeling. He curled into it in pain, his chest feeling like it had just been stabbed by an icicle. He gasped in shock and pain. Everything felt wrong. His chest was fine, nothing visibly wrong, maybe he was having some sort of chest issue?-

There it was again, in his arms this time. A yelp escaped his throat as he felt it in his legs this time too, collapsing to the ground. Then, as sudden as the pain started, it stopped. Jack sat there in silence for a few minutes, breathing heavily, before he realised.

The song had stopped.

Maybe he really was going insane, or maybe it was something else, but for some unknown reason the lack of that song terrified him. Like a primal, instinctual fear, goosebumps all over his body as he started to breathe even heavier panicking as-

"It's okay, lad"

He looked around quickly, trying to figure out who spoke. "Who's there? Don't come near me, I'm armed!" He shouted, voice trembling.

"Shhhhh, lad. Calm. You're safe with me, fam."

"I'm warning you, I'll-"

"What, gasp me to death? You won't do anything mate, now calm the fuck DOWN." The last word reverberated through him, and Jack obeyed. Without even trying, he was suddenly calm again. The voice didn't give him chance to speak before talking again.

"You need help, lad. I can tell. You need a lad like me to show you how to LIVE, ey? Well, I can help with that."

Jack nodded, accepting the voice's words. He hadn't noticed it yet, but his arms were moving on their own. He was too enraptured by the voice to know what was happening outside his own head.

"That's a good lad, look at those arms. Definitely good, but could use some work, ey? GROW 'em for me lad."

His arms obeyed, somehow growing and pulsating larger, the muscles more and more defined by the second. His arms were groping his chest, and legs, rubbing all over his body and he shuddered uncontrollably.

"Now then, let's put a SMILE on that face, ey?" Jack grinned in response, "Muchhh better lad. Though ya could do with a beard eh? Make ya manlier, BETTA." His beard immediately grew in, framing his jaw perfectly.

"Good.... goooodd. Lookin better already. Now, go get that guitar will ya lad. Can't play a masterpiece without ya instrument after all." Almost like a zombie, Jack stood, moving on autopilot to the window of the guitar shop across the road. Without even hesitating, he slammed his fist through the window, the alarm not bothering him at all, as he grasped the guitar firmly and confidently, slinging it into position and starting to mess with the strings, tuning it. As he did, he heard the voice start moaning and laughing in ecstasy as he played, his body pulsing, growing, changing. His legs became two solid blocks of steel, powerful and standing strong, as his ass became firmer and rounder, befitting of a sex god like him. His chest expanded, lungs growing stronger, letting him belt out songs easily, as his voice deepened, changing to be sexier, sultrier, cockier. Abs growing in, shoulders broadening, neck thickening. "Fuckkkkk..." he moaned as his adam's apple grew larger, his voice sounding incredible. The moaning voice merged with his own, both echoing inside his head, until they were one, and the same. Hearing the sirens of police cars wailing in the distance, no doubt headed to stop his theft of the guitar, he sprung into a run, sprinting faster than ever before away, into the night. Jack the burned out songwriter was gone, and now, Jack the rockstar was gonna take his place on the stage, in the limelight, fucking and rocking his way to superstardom. His phone buzzed as he ran, a text from Jonah. "Hope you're doing well man, sorry you couldn't make it." Jack smirked to himself. He could do with a bandmate or two, and now he knew just the targets...

One thats been on the list for a while to come out, and potentially the start of a new series! The attic clear out stories are still on their way, just taking a break from them to write some personal stuff.

[lilu787788]

A great question was asked on our server: “Would antis love Alina so much and hate Aleksander if the two were genderbent?” I responded briefly there, but a dear friend @is-today-tomorrow-in-nz suggested I might do a Tumblr post about it, so I'm expanding on my thought here as well. It made me reflect on the huge hypocrisy we often see from Aleksander’s antis. They are quick to condemn him while making excuses for everything Alina does, even when her choices are just as destructive or reckless. She burns maps, which directly leads to the deaths of everyone on the skiff. She destroyed the Fold in a way that will likely leave Ravka exposed to enemy invasion, practically opening the borders for the enemy armies. What follows could easily be a massacre of Grisha and civilians alike. But somehow, these consequences are glossed over or reframed as heroism.

Now imagine if Aleksander had been written as a woman. A powerful Grisha who lived through centuries of war, loss, and terror. Someone who did everything in her power to protect her people from genocide, even when it meant crossing dangerous lines. Many of the same people who now hate him would admire her. They would say she was tragic. Forced to make impossible decisions. Carrying the weight of the world alone. They would say that creating the Fold was terrible, yes, but understandable. She would be called a girlboss, a warrior queen, a survivor. People would write long posts about how she was demonized for using power in a man’s world. They would weep over her loneliness, her trauma, her desire for control shaped by fear and love. Her story would be seen as emotional and layered.

Now reverse it. Imagine a male version of Alina. A chosen boy, gifted with light. He learns he’s special, believes he’s meant to save the world. But the first thing he does is try to kill the woman who’s been defending their people for generations. He calls her a monster. He lets his friend shoot her. He watches others hunt her and does nothing to stop them. He betrays her feelings. And when she’s at her weakest, worn down by merzost, when she is broken and defenseless, he stabs her in cold blood. He doesn’t even flinch. He mocks her when she calls him her saint. He gives her self-glorifying words and a blade to the chest. Would we still call him a hero? Would people write about how brave he was for ending her life?

I really don’t think so.

Aleksander is morally grey. No one denies that. But his antis always demand that he be flat and one-note. They treat him like he is evil for the sake of evil, ignoring everything that shaped him. At the same time, Alina is constantly given a free pass. She can betray, she can lie, she can hurt, and it is still labeled as strength or growth. Aleksander’s love is twisted into manipulation. Alina’s cruelty is dressed up as empowerment. His loneliness is seen as something he deserves. Hers is framed as tragic. He is hated for being morally complex. She is celebrated for being ruthless when it fits the narrative.

This is a clear double standard.

It’s not about saying that Alina shouldn’t be criticized. It’s about the fact that Aleksander is almost never given the same space in the narrative. He’s not allowed fear, heartbreak, or even love without it being weaponized against him. But if the roles were reversed, those same traits would be seen as powerful. This shows how selective antis still are when it comes to who deserves empathy and depth in storytelling. And all too often, it comes down to gender.

[lafleurose]

UNSPOKEN- Ellie x Reader (part 2)

Part 1

Part 3 (coming soon)

Warnings: some cussing, lots of angst

♡ I apologize for the delay on part 2! I recently moved, so that took up so much of my time. I also couldn't figure out where I wanted the story to go lmao but I'm done! Here ya goooo!

Summary: someone's flirting pushes Ellie over the edge. Leading to a tense confrontation where she's forced to admit why she's been acting out.

The smell of roasted pork belly lingered in the main dining hall, mingling with the sound of chatter and clinking dishes. The room was alive with energy, people gathering around long wooden tables, their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. Jesse leaned back in his chair, admiring his plate like he’d just won the lottery.

“Told you I’d get my pork belly,” he said, spearing another piece with his fork and shoving it into his mouth.

“You practically tackled Carl for it,” Dina said, settling into the chair across from him. “I thought he was going to stab you with a fork.”

Jesse shrugged, completely unbothered. “He respected the hustle. Besides, I left him a piece.”

“A crumb,” Dina corrected, snatching a roll off his plate and earning a glare. “Don’t be greedy.”

You smirked but stayed quiet, trying to focus on your own plate. Even so, your eyes kept drifting to Ellie, who sat across from you, leaning on her elbow and absently poking at her food. She hadn’t looked at you once since sitting down, which somehow felt worse than the usual glares. The silence stretched between you like a taut string, one that could snap at any moment.

Dina noticed your distraction and leaned in, her tone casual but pointed. “I love you both, but when are you two going to start talking?”

Ellie stiffened, her fork pausing mid-poke. She glanced at Dina, then at you with a look that could have frozen a fire. “We talk,” she muttered, her voice clipped. “Just not about anything that matters, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your spoon into your stew. “Maybe when she stops glaring,” you muttered under your breath before shoving a spoonful into your mouth.

Ellie’s jaw tightened, and Dina let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the bonfire will help. Might actually stop you two from trying to kill each other.”

“Doubt it,” Jesse chimed in through a mouthful of pork belly. “At this point, I’m taking bets. You two either break something or make out by the end of the night.”

Ellie choked on her food, coughing as she glared at Jesse. “Jesus, Jesse. Can you not?”

You felt your face flush. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m a visionary,” Jesse said with a grin, gesturing dramatically with his fork. “The tension is unbearable.”

Ellie shot him a warning look. “Keep talking, and you’ll see tension when I shove that fork down your throat.”

Dina rolled her eyes. “Enough, children. Some of us are trying to eat in peace.”

Ellie turned her attention back to her plate, clearly done with the conversation, but the tension lingered in the air like smoke. You tried to focus on your food, but your eyes betrayed you, constantly flicking to her. Every move she made seemed deliberate, like she was holding something back. It was driving you insane.

“So, what’s the plan for the bonfire?” you asked, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere else.

Dina perked up, clearly glad for the shift in tone. “We’re heading down to the creek after dark. Maria found out, but she said we could do it if we behaved. So let’s try not to burn the whole forest down.” She nudged you, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she nodded toward Jesse. “If you’re lucky, maybe someone will get to show off their terrible dancing.”

“My dancing’s a gift,” Jesse said, patting his chest with mock pride. “I can’t help that people are intimidated by it.”

“You flail like you’re being attacked by bees,” Dina shot back, her grin wide.

“It’s a stylistic choice,” Jesse retorted, completely unbothered.

Despite yourself, you laughed, the tension easing for a moment. But the moment of calm didn’t last. Ellie stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“I’m gonna grab something to drink,” she muttered, not waiting for a response before heading toward the drink station in the corner of the hall.

Dina glanced between you and Ellie, her brow furrowed. “What happened? I thought you two were-”

You shook your head, the knot in your chest tightening. “Me too. She told me she liked me and the next day she- it's like she hated me. I don't know what I did. Whenever I ask, she just flips and avoids the question."

Dina gives you a sympathetic smile, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "I really think this bonfire will help."

You sigh, dropping your spoon in your bowl. "I don't know. I don't have much hope."

Dina frowned but didn’t push. As you watched Ellie’s retreating form, you couldn’t help but wonder if tonight would be the night something finally broke.

♡♡♡

The fire crackled brightly, casting warm light over the group as laughter and conversation filled the night air. Jesse was in the middle of another over-the-top patrol story, using wild gestures and exaggerated voices to imitate the people involved. Dina groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Please, spare us,” she said, though her laughter betrayed her.

“What? It’s a true story!” Jesse insisted, grinning. “You can’t make this stuff up!”

“You absolutely can,” you said, smirking as you leaned back on the log. Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, you couldn’t ignore the weight in your chest. Your eyes drifted to Ellie again, just like before, but she didn’t meet your gaze. Instead, she kept her focus on her guitar, her fingers plucking at the strings absently like she wasn’t part of the group at all.

She’d been distant all night. Just like she’d been distant for weeks. Even now, sitting a few feet away, she felt unreachable.

It hurt.

You didn’t know what you had done wrong—if you had done anything at all. The warm familiarity that once sat between you had turned cold, and you weren’t sure how to get it back.

“Alright, Y/N,” Jesse said, pointing at you with a grin. “Your turn. Most embarrassing moment—go.”

You groaned, but the attention from the group gave you no choice. “Fine. You know why I’m not allowed to solo patrol anymore?”

Ellie’s fingers faltered over the guitar strings, and her lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. She didn’t look up, but the soft laugh she let out gave you a flicker of hope.

Dina raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Care to share, Ellie?"

Ellie looked up then, but not at you. “No, I—I'm good.”

The group fell silent. Ellie glanced your way for the briefest moment before turning back to her guitar.

You knew why she laughed. She was there. It was a memory that had brought the two of you closer. You remembered clinging onto Ellie as your feet touched the ground. The hesitant way her arms wrapped around your waist, when you kissed her in thanks. The first time you'd kissed a girl and known—really known—that you’d fallen deep.

But whatever warmth she’d felt in that memory was gone now. She shut herself off quickly.

A kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped and looked around at the group. “Sorry. I lost my train of thought.”

Dina smirked at you, her expression knowing. You frowned at her and cleared your throat.

“Water tower,” you began. “Amazing view, right? So I thought, hey, let me climb it and check it out. Turns out I’m terrible with heights. Got stuck up there for hours.”

“No way,” Dina said, her laughter already bubbling up. “How long were you stuck?”

“Four hours,” you admitted, grinning sheepishly. “Ellie eventually found me with Shimmer, but it took her an hour just to convince me to climb down.”

The group erupted into laughter—except for Ellie. She barely reacted, just kept her focus on the guitar, her smile long gone.

That stung.

Before you could dwell on it, Jane's voice echoed in the night.

“Heights, huh?” she said, her voice smooth, teasing. “Didn’t peg you for someone afraid of anything.”

You looked up at her, caught off guard.

Jane—the prettiest girl in Jackson. You know the saying "tall, dark, and handsome"? That was her. Everyone either wanted to be her or wanted her. Everyone, of course, except for you.

She gave you a slow, lazy smile, taking a seat on the log next to you, her posture completely relaxed. She brushed her long braid over her shoulder, her dark eyes flickering with amusement as she watched you. “So, since you can’t solo patrol, when do we get to go together?”

Her long fingers traced over your arm in a way that was almost absentminded. Or maybe it was intentional. With Jane, it was hard to tell.

You weren’t expecting this. Jane never showed interest in anyone—until now. And maybe that was what threw you off.

You didn’t know how to react.

She was pretty. She was easy to talk to. She wasn’t cold or distant. But she also wasn’t—

You glanced at Ellie.

Her jaw was set. Her hands gripped the guitar tighter, her knuckles pale in the firelight.

Jane, either oblivious or fully enjoying herself, leaned in just a little more. “We’d make a great team. I mean, someone’s gotta keep you from getting stuck in trees.”

Jesse whistled. “Damn, Jane. You’re really laying it on thick.”

Jane smirked, her gaze still locked on you. “What can I say? I know what I like.”

Ellie’s strumming stopped completely. The fire crackled, but the tension around you burned hotter.

You felt Ellie’s gaze, sharp as a blade against the side of your face, but you didn’t look at her.

“Come on,” Jane continued, her voice dropping to something more private. “You and I both know patrol’s boring when the company isn’t good. And I think we’d have fun.”

You swallowed. “I—”

Jane didn’t let you finish. “What do you say, Y/N?” she mused, tilting her head. “Think you can handle me?”

Ellie abruptly stood up, her voice void of emotion. “Need more firewood.”

She didn’t wait for a response before walking off toward the treeline.

Jane arched a brow as she watched Ellie go, then turned back to you with a slow, knowing smirk. “Huh.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed. “What?”

Jane’s smile widened. “Nothing. Just… interesting.”

It didn’t feel like nothing.

Some time had passed, and Ellie was nowhere to be found. Jane kept talking, but her voice faded into the background as your focus shifted elsewhere.

You weren’t listening. Not really.

Your mind was on Ellie—on the way she had stormed off, her shoulders tense, her death grip on her guitar like she was barely holding herself together. She hadn’t come back. Hadn’t even glanced your way since she left.

You tried to ignore the uneasy feeling gnawing at your chest, but it wouldn’t go away.

“I’ll see you later,” you muttered, cutting Jane off as you stood.

She blinked in surprise. “Oh?”

You hesitated, but you didn’t have time to play whatever game she had started. “Yeah. I just—need to check on something.”

Jane didn’t press. She only smirked, like she already knew.

You didn’t wait for a response before you turned, heading toward the trees where you last saw Ellie disappear. The bonfire’s warmth faded behind you as the quiet night wrapped around you instead.

Then, you heard it.

A guitar.

The melody was soft, familiar—achingly familiar. It was the same song she played for you the night of the water tower incident. Where she kissed you back.

The night everything changed.

You followed the sound until you found her sitting beneath a tree, guitar in her lap, fingers plucking the strings in slow, absentminded strokes.

For a second, you just stood there, watching her, feeling something tighten in your chest. The moonlight carved shadows across her face, her expression unreadable.

This was your chance.

Here, where she couldn’t run.

“You okay?” you asked cautiously.

Ellie stilled. Her fingers froze mid-chord before she exhaled sharply, her shoulders rising and falling with the breath.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she muttered.

You frowned. “You stormed off and never came back.”

Ellie turned then, finally meeting your gaze—but her eyes were cold, detached, nothing like they used to be.

“You wanted me to come back for what?” she said flatly. “So I could watch you flirt with Jane in front of me?”

“What?” You recoiled, caught off guard. “Ellie, I wasn’t flirting—”

Ellie scoffed. “Right.”

You took a step closer, frustration creeping into your voice. “Look, I’m sorry she came onto me, but I wasn’t flirting. I didn’t even—”

Her voice cracked as she cut you off.

“You were a mistake.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You froze.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And suddenly, you were tired. Tired of the back and forth, of guessing, of the constant shift between warmth and cold, between having her and losing her in the span of a breath.

Ellie had been awful to you for weeks, shutting you out without an explanation. And now she was saying this?

Your throat tightened and your eyes welled with tears, but you forced yourself to swallow them down.

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You really don’t know?”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Ellie,” you said, quieter now, your voice strained but firm. “What happened?”

“No,” you said, desperate to understand. “I don’t.”

She clenched her jaw. Her hands curled into fists on her lap.

“I saw you two,” she muttered.

You frowned. “Me and Jane?”

Ellie’s eyes flashed, like even hearing it made her angrier.

“The way you looked at her,” she spat. “That day she was helping you fix your rifle. You ditched me to go see her.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

That?

That’s what this was about?

You shook your head, trying to piece it together. “Ellie, I—I didn’t ditch you. I didn’t even know—”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, standing up abruptly, her movements sharp, restless. “I saw it. I fucking saw it, Y/N.”

You flinched at the venom in her tone. “Saw what, exactly?”

Ellie exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair like she was barely holding herself together. “The way you smiled at her. The way she smiled back. You looked so—so comfortable with her. Like it was easy.”

Your heart twisted.

“You think I wanted Jane?” you asked, voice soft.

Ellie’s jaw clenched. “Didn’t you?”

“No,” you said immediately, the weight of her accusation hitting you all at once. “Ellie, I didn’t.”

Ellie looked away, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” you insisted. “Because you’ve been treating me like shit over something that isn’t even real.”

Ellie’s breath hitched.

She was unraveling, piece by piece.

She inhaled sharply through her nose. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she hesitated.

And then—

Her face changed.

It was just for a second. A flicker.

Her eyes moved between yours, searching, like she was looking for something—some kind of proof that she was wrong. But beneath it, you saw everything.

Anger. Frustration.

Sadness.

Guilt.

It all crashed together in one fleeting expression before her face hardened again.

But it was too late. You had seen it.

Ellie let out a shaky breath, looking away.

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at her, heart pounding. “Scared of what?”

Ellie swallowed hard, her eyes glassy now.

“Scared of screwing this up,” she whispered. “Scared of losing you.”

You felt the anger in your chest waver, flickering between frustration and something else—something deeper, something raw. You had spent so long trying to figure out what you did wrong. Trying to understand why she had suddenly become so distant.

And all this time... she was scared?

Your voice was quiet, careful. "Then why did you push me away?"

Ellie’s lip trembled. Her fingers twitched at her side, as if she was holding back.

Her green eyes fixed onto yours, eyes glossy and tired. "I thought it would hurt less."

Your heart ached at her words, your chest tightening as you held back your tears.

You stared at her, at the way her shoulders hunched, at the way she dropped her gaze. You hadn't seen her like this in a long time.

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

"I know it's fucking stupid. I thought shutting you out, and- hurting you would help me get over you. That eventually I'd stop feeling all of this."

You swallowed hard, "And did you?"

Ellie blinks, confused.

"Get over me," you clarified.

She let out a slow shaky breath, "No. I never did."

Her words hung between you. The weight of everything-- weeks of tension, confusion, and aching silence-- pressed against you chest. You weren't sure what to say. You finally had you answer, but you hadn't expected this.

Ellie looked exhausted, she had been carrying this for far too long, her admittance draining every last bit of fight from her.

Jane-- all of this because of her.

You had seen her around Jackson, seen how she interacted with others. She was outgoing, friendly-- maybe even a little too friendly-- but you figured that was just who she was. When she offered to help you with your rifle, you hadn't thought twice about it.

Because to you, it had meant nothing. But, it meant everything to Ellie.

"Ellie, I never wanted Jane."

"I know." She lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "I know. But I still thought... what if you did? What if one day you realized you could have something - someone, easier?"

That caught you off guard, "Easier?"

She rubs her face before resting her hand on her neck. She rubs it slowly. Her voice is hoarse, "Yes. Someone who isn't a fucking mess. Someone who doesn't run away when they're hurt."

You had stepped forward without realizing, "If I wanted something easier, don't you think I would have walked away by now?"

Ellie drops her hand, eyes fluttering to the ground, "I don't know."

You were close enough to Ellie now, able to trace your fingertips on her hand. "Well I do. And, I want you. Even when you make it difficult or when you shut me out. But I need you to meet me halfway."

Ellie looked at you then-- really looked at you.

For the first time in weeks you could see her defenses faltering. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "I don't know how."

Your heart ached. She had spent so long running and convincing herself that real love was something meant for other people. Not her.

You took a slow, measured breath as your hand found hers. You could hear Ellie's breath hitch at the contact.

"Ellie.'

Her lips parted as she looked at you.

"Let me show you."

Silence stretched between you, thick and fragile, waiting for someone to break.

Then-- slowly and hesitantly-- Ellie squeezed your hand. "Okay."

You didn't press her for more. Not yet at least.

Because for the first time in weeks, there was something between you that hadn't been there before.

Hope.

And for now, that was enough.

[ivoryghostyy]

── .✦ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ɪʟɪᴀꜱ ᝰ.ᐟ

⌗ㆍTHE ENEMY PRINCEノ, ⌗ㆍHISTORICAL AUノ, ⌗ㆍRUTHLESS TYRANTノ

「 i actually started working on this one for a while now, but i had to put it on hold for a bit. idk if anyone noticed, but i actually posted this on accident at some point—i panicked, man,,,, 」

「 tw: mentions of war, death, blood, etc., minor character death, implications of using sedtives, angst, hurt/comfort (?), using people as pawns, the typical power dynamics in a historical setting, breakdowns, panic attacks, lots of crying, this one made me kinda sad tbh, etc... 」

“commander–!!” your name is a jumble on their tongue, rolling off in a mess of intelligible words.

crimson stains the rough terrain, flooding your nose with the metallic scent of blood. swords tear into flesh, leaving bodies in a mangled heap on the ground. are they faces you recognize? you don't stop to think about it.

you hear nothing but the agonizing sound of war; smell nothing but the pungent scent of blood; and see nothing but an infuriated shade of red.

do the cries of your friends still haunt you?

───────────────────────────────────────────

you sit up with a gasp, greeted with a familiar burning in your chest. worse than a stab to the heart, the ache tears into the very core of your being. a splutter of coughs slip from your throat, but they do nothing to ease the pain.

the thin curtains rustle with the night breeze, illuminated by the moon. your exhausted eyes drift out the window—anything to distract you from the torment that plagues your life. every waking moment is a torturous echo of your failures, of the lives you carry over your shoulders.

like a parasite, it crawls up your spine and nestles into your mind. it's an incessant reminder of the blood that stains your hands.

a tear rolls down your cheek, and you can almost taste the salt on your tongue. you curl up, making yourself smaller. these are the only times you allow yourself comfort. having lived in a battlefield, you'd grown used to constantly keeping your guard up. an enemy could be lurking anywhere, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

they would laugh when they slit your throat, dangling you by they hair before claiming your head. would the kingdom mourn if they saw such a gruesome sight? will they grieve the loss of a hero, or will they lament the failure of another tool?

the thought sends you an entirely different pain, something you believe will never truly cease, even if you rip your heart out of your own chest.

a tool. isn't that right? a weapon to wield against the threats that oppose your kingdom—your home. bitterness seeps into the pores of your sweaty skin, leaving you trembling as you heave another sob.

───────────────────────────────────────────

“your majesty!” calls an urgent voice.

the panic is answered with an arrogant tone, one that speaks with long years of luxury. the posh, aged voice grumbles within the throne room as the king places down his golden chalice.

“can't you see i'm busy? this best be important.”

───────────────────────────────────────────

the war is over, yet it feels as if you've never left the battlefield. it's a memory you can never forget, a burden you must shoulder for the rest of your life. it's ingrained into your bones, carved into the deepest parts of your mind.

you've won the battle, but nothing will make up for what you've lost.

hundreds were slain, and many were left injured beyond recovery. most were buried in hastily arranged graves, but the others were much less fortunate—with their bodies missing from their own coffins.

some were forgotten altogether. a memory that died alongside their final breath.

to the nobles, they were simply pawns for a sick game of chess. but to the people, they were family. they were parents, siblings, sons, and daughters. to you, they were friends; comrades. a found family that you grew to love, to trust, to cherish. you gambled your lives together, if only to make it back alive.

but now, you're the only one left.

───────────────────────────────────────────

“c-commander,” he calls to you, choking out his final words. blood dribbles down his chin, teeth stained with red as he grins.

“no, no, don't even think about it! we'll make it out of this, please, just hold on for a little longer, –!”

what was his name again? it feels like such a long time ago… the faces are blurry, but their voices are clear. you hear the agonized cries of the other soldiers in the frontlines, fighting for their lives.

“li.. sten, ya brat,” he chuckles, and you can feel the red staining your hands, pooling over the ground. you remember who he is to you, like a brother that you never had. much older, and yet he was merely your second-in-command. he always did teased you about it, didn't he?

“yer still young," he rasps out. his voice is rougher from all the blood pooling out his mouth, seeping into the barren soil.

"yer old man's- ugh, lived a good life. heh, lasted longer than.. i thought," he coughs, eyes drooping. he's losing his breath now, holding on to the final moments of his flickering life.

“don't blame yerself, kid. hah... don't regret... nothin'...”

he gasps, voice fading to a whisper. he's gripping your hand one last time before he falls limp, closing his eyes.

"it's not your fault."

───────────────────────────────────────────

the wind cries with you, bellowing within the dim room. the tears drip down your chin, shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and yet you force yourself to keep it down—to bury the pain deep in your heart, to close it off from the world, never to be heard again.

you bite your lip, muffling your whimpers as another presence makes itself known. the moon does little to illuminate the dark, shrouding the intruder in a veil of shadows. trembling hands reach above the bed frame, gripping the familiar handle of your dagger.

a tense silence chills the room; you're only graced with the sound of howling wind and the faint light brought by the night sky.

for a moment, you begin to think it was your senses playing tricks on you. had the nightmares gotten so bad that you've lost your mind?

but a moment was all he needed.

the dagger flies out of your hand, sliding across the floor as you wrestle with the intruder. the mattress sinks from your combined weight as he pins your wrists above you, holding you down with a monstrous strength. something pokes your skin, sinking into your skin before you can react.

all the sleepless nights have done a number on you, highlighted by the dark circles under your eyes. you had overworked yourself, spending your days like a mindless drone. you're haunted by the memories of your slain comrades, living like an empty shell of a person.

is this it? after struggling for years in a war, you ultimately die by the hands of an assassin.

pathetic.

a tear rolls down your cheek, and then another. you've resigned yourself to your fate, but that doesn't mean you've no regrets. guilt and despair cling to you like a vice, like chains that weigh you down every single day. losing your found family is one thing, but knowing you could have stopped it is another.

you barely even noticed the shift in your position, pulled into a soft chest, and held like a prized treasure.

“shh. i'm not going to kill you, precious.”

he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. a large hand pulls you closer, tightening his hold on your frantic form. “you're alright now, always safe with me. shh, shhh, don't cry,” he wipes your tears, trailing his hand down your neck.

“come on. breathe with me, yeah? in and out, just like that,” he pulls back, cupping your face as the drowsiness begins to cradle you, lulling your mind into a reluctant slumber.

“that’s right, don't fight it.”

the voice urges you, stroking your head. your eyes grow heavier by the second, and all the fight leaves your body as you slump against him.

“good,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck.

the last thing you see is a pair of intense, golden eyes before your vision goes black.

“sweet dreams, my rose.”

───────────────────────────────────────────

the man, who seems to be an aide, clears his throat. but it does little to hide the way his voice trembles as he speaks.

“t-the hero, your majesty. they're gone!”

[blu3-ja3]

Jillian doesn't know much about this guy, she knows he's one of B grade Flash's villains or he at least has one of their tech. She knows he was hired by someone to go after Bruce, not Batman, Bruce Wayne. She knows this guy has caught them all unaware and is currently holding everyone hostage, including her family. Selina, Dick, and Tim have guns to their heads being held by this guy's goons and Jason's holding an unconscious Damian. Bruce is out of the room with this asshole. Jillian hasn't seen Duke, Steph or Cass for a while, Jillian herself is on her knees with a bunch of other of the gala attendees while these goons wave around automatic rifles and laugh about their paycheck.

Finally the main dude comes back, Bruce is with him... He has something strapped to his chest. It's a bomb, oh gods it's a bomb! Jillian nervously meets Selina's eyes because she can't see Bruce, nor can Dick and Tim. She looks up at the Flash villain as he grabs the mic and begins to talk.

"I need a volunteer! Someone who can run-" Jillian stood up quickly, she flinches as the barrel of a rifle is harshly shoved into her back.

"I'LL DO IT! I'll do it, I'll run," the villain smiles seemingly impressed.

"You can't slow down once you start, if you do-" Jillian cuts him off as she walks over to Tim.

"The bomb will blow up, yeah we know. Flash villain; whatever your name is," Jillian walks up to Tim and sits down. She ignores the offended sound that came from the stage.

"What are you doing?" Dick hisses as Jillian removes her heels

"I'm taking Tim's converse,"

"Do I get a say in you taking my shoes?" Tim asked but Jillian kept talking over him.

"because he has padding in them, they're the closest to my size, and I'm not running in heels," Jillian doesn't look up as she starts untying Tim's shoes, Tim just shrugs and lets her continue.

"No! What are you thinking! You can't run-" Jillian turns to glare at Dick, they have a glare off before Dick relents and drops his head.

"I can run, it's the only thing I can do. It's all I do is run, let me do this, let me do what I'm good at," Jillian whispers as she pulls off Tim's shoes and starts lacing up then onto her feet, they're a little tight but she'll survive... Wrong turn of phrase, she'll deal.

Jillian turns to meet Selina's gaze, who looks like she also wants to argue, to fight and convince Jillian to back down. But if there's one thing they've all learned; it's that all the Wayne's, regardless of blood ties or no, were all as stubborn and bull headed as Bruce himself. Selina doesn't say anything but she gives her a small nod and an encouraging smile.

Jillian meets Bruce's gaze, he's been beat pretty bad but Jillian knows he'll be okay. No what causes the pit anxiety and the slight dread is the look of horror on his face. There's panic in his eyes and she's sure that if he wasn't gagged he would be screaming and yelling, well he is but it's muffled. Jillian steals herself and takes a final deep breath.

While Jillian walks up the stage she reaches down and rips her dress so it's not nearly as long. Thankfully her hair was already tied mostly up in a half-do so she lets it down and ties it all up. Jillian is forever grateful to herself for constantly wearing biker shorts under her dresses, her thighs chafe when she's just standing and walking around. She doesn't want to know what they'd feel like after running for who knows how long. Finally she reaches the stage and holds out a gloved hand.

"Oh-hoho! Someone is determined, I like that!" As the villain yells he straps something to the teens wrist, she yelps in pain as something stabs into her wrist. A small trickle of blood begins lazily rolling down the sides of her wrist.

"Alrighty! When I press this button you don't stop until I get my money! Oh! One last thing," the man smiles slips into something more horrific as he speaks.

"If he goes, so do you! Are you ready? Get set! Go!" The man taps the button and Jillian begins to run.

Jillian is good at this, it's one of the few things she's confident about. She's not graceful or incredibly flexible like Dick or Cass, she's not a great fighter like Jason or Damian. She's not smart like Tim or Barbara or stealthy like Steph. She didn't have the same level of control over her meta abilities like Duke. But Jillian can run, she can push herself and her endurance. She can keep a steady pace and keep it for as long as physically possible. Jillian can run. Jillian can endure.

•°•°•

Jillian's first move was to get the fuck out of the small space that the gala was being held in. Moving quickly towards the door Jillian burst outside to the busy downtown Gotham streets. She kept a steady pace heading west towards the docks of Gotham.

Worse case scenario Jillian can throw herself into Gotham bay before the bomb goes. Minimal damage to the surrounding areas and the people. She holds confidence that someone will get to the bomb strapped to Bruce's chest soon, if all the police car whipping past her was anything to go by.

For now Jillian keeps running, not a sprint but an easy pace. Jillian's no speedster but she's curious about their endurance, she hasn't gotten much of a chance to go pace for pace with one. She's met Bart and while the boy is fast she wonders if he could keep up endurance wise? Jillian has trained for endurance most of her life, she's been in track for almost a decade at this point. Plus she actively partakes in marathons and endurance climbing...Who's she kidding there's very little chance Jillian could keep up with a speedster.

It's been about a good hour of running, Jillian's sweating and tired but she knows she can keep going. She's on 5th Street now, the longest road that stretches across all of Gotham right next to Gotham bay. Jillian's feet left the concrete and asphalt of Gotham's roads and the hollow thuds of Gotham's board walks and dock ring out under her feet.

There's a drone following her, it has been for the last five minutes, Jillian didn't want to assume it was following her but now she had confirmation. The teen figured it was probably Oracle, so she waved to Barbara hoping to reassure her. Yeah Jillian has a bomb strapped to her wrist but she'll be okay... Probably.

Honestly that was the main reason Jillian left the gala. If she fails, if Jillian can't run and everything blows, in the worst case scenario her family has to only watch Bruce. Though he's probably already out of the vest or figured out how to disarm it or something. That's besides the point, Jillian didn't want them to see her go up.

Jillian is a little shocked when another set of foot steps approaches her and Jillian sees Duke dressed in his typical Signal garb. She sees him smile at her and for a moment Jillian falters as her heart leaps and her stride slows. Jillian sees the consistently blink red light slow. Panic and dread rushed through her body as dawning horror spreads across Duke's face.

Jillian turns on a dime and sprints the short distance to get across the docks. She can hear Duke yelling and the screams of Stephanie as well but Jillian has a single minded focus. Get to the water, minimize damages both physical and mental. Maybe she can pray... Jillian's not particularly religious but maybe if she prayed just once she'd live this.

Jillian feels the cold rush of Gotham bays water make contact with her, when suddenly there's a rush of air. One moment she's submerged under water and the next she's standing on the docks again. Jillian is vaguely aware of a rapidly buzzing and blurring object next to her holding her arm with the bomb.

Eventually her brain catches up and Jillian realizes that there's a speedster next to her. Judging by the height Jillian is guessing it's the first Flash and not Impulse or the former Kid Flash. Jillian has a moment to look behind herself and see Duke and Stephanie running towards her both in vigilante garb.

"Sorrythisisgoingtohurt! HopefullyIdon'tbreakyourwristorarm! Don'twanttoexplainthattoBats," there's a rapid buzzing of what sounds like words before her wrist and arm starts shaking rapidly.

Jillian screams at the sudden intense stabbing around her wrist becomes more intense. As suddenly as it starts it stops and Jillian's arm is let go, there's a rush of air and a spray of water as a blur of red rushes out towards the middle of the bay between Metropolis and Gotham.

Jillian doesn't even process that her legs give out from underneath her until she's hitting the ground. Her breathing is labored and her mouth is tacky, she should probably drink some water. A shiver runs its course through Jillian's body as a breeze sweeps over her form.

There's a hand grabbing her wrist, dazed Jillian looks up to see Duke rummaging through his utility belt. He's not wearing his cowl, it's just his domino mask, it kinda looks like a bat itself. Everyone's masks have all changed, now covering more than just his eyes, it's almost like a cowl with how much it covers. Though unlike the cowl Jillian can see the faint glow of Duke's eye easier.

She's always found comfort in Duke's eyes, they're like little suns. When he looks at her Jillian feels like she's at the center of the sun itself, warm and fuzzy. There's a weight of something wrapping around her and Jillian looks up to see Steph removing her black Batgirl cape and draping it around her. Jillian's attention snaps back to Duke as there's a searing pain around her wrist causing her to hiss in pain.

"Sorry," Duke mumbles he glances up at Jillian and her breath catches in her throat. The warmth of light washes over her, it feels like it's gently caressing her soul. She'll never hate the feeling of Duke staring at her.

"Mi amores luz,"

The words fall from Jillian's lips like a prayer, it's barely a whisper. But Jillian knows what she says, she hears the words fall from her lips. She doesn't notice Duke's eyes widening slightly but he doesn't say anything. He can see plain as day the panic that washed over Jillian's face for a moment. It's only a moment but it's enough for Duke to pretend he never heard it.

Jillian's had a rough night, she's tired and exhausted. She's not in her right mind right now. She doesn't mean it. That's what Duke tells himself as he finishes wrapping her wrist. The rest of the night is kind of a blur for Jillian.

The Gotham police helped capture the gala crashers with assistance from Impulse and Flash. When Flash was informed that a civilian had the detonator strapped to their wrist he immediately went looking. Signal and Batgirl helped him look and Signal found the girl at the docs. Flash got the detonator off the civilian and left to help Impulse.

Duke, Steph, and Cass managed to slip out before being captured. They got into gear quickly but not before Jillian had volunteered herself. Oracle was the one to find her and Duke was the closest to the docks. Steph came quickly afterwards but not before Jillian managed to trigger the bomb.

When Jillian was escorted home by GCPD she was smothered by her family. Everyone was careful not to touch bare skin which Jillian was extremely grateful for. She really did need her powers flaring and giving her an identity crisis on top of the exhaustion she was currently feeling.

Jillian was laying in her bed when there was a knock at her door. Getting up and wrapping herself in the fluffy robe Cass gifted her Jillian approached her door. When she opened it she was greeted by a soft glow of light. Again Jillian's breath hitched in her throat at Duke's eyes met hers.

"Hey, can we talk?" Jillian snapped out of her daze and nodded not trusting her voice. She stepped aside opening her door more to allow Duke into her room.

Instantly he walked over to Jillian's desk and sat down in the chair there. Jillian closed her door and giggled quietly as Queenie immediately jumped into Duke's lap demanding attention from him. Sitting on her bed Jillian crossed her legs and watched quietly as Duke whispered to Queenie while petting her.

"Are you okay?" Jillian was a little shocked by Duke's sudden question, he didn't even look up from where he was currently petting Queenie. The large black fluff ball was absolutely loving the attention.

"Uh, yeah I think so?" Jillian was being honest, she's tired, her wrist hurts and her legs burn like they usually do after running for so long. Her knees are a little scraped up from her collapsing and she has a headache from slight dehydration but for the most part she's okay.

"I'm alive-" Jillian's words hitch as she says them. She hadn't really taken the time to dissect everything that happened to her and judging by the look Duke's giving her he knew that.

"You ran to jump into the water. After you slowed down..." Jillian wasn't entirely sure where this was going, in her mind she made the right call. If she was going to blow up then doing so in the water was the best place.

"I did it because it was the best option, less damage," She tilted her head back to stare at the glow in the dark stars above her bed.

"Why did you slow down when you saw me?" Jillian's head dropped quickly to look at Duke, she was immediately met with molten gold staring at her.

"I-" Jillian couldn't think of a good excuse, she didn't intend to slow down when she spotted Duke but she did.

"It almost killed you," Jillian's eyes widened as Duke continued, "I almost killed you,"

"But you didn't, I'm o-" Duke cut her off before Jillian could finish.

"If Flash was even a second later then you would have been pieces in the bay," Duke's words were sharp and angry.

"But he wasn't I'm fine Duke, honestly," Jillian began to stand from where she was sitting but hesitated when Duke stood up suddenly.

"I saw it, I watched you jump into that bay and never come back out," Jillian's movements stopped completely at that.

"Duke-" again Duke cuts Jillian off before she could talk.

"No, you don't get it. I couldn't do anything at that moment, I didn't even know I was seeing an alternate!" Duke raised his voice a bit but softened it again when Queenie let out a soft meow.

"I thought you died, Jill. I was so sure you died and I couldn't do anything to help you," Jillian stood up from where she was sitting on her bed and walked up to Duke.

She wasn't expecting the taller teen to grab her and pull her into a hug. One arm wrapped around her lower back and his other hand cradled her head, pressing it gently into his chest. Jillian could feel her cheeks heating up but decided to risk it and wrapped her arms around his hips.

"I was so scared," Jillian could feel the slight shake of Duke's body and hugged him tighter, silently praying her powers didn't flare up.

"I'm here Duke, I'm right here. Nothing happened, I promise I'm okay," Jillian whispered into his chest and just let Duke hold her.

She wasn't sure how long he held her but eventually he stopped shaking. Slowly Jillian pulled was and looked up, warm honey met her gaze and Jillian heard herself gasp. She felt she was imagining it when Duke's eyes flicked down to Jillian's lips for a moment before meeting hers again.

"Can I kiss you?" Jillian felt like she was going to faint, nodding dumbly. Before she could continue her brain caught up with her body.

"Wait!" Jillian gasped as Duke inched closer, as soon as the word left Jillian's mouth Duke pulled back completely.

"I'm sorry," Jillian could feel tears welling up as she continued speaking, "I don't know if I'll have control, I don't want you to see something horrible or for me to see something you don't want me to see,"

Jillian watched Duke's face morph from fear to concern to something soft. He closed his eyes and for a moment Jillian felt like she was set adrift in the void of Gotham again. She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Jillian whispered softly trying to keep her voice steady but failing, this caused Duke to open his eyes.

"It's okay," Duke smiled, Jillian's heart flutters at what Duke said next,

"I can endure the wait."

Cursed Gotham Masterpost

[casual-praxis]

Okay, so I've failed again.. I'm still poking this AU with a stick.

At some point while listening to J-pop at a volume not recommended for my tinnitus, I started to think about spiders, and that made me remember my FS x TftGS Vio wip.

So I started googling spiders, and that made me want to mess with this some more, and well--here we are lmao.

I like to think this is an in-between form, and Vio's actual demon form is much more eldritch horror and not very humanoid once you get up close.

I don't think I have the art skills to illustrate it, but I imagine he's unnaturally lanky, less skin or human features, more exoskeleton and doll-like joints. He doesn't have chelicerae, but his jaw does unhinge (tho this might change. I'm thinking maybe his ears would just stop being ears and wrap around his head to create chelicerae, since spiders don't have ears. Jaw still unhinges regardless).

If you wanna read more rambling about this design, feel free to peep below the cut. There's a few alternate versions of the drawing as well, since I'm so indecisive with colors lmao.

Rapid-fire details list because I like yapping, go!

+ Both Vio's partial demon form and full form have eight eyes in total. Four on the face, two on either shoulder, one on the chest, and one on his back right at the base of his neck. His main two eyes react like normal (though he can't blink in these forms despite having eyelids). All the others are constantly swiveling around erratically, and usually not in the same directions.

+ "A Violet Spider's Death Bloom" is technically his full name, shortened to Vio for human convenience. Demon's are weird. Most either have regular sounding names, like Jeff, or long ass titles like this. Shadow's isn't much better; Mr "Left Hand of the Shadowed Tyrant".

+ The whole spider theming came about from me associating bow strings with spider thread, so if you were confused, don't worry, it only barely makes sense anyhow. I've since put more thought into it, but I was kinda curious on how far I could push it before people started to think, "wait, this isn't Vio anymore!"

Spiders as a theme is also just something I personally think fits the way I view Vio as a character. When I think of spiders, I think of eyes. When I think of Vio, I also, for a weird reason, think of eyes.

In the manga, the main way I told anyone apart was usually from the eyes, though their tunics helped a lot too. Vio's eyes in particular stood out to me since, when not colored in, they look the most distinct from the others, with the lack of highlight and general abundance of white space.

There's also frequent close up's of his eyes in particular to show when he's emoting (or processing emotions), such as the "oh, Shadow Link" thing or the weird glance he gives Green before fake stabbing him. Just. The whole of chapter 8. Eyes.

Not to mention how often he shoots things there. And how observant he tends to be...it just fits, I think.

His role in this AU is more background character oriented, but he's still always aware of what's going on in town, generally speaking. He has a whole web of connections. Eyes everywhere. He knows of everyone, even if they don't know of him, until it's too late. :)

+ Counting his mechanical spider legs, he's got seven limbs in total. One was lost in the last confrontation Vio and Shadow had before Vio found the town. He often uses the extra appendages to quickly stab enemies before a fight even starts, or to climb up to higher places. The chain portion can alternate in length, becoming however long or short he needs them to be, but the actual leg parts cannot be changed. They do register pain, even if they're metal-like.

+ He's got doll-joints mostly to tie into the inorganic, mechanical vibe. They can be ripped off and reattached with minimal effort. Sometimes, he even does it on purpose to get the upper hand in a confrontation. Scarily enough, his movement speed does not decrease.

+ Like most monsters in the Zelda universe, his weak spot is very obvious and straight forward on how to damage. The gem in his chest cavity is fairly fragile, and directly tied to his soul, but despite this, he still walks around with it on open display. This is partially to lure others into thinking he's an easy target, while also being a bit of a power move.

+ He can make a web-like string from the tips of his fingers, but outside setting traps or eavesdropping via the vibrations, he doesn't utilize this very often. He probably could not make an actual spider's web, sadly.

I have many thoughts about what he gets up to while being a Background Character but I will save those for another time.

[steviewashere]

Words Like A Bullet, Wounding My Soul

(also on ao3)

This is Part One, Part Two is Posted Here!

CW: Implied/Referenced Sex, Safeword Use (No Smut, Though) Rating: Teen

WC: 2,543

Tags: Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Arguing, Eddie Being Mean, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Insecure Eddie Munson, Insecure Steve Harrington, Safeword Use, NO SMUT, Using a Safeword While Arguing, Hard of Hearing Steve Harrington, Dialogue Heavy

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

----------------- Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington were two forces not to be reckoned with. Everybody knew this. If Eddie was snippy and rough and loud—then people zipped their lips, threw away the key, and sat on their hands. If Steve was cold and distant and biting with every word—then the others knew to be warm and inviting and leave the past in the past.

These were known facts.

It was also known that Eddie and Steve were a pair. They were gentle with each other and all soft and gooey around the edges. Often, they'd circulate each other in public—skimming fingertips over backs of hands, sharing straws because somebody "forgot" to grab another—or behind the privacy of closed doors—entangled on the couch during movie nights and washing dishes after large dinners and exchanging quiet glances that everyone knew meant, "Horny and Impatient."

But they definitely knew how to choke each other out. Insecurities ran deep and were easy to point out. Like mold on bread slices.

So it makes perfect senes that they constantly argued, too. Usually mundane situations. Things like: "Ugh, Steve! It's my turn to choose what we watch, enough with the basketball!" and "Eddie, stop leaving your dishes strewn about!" and "No, I'll pick up everybody and drop them off!" Though, these were quickly resolved. A deep breath taken, a compromise made, and a few warm pecks exchanged.

However, on a slow Thursday evening in the middle of November, things go haywire.

They've been neck at neck for hours. Biting back and forth about the usual. The dishes. Your sports game. No, I'll do this. No, I can do it. Yet, everything comes crashing down the moment Eddie says:

"God, you're being so stupid!" Shouted and spitting. He's red faced and wild. His body lanky and petrifying the way a molten skeleton in some very graphic thriller movie would be.

Steve stops where he's been pacing in the living room. Now glancing back over to Eddie on the couch. "What?" he asks in a quiet, shaking voice. He doesn't remember anything about the argument, but he can definitely hear the way Eddie's voice echoes now. Doesn't know where the snarky remarks were going, how they dissolved now into this.

This being the two of them several feet apart in the same room. Not looking at each other, trying to find the most convenient and decorated corner of the Harrington's living room. Spitting and biting and growling.

"You're being so stupid!" Eddie shouts again. "I feel like every time I try to explain something to you, I'm just talking to a brick wall! Do you even listen to me? Or are you just a fucking space cadet all the time?" He runs a frustrated hand down his face, pulling at his features exaggeratingly. "For once, I wish you'd listen to me, just once!"

There's a tense moment where Steve just stands rigid and Eddie must take this as some sort of confirmation. Because he hefts himself up from the couch and makes his way around the coffee table to where Steve is just standing. A bony finger stabs into Steve's chest. Eddie closes in, voice low and husky. Face centimeters away, eyes lit with ingenuine mirth and teeth glinting in the shape of fangs. "See?" he questions lowly. "Can't even fucking give me an answer."

And something finally wakes up in Steve. He takes a wobbling step back, feeling cold air rush around him. "Wh-what? Of course I listen to you. I just—"

"You just what?" Eddie raises. His voice itching to be loud and louder. "You just listen to what you want to hear? Want me to call you pretty names and tell you how good you are and how excited I am to see you?" he taunts. "But when it's something I care about—"

Steve flinches at his wording.

"—when it's something I care about, you just can't bother," Eddie growls. "If it isn't fascinating to you, then you just tune me out. Your brain fucking implodes and shrivels back down to being jock sized and empty." He takes a hefty step forward, once again in Steve's orbit. A palm raises in Steve's line of sight, it shoves hard at his chest. Not sending him to the floor, but stumbling enough that he wheezes from the impact.

Eddie moves again to try it once more, to make Steve feel small.

But, Steve sidesteps him. "That's not true," he tries to argue, but it sounds too soft and tiny to be anything. "You were talking about D&D and I tried to follow along, but you know how I am with that stuff. It doesn't—"

"It doesn't connect," Eddie mocks. "Fuck you, Harrington. I've heard that a million times before and each one of those times, I've explained this shit to you. Over and over and—"

"Fuck me?! Fuck you, Eddie!" Save finally screams back. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You're being such an asshole, you know how I am with being called du—"

Eddie scoffs. "Oh, so for years, you and your little pack of high school bullies can mock me for shit. Call me names. Toss me around. And the one time I finally call you out on this, it's suddenly too much?!" he roars. "You're so—" He grunts, groans, screams nearly.

"Stop, Eddie," Steve demands. Tome firm first.

But Eddie barrels on anyway. "You're such a dick. You think everything revolves around you. You don't care for anything I have to say. You—"

"Stop," Steve pleads.

"You don't really care for anybody around you, do you?" he questions darkly. "'Just wanted to help,' my ass. Just wanted to clear your name, more like. Am I right? And now you're just stuck here, fucking jumping to whatever conclusions you want, following the wording you want to hear—"

"Red!" Steve screams. "Red, red, red!" he shouts before turning towards the couch and sitting down heavily. Head in his hands, fingers pulling at the hair around his ears. His throat feels like it's on fire and his head is pounding and there's definitely tears threatening to pour from his eyes. Peeking between the gap of his palms, the carpet is a mirage of blended colors, not a single one making a complete picture. But he can't look up from it. Not after having to practically safeword out of an argument.

Eddie is now startled into silence. His body turns to face his boyfriend. Where he sits, shaking and choking on quiet sobs. There's a brief moment where Eddie can literally feel his heart parachute to his stomach. Can hear the sizzling of his organ and the rush of his own blood. He's never heard Steve get loud like this. Usually he's so quiet and pensive and passive aggressive, but this, this is a new side. And Eddie doesn't like it at all.

It was common between them to try new things out and see what pleasure can be derived. And if things were taken too far or something immediately felt off-putting or terrible, they were allowed to exit the scene at any time. The stoplight system. Their shared word being "Asparagus." Things that could easily be heard and shut down everything at once, forcing them into a gentle lull where they share whispered praises and warm compliments and careful touches with a soft rag or just fingers.

So it's not unusual for Eddie to hear it. He's had to comfort Steve after a few scenes. And Steve's done the same for him.

What gets him is the context now. How tense the room feels, like walking into an already heated up sauna. Like walking into a hot tub set to one thousand degrees, in nothing—absolutely nothing.

And even though they’re fighting, Eddie’s immediate care kicks into overdrive. He forces his body to skitter over to the couch, plop down by Steve’s side, and reach out to rub a palm over his back. But when his skin makes contact, Steve flinches away.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” he growls. And when his eyes look deep into Eddie’s, there’s something tragic there. “You—You don’t get to say shit like that to me and then try to—Try to,” he chokes. A sob caught between a gag and a phlegm cough cracks open from his chest. “I don’t understand what I did wrong,” he cries out.

Eddie is once again quiet, keeping his hands to himself. Running them nervously over his thighs. It takes everything in him to not reach out and scoop Steve up and run fingers through his hair. He swallows and breathes. Opting to not respond. Maybe this will teach him to shut his mouth, for once.

Steve cries loud and harsh. And Eddie bears witness to it all. The contortion of his body, the reddening of his skin, the pulling of his hair, especially the wailing that’s spilling from his closing throat.

“I was listening,” Steve hiccups. “I was, I swear. I didn’t—“ His breath stutters through his next inhale. Lip sucking inwards when he does attempt a deep breath; it’s not like it lasts, merely only sitting in his lungs for three seconds before punching back between them. “I couldn’t hear you!” He exclaims. 

There’s no residual anger in Steve’s tone, though Eddie thinks there should be. God, he feels like a pile of shit just for the way Steve is holding himself right now. How his body is giving up on him. The way he continues to writhe through each stabbing cough and sob and gag and—He just feels like shit.

Though, alarms are going off in Eddie’s head. What Steve just said, that doesn’t make any sense. They were facing each other. They were sitting only two inches apart, practically every open area of skin clinging to one another. For a moment, Eddie once again feels anger spike through him. But the other part of him is overcome with deep concern, rippling in his blood, pouring out in the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow and his mouth shifts downturned.

“You couldn’t hear me?” He parrots.

Steve nods his head. A bobblehead who’s spring is wound too loose, head flopping almost over its shoulders. “I—I was going to tell you, I swear. But I—You were talking and talking and I couldn’t read your lips because that’s really hard and you talk super fast and when you talk fast you mumble and—“ He gags. Slams his back behind into the couch, head dropping over the curved edge. He blinks rapidly, swallows so aggressive that his Adam’s apple appears to be plunging from behind his tongue. A deep breath, short lived. Two more deep breaths and they wheeze through him, but it must be enough because he carries on. “And then you got mad and you were so mean and I swear I was listening, I was interested, I just didn’t understand. And you get so tired of having to reexplain things that I didn’t want to ask and then you got even more mad and now—I was listening, I swear!” He cries out once more.

In response, Eddie’s jaw is dropped slack. He couldn’t hear me, he realizes. Genuinely, really.Scrambling, he whispers, “And I got mad and I called you stupid and then…” And then he called red, you idiot, Eddie self-chastises.

God, he is really a steaming back of flaming dog shit.

Taking another breath, Steve exhales with, “I was listening.” He tilts his head to look directly at Eddie. Eyes open and pleading. Begging to be understood. “I’m losing my hearing, Eds. I was going to tell you, but I didn’t—I didn’t get the chance. And then you were—“

“I was being mean. I was being an asshole. I wasn’t listening to you,” Eddie lists off. “I was doing the things that I accused you of,” he realizes.

Steve nods against the back of the couch. Blinking and blinking and swallowing and trembling.

“Oh my god, you couldn’t hear me, you couldn’t understand me,” Eddie whispers. Suddenly, he shoots upwards. Nearly startling Steve into another frantic round of panic. “How long, Steve?”

“Since March,” Steve admits, almost shamefully. “My head slammed into the wall inside of the Creel house and I ended up with another concussion. And that was the start of it,” he elaborates. “It’s just been going from there.”

As he talks, Eddie begins to silently cry. And when Steve’s done, Eddie sobs.

“And this entire time…Oh my god,” he mumbles. “Oh my god,” he repeats. Choking through his next breath. “Baby—“ Steve perks up at that. “—Baby why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

Steve shrugs. “Everybody else had it worse off. It didn’t seem important.” He sniffs. “Guess now it kind of is though, right?” A humorless chuckle. “If that’s how you’ve been thinking of me.”

Damn him, Eddie thinks. Damn him and stu—and his unnecessary self-sacrificial nature. “Sweetheart, you’re not stupid. I swear, you’re not stupid. Steve, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever had the fortune of coming across. You know just what to say, when to say it. You’ve got that interest in classic literature, which I fucking adore by the way. And you know almost too much about any sport in the world. That’s—Your sport stuff is like D&D for me.

“God, you’re not stupid. Not by a mile. I just—I’ve always been treated like shit for the things I like. And I know that’s not an excuse, it’s just the way I’ve had to adapt and grow, y’know?” He asks rhetorically. “If I got defensive and angry and vicious, then people left me alone. And I could enjoy my stuff in peace. But when I tried to share the things I liked, people were fast to tune me out and shrug me off.” Eddie slowly inches in again, gauging Steve’s reaction. When he doesn’t flinch, but instead moves close, Eddie shoves a hand into the back of his hair and slings his other arm over Steve’s lap. Thumb rubbing at Steve’s denim thigh. He says, “You’ve never been stupid. I just thought you didn’t care. Nobody has ever cared about me the way you care about me, I swear it.”

Steve nuzzles in closer. He breathes against Eddie’s neck. Murmurs, “Everything you like is special to me. And I want to be able to understand. I’m trying.”

“I know baby, I see that now,” Eddie whispers. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you previously and today. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

He squeezes Steve tighter. An attempt to meld their bodies into one.

“I love you so much, Steve. We’re going to figure something out. Learn a language or raise some money for a hearing aid, whatever you want.”

Against Eddie’s chest, Steve nods. “I love you too,” he whispers. Presses a kiss over Eddie’s left pec. “You’re gonna have to show me though.”

“Whatever you fucking want, Steve. You can have anything you want from me.” And he can feel the smirk against his neck. But Eddie is willing and able to give. “Take anything you want from me.”

----------------- Part Two is Here!

[allelitewrites]

Barbed Wire Heart

I'm So Sorry (Part Two)

Word Count: 1171

Relationship: Reader X Hangman Adam Page

------------------------------------------------------------

After the attack by Swerve, even if it was against what you wanted, Hangman insisted he assist you backstage and then to the medical room. He probably would've carried you if you would have let him. Doc Sampson was already waiting, fully expecting a visit from you. He asked you a few questions as you grimaced every once in a while. You couldn't even feel the tacks in your back anymore and your head had for the most part clotted up. Adam never left your side, allowing you to squeeze his forearms whenever one of the thumb tacks being removed from your back hurt enough to make you flinch.

Doc eventually finished up, leaving you and your fiancé to yourselves. You took one of the unopened cleansing wipes on the counter next to you, tearing open the packet and unfolding the napkin. "Can I?" You ask Adam, pointing at your dried blood still staining his stubbled chest.

"You don't need to worry about it. I can get it." He softly smiles. He was doing what he always did when you got hurt. Not letting you help him with anything even if he really needed it. But when he tried to take the wipe you pulled your hand away.

He couldn't help but chuckle at your stubbornness. You cleaned up his chest, more of your blood on him than you thought there was. You didn't think he knew it but you were trying to distract yourself from the tiny stabbing pains in your back wherever a thumbtack once was. He looked like he was closer to crying than you were. He watched you with sad eyes, waiting for you to look up at him and just admit to him how much pain you were in so he could use it as a reason to cater to you. But it wasn't going to happen. The pain was better than making him feel more guilty than he already did.

When there was no visible blood left on him, he stood up and picked his shirt up off the chair on the other side of the room. When a knock rattled the door, Adam opened it to reveal the Young Bucks on the other side. They were visibly worried as they checked on you. You needed to assure them you were fine, standing up and shaking your body to show you weren't in too much pain. Regardless of your best efforts to lie, your fiancé who was putting his hair up in a bun could sense the untruthfulness radiating off your body.

Eventually the Bucks did leave. You and Adam checked in with Tony Khan to let him know you were doing all right. Adam never let go of your hand once. Even as you were grabbing your bags or walking through doorways in the hallway. You both knew you were going to have to return back to your home which you watched get trashed.

You walked through the parking lot, waving at a fan or two who left the show a few minutes early. Adam put your bag in the back seat. Opened the car door for you. Even buckled you in. He was being annoying but his genuine heart stopped you from being able to get mad. Adam wanted do everything to make sure you didn't work at all.

He drove you both home, his head constantly turning to look at you to make sure you were alright. You occasionally planted a kiss on his hand which was interlocked with yours. Every so often he'd mumble a few words to you, ask you if you were in any pain, or if he could do anything to help you. He offered you food, but you didn't have much of an appetite. He offered you ice cream, but the thought turned your stomach. Adam eventually realized he would have to just settle for tending to you at home.

It wasn't as easy as that. You took a deep breath before Adam unlocked the door. For the time being it seemed he forgot that your home was raided and torn apart. Again he reached for your hand as he pushed the door open. All of the lights were left on, drawers were pulled open, and there was things all over the floor. You led him through the door. Speechless about the sight laid out in front of you and your fiancé.

Adam's eyes scanned the room a few times over before you let go of his hand. You only took your hand back to wipe one of the tears that had escaped from your eyes. Your name has been brought up countless times by Adam's opponents just as your opponents had Adam. Plenty of people threatened to hurt you just to get to Hangman, but no one had ever gone this far. Removing the peace from your home and practically tearing the walls from the support beams. No one had ever gone as far as laying their hands on you, forcing your fiancé to watch helplessly.

Adam barely began to question if you were alright before you went out in the backyard and dropped to your hands and knees. You crawled around your yard like a dog, feeling around for the necklace that was thrown out the door. Your breath was hitching in your chest and the tears began to fall more frequently, Adam quickly followed you out and pulled you to your feet. He pulled you into his chest and let you cry, carefully resting his hands on your back, doing his best to not hurt you. "I'm so sorry." He whispers. He didn't think you heard but you could hear him holding back his own tears. "Y/n, I'm so sorry."

After an hour or two of cleaning with small breakdowns in between, the house looked closer to the way it normally did. Decorations on the walls and shelves, pillows propped on the couch, and Adam even managed to find the necklace in the yard. Setting it back in its place; draped on your favorite photo of you and Adam.

He showered with you and helped you get ready for bed. The now clean cuts starting to sting again. He helped you to your bed, holding you tightly to his chest. Even though the chances of someone coming back through the front door were little, his strong arms held you protectively. You were quick to fall asleep, the whole day washing you over with exhaustion. He struggled. Every once and a while his eyes popping open at the sound of a squirrel outside, a car passing by, or the sound of the house settling.

That night, the little amount of minutes of sleep Adam got were filled with dreams of each way he would get revenge. Revenge for keeping him from protecting his treasure. Revenge for destroying yours and his place of comfort. But most importantly...

Revenge for ever laying even a single finger on the one person he loved more than anyone else.

[kissorkill16]

Just An Idiot: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Sometimes, you just feel like an idiot for wanting a pretty girl.

Enzo tried not to squirm as his sister pressed the disinfectant pad on his chest.

"You're a real idiot for doing that.", said Maritza. Enzo rolled his eyes and gently pushed his sister, "Mari, please. This is punishment enough.", he said, gesturing to his stab wound.

"Whatever, man."

Maritza grabbed the bandages from the table and began wrapping them around Enzo's chest.

"I mean it, though.", she said. "You knew it was risky, and you still went out there anyway. And for what? For some girl who doesn't even like you like that?"

At that point, Enzo felt something inside him just snap. He stood up despite the pain, and he shoved his sister to the floor.

"What the hell is your problem?!", he yelled at her. "You constantly mock me, tease me, throw things at me and you act like you're embarrassed to call me your brother, even in public. Trinity makes me happy, and you think she's just using me for her own gain, but you're wrong!"

"And how do you know that?!", Maritza yelled back at her brother.

"Because she's given me reasons to trust her!", said Enzo, "While she's been a totally awesome friend to me, you've been nothing but a total bitch!"

Maritza stood up, "I'm not taking it back. You're an idiot for wanting someone just because they're pretty.", she said. "I know what Trinity is really like, because I'm not blinded by her pretty face."

Enzo felt himself ball his hands into fists, "And I'm the idiot here? Just because I want to trust someone and help them out when they need me?", he said. "Yes, I love Trinity because she's pretty, but I know she's more than that. She's kind, she's smart, she's brave, and she's a fantastic leader."

He bent down to meet Maritza's level.

"And if she's really using me, I'd prefer it over you being a total asshole to me 24/7 any day of the fucking week."

Maritza's eyes widened. She's never heard her brother swear before. At least not in English. When he did, he only swore in Spanish, never in English. That's how she knew that Enzo was really angry.

Then she saw Enzo curl up and his eyes fill with tears.

"Maybe I am an idiot.", he said, "We went into the woods together, and when I screamed, she didn't even come to save me. You did.", he wiped his face as tears started to run down his cheeks. "Maybe Trinity isn't the girl I fell in love with anymore, maybe I was an idiot for just falling for her pretty face."

Maritza didn't like seeing her brother cry. She sat down next to him and gave him a side hug, "Enzo, I know you feel stupid, and I'm gonna admit something."

Enzo looked over to his sister.

"As I got to know Trinity, I kinda fell in love with her too."

She looked away from her brother's surprised face, "But ever since she found that coin, she's become more stubborn, and I know she's probably under a lot of stress, but..."

Maritza took Enzo's hand and held it in hers.

"But you almost died tonight, and if I hadn't known about this, Crowface would've fucking killed you. She knew you'd come with her because you were the only one willing to help her, and she used that to her advantage. That's not the Trinity either of us fell in love with.", said Maritza, "I guess we're both idiots."

Enzo looked at his shoes, and Maritza gently squeezed his hand.

"But we can be idiots together, but maybe we can stop following the pretty girl."

Enzo smiled warmly at his sister, and Maritza gently wrapped her arms around her brother, careful not to put too much pressure on the stab wound.

[karrenseely]

I need to write.

I need to get this down or out or something. I know I've said these things before. But I'm stuck. So effing stuck in what happened to me growing up. And it hurts, it hurts so much. It's there all the time. Deep in the middle of my chest like a 50 lb bowling ball (yes I know they're not 50 lbs) hanging from my broken chest cavity or heart or whatever. Just know it hurts, 10/10 pain. Worse is that there's this grease around it, making it so slippery it's impossible to manipulate. The grease of the questions that I can't answer, that I can never answer. Why? Why did my family hate me? What did I do that was so wrong that they all hated me and threw me away. Why did they teach me to hate myself so thoroughly, that a part of me wants to violently stab me over and over and over again. Such that I was convinced no one really loved me, no one could love me. That if anyone got too close... it wasn't just the secret of being a girl I carried, it was the secret that I was a monster. And I was terrified people would learn both... Eventually I came out and transitioned. So the terror of learning I was a girl was gone, but not the terror of learning I was a monster. I would keep anyone who wanted to be friends at arms length, particularly women whom I perceived as being girly, together, confident, and/or pretty. I was convinced that no one could like me who seemed to be together enough to function really well. And I was convinced if I let them get too close they'd see the monster inside and cast me aside like my parents did. like my sister did.

I learned the feeling I was a monster not just from my parents, but my sister thought I was a pervert, all the media I saw depicted people like me as insane perverted freaks who should be stared at, mocked, and humiliated. At best we were a joke, at worst we were pure evil. There were no good positive role models. None. And then my peers would reinforce that. They didn't know I was a girl consciously, but they did subconsciously and that I off, or not right, and thus fodder for their taunts and jeers. It didn't really start until the 3rd grade I think, maybe 4th. But I don't know. Having heavily fragmented childhood memories with whole swaths missing absolutely sucks. Regardless, is it any wonder I was and core parts of me are still convinced that I'm a monster, freak, evil, pervert, etc. So yes the question of why? Why did they hate me so much that they felt the need to teach me to hate myself? Who does that to a child?! (too many I know) And with society reinforcing them they did a damned good job too.

So there's these questions that are constantly swirling around the pain and hurt, the five - six? years of torture I went through. Desperately trying to convince them to love me again. After I came out to my mom, instead of loving me, supporting me, helping me. She became someone else who would criticize me, yell at me if I did some little thing moderately wrong, particularly if there was even a hint of my trueself involved. She became my antagonist, and stopped being my momma... I don't have any special good memories of her after I came out to her... I have several from before I came out to her. But none after... all I remember is the hate, the denial, the criticism, the not being enough, being called a sinner, being told that no one would want to be around me much less love me if they knew about my true self. Being told I should be dead.

Who tells there child they'd rather they were dead? In what world is that an ok thing to say?! It's the one moment in my life that I can remember what was said crystal clear, despite wanting so much to forget it. What did I do to deserve it? To deserve being hated and tortured by my family. How can I possibly do anything about this pain with the grease of those questions constantly swirling around it demanding answers that will never come?

Intellectually, rationally, I know I didn't do anything to deserve any of that. I was a child in pain who needed her parents love and support. And they chose to instead reject me, resent me, and somewhere it turned into hatred. But my core self? My core self is stuck on those questions, and stuck in the memories of the pain and hurt and shame.

There was a lot of shame, because I knew my parents weren't only disappointed in me, but were embarrassed by me. No one was supposed find out about me... How could I possibly heal from this pain if I can't even grasp it, manipulate it? Do something with besides getting stuck in it. The damage that was done went so deep... I'm not even sure I can heal from this. My parents hurt me so badly, so thoroughly, that I lost any chance at having a remotely normal healthy life. And the worst part is that I'm only realizing this now at 48. I thought I was perfectly fine in college, yeah I had bouts of depression, but given I'd lost my entire family, it was understandable. But I was blind to the damage they'd done to me in so many other ways, such that I couldn't have a healthy relationship... wasn't even sure how it could be applied to me, or that I felt so reprehensible that I avoided friendships except for one brief period in a place at uni where I felt safe for the first few years, the queer resource center. I was able to make friends there, but again I kept everyone at a distance, even my best friend. I couldn't even have a healthy friendship because I was convinced I was a monster, and that anyone who saw the monster would drop me like my family did. It didn't help that out of the blue one close friend ended our friendship because "I reminded her too much of her ex-boyfriend [in a severely missing him sort of way]), which given how many years we'd been friends seemed false and convinced me she'd seen the monster and dropped me. Which just reinforced the damage my parents had caused. That's not even talking about the dysphoria caused by being told by my close friend that I reminded her of a man she loved...

I'm rambling I know, but today has been really shitty. I woke up feeling depressed and triggered... then in trying to cope with that, my violin teacher texted me she was in room 6, at which point I realized I was supposed to be at a lesson 45 minutes away. This added to the feelings of being a failure, stupid, really hating my ADHD and my inability to handle changes in routine schedules. So I huddled in the bathroom and had a crying fit. I couldn't do anything right. And the rest of the day has been me fighting memories and those damned questions. As they continue to swirl in my head... why why why, what did I do to deserve this? I was just a little girl who needed love and help. Why?

[thebookshelfofalexandria]

TW: Grief, loneliness, terminal illness, sick pet

suddenly having everything go wrong in your life while watching it continue moving as normal for the people around you is such an isolating feeling because you don't want to constantly drag others down but at some point you're going to hit the wall and have nowhere else to go

like i feel like im watching my own life crumble to pieces on every front and nothing changes

my grandfather is still dying and has been for 3 years despite the nurses saying again it could be over this week

i still have to continue participating in my classes

my 16 year old dog is having more frequent episodes of pain and currently hasn't laid down all day and possibly longer because of the current one and i can't make him comfortable

my friend are still going to parties

my mom is causing chaos in our lives because she can't handle her emotions or realize that me and my sister shouldn't know every single awful detail of his deathbed experiences

i still have to help organize events for my club sport

my mom, aunt, and uncle are at each others throats for increasingly unhinged reasons and i may not be able to see my cousins again as a result once my grandfather passes

people are still making plans for the next dnd session or fun event

there's just

no

end

all i want is to go back to normal and stop feeling so awful

i've been grieving for 3 years for him alone and almost a year because my grandmother died last year on my birthday which the anniversary of is rapidly approaching

my dad is out of the country and i'm terrified he won't make it back because i'm so scared to lose anything else right now

i had to come home to support my mom and sister while my mom spends time with my grandfather and i'm separated from the only church i feel comfortable going to

the grief feels like i'm being stabbed in chest over and over and over again and my body is being weighed down by cement

i can't really talk to anyone because they're all people i don't want to drive away or people i'm supposed to be taking care of and not the other way around

i don't know what to do but i can't keep doing this

[jadiicus]

2015-2021

7 years of my life spent with someone who was an absolute shapeshifter of a person. He would change who he was to fit in to certain situations, but also use that to his advantage to manipulate it to go his way.

Within the first 3/5 months of dating this person, we can call him Locke, I found that he was texting other girls on Kik messenger (back when kik was popping off). At that point I had my friend come pick me up because I had broken up with him. The weak 19 year old that I was i went back and this would be the snowfall effect of the constant flow of him cheating on me with prostitutes, escorts, and women from dating apps.

This man was my first everything. He was my first real partner and the first person that I laid down in bed with. So, maybe that was the reason I was so willing to stick around, but honestly i think it was a fear of being lonely on top of just wanting a picture perfect lifestyle. I saw all of my friends living their lives in these super healthy relationships and moving forward in life and that's what i wanted for myself. So, i hid the fact that he was a serial cheater and tried to portray that image for myself.

From 2017 through 2021 i dealt with Locke cheating on me constantly and me finding it. When i did find it and would confront him he would self harm in front of me as a form of manipulation for me to feel bad for him. Over time, i started to resent him and not feel anything.

I vividly remember one day when we were living together, i found out that he was planning to sleep with this girl, technically we weren't together but we were playing the part for our families as well as still sleeping together. He found out that i was talking to someone i went to high school with and we were planning to hang out. This sent him over the edge to the point he had ran to the kitchen to stab himself in the chest with a knife. I didn't make in there in time to stop him and the knife had been pushed into his chest about 1.5 inches. This caused him to profusely bleed all over and I was there putting pressure on his wound and tending to him. All as a manipulative tactic for me to not leave and go hang out with this person.

The trauma... to this day I cant look at blood anymore without feeling queasy.

Moving forward, he was still constantly cheating. There were times where I thought that he really loved me and that he had changed and we would have that picture perfect life i had dreamed of and always wanted but it was all fake.

It wasn't until September 2021 where one of the girls he was seeing finally messaged me, ill call her Sarah, and i am forever grateful for her message because without it i wouldn't have had the confidence to finally leave.

Ill always remember the day she messaged me. I was walking out of my illustration class and heading to my car when i read it. I had been talking to Locke that day, and he was just messaging me as well about wanting to look for rings for me which i knew was a crock of shit. As soon as i read Sarah's message i knew that this was my way out. I responded to him that i didn't want shit from him and that i didn't wanna be with him at all anymore. The sad thing is, i was in the process of painting his mother a painting that was in her basement and had to continue to go to her house for a few weeks, where he lived, so finish the painting. While doing that he would try to talk to me and apologize but i just didn't give a fuck anymore, I had found my worth, or so i had thought.

This leads me into my next post where I meet the actual devil inside of a person.

Locke is now in a relationship and it looks like he is doing everything right and taking her places i begged for him to take me. Good for her I'm sure she deserves that treatment, but i hope that he doesn't put her through the emotional turmoil that he put me through.

[hiraethinhaven]

its kind of insane being in my early twenties because I am in my internship and working towards this highly important degree. I'm handling so many responsibilities and meetings and being everywhere at once while also dealing with the most gut-wrenching emotions and struggling against my own sense of cosmic identity. Im questioning myself, my religion, my parents, and also everyone I ever met and talked to. I constantly have these moments of extreme anxiety and I balloon out of my body and see myself from a third person perspective just sitting. just standing. i feel so insane and on the edge of something truly unavoidable. it feels like I'm constantly waiting on something bad to happen. its exhausting and taxing and mentally draining. I talk with my mentor teacher, my students, and my classmates. and then I sit in my car alone. and I just feel like none of this matters. on paper I can write yes of course this matters, you're working towards a degree, you're impacting these kids lives, you are establishing professional relationships, you're doing everything you possibly can! and yet. I feel so. resigned almost. like I’m just going through the motions. and all of this will fade away, none of it will Really matter, and I'll still end up sitting in my car. alone. I get in these moments of stabbing anxiety and my whole being buzzes and feels so insanely on edge. and these moments happen everywhere. when I'm laying in bed. when I'm driving. God I get so scared when it happens when I'm driving. I feel like I'm gonna explode. my head hurts. God its never stopped hurting. all this and I still just go to work. go to class, sit and read, stand and teach. I make food and eat it and feel nothing. I make tea and hold it close to my chest and all I feel is that physical warmth. nothing translates. nothing helps. yet I don't feel hopeless, just resigned. I just need to finish this. but then what? what happens after? what do I do? who am I even becoming. what do I get excited for anymore, nothing and everything. everything is overwhelming and I hate to think past my own hands. and maybe I'm just rambling and this doesn't even make sense to me but I’m sitting in class and trying not to freak out. I have a daily fear of passing out from the stress of it all. I get dizzy and disoriented just talking to someone because that anxiety grips me so deeply and fuck I don't know what to do!!

writing helps. its the one thing I come back to. writing helps. I talk and talk and so much of it is just bullshit and I overthink and overthink and so much of it is waste. I write and I feel relieved. like I’m not the only one with this burden. I'm handling it over to you.