#but it’s hard to imagine what else it could be!!

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter is all from Blue's perspective. if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children triggers you do not read. though it is really not graphic at all (imo) and the SA is EXTREMELY implied and subtle (just a woman looking/potentially touching Blue's private area to check for virginity). I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

B

Blue hasn’t been without her father for more than an hour in over five years. There were moments when she'd imagined him disappearing, especially when he said no to her, when he could annoy her, push her too hard, or withhold the words she craved. And yet—now, with her head resting in Twix's lap, she can only long for him. The thought of his absence fills her with cold dread. The kind that erupts goosebumps on her arms despite the stuffy air in the room. Twix’s fingers gently stroke the back of her scalp, but it does little to ground her as her mind drifts to Ghost. He’s alive, that woman said. But it's been over a day, and he still hasn’t come for her.

"Do you think he will come soon?" she asks quietly.

Twix's fingers pause at the top of her hairline. "I think... I think he is doing everything he can to find you."

Blue is old enough to know that is a non-answer.

She knows, deep down, that Twix doesn't think he'll be coming, either.

"I will figure something out, okay?" she promises.

"Okay," Blue whispers noncommittally.

"Hey." A faint smile. "I've done pretty good at getting us out of shit in the past, right?"

Blue mumbles, "I guess so."

But this time felt different from those times. No matter how many times she catches Twix squinting around the room, murmuring things to Nereida, even Blue knows that a bright idea won’t magically appear. Not in here, where there is nothing except the three beds, the bolted cell, and the out-of-reach door that Ghost has yet to barge through.

When Blue's fingers instinctively search for her wrist, Twix’s face softens, and she gently encloses her palm over Blue's knuckles. "Alright. I want you to close your eyes and imagine that beach you showed me once. The one with white sand, and super blue water." Blue plays along with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as she feels a callused thumb brush her cheek. "Almost as blue as your eyes. See it?"

"I guess."

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine that you are lying on the sand, eating all the Twix bars and Nutella you want. Oh, and Grim is there. He was trying to make a sandcastle but got his head stuck in the sand."

Blue's lips twitch despite herself. "This is dumb."

"Dumb? Well, I don't think Grim finds it dumb. He can hardly breathe right now so you better stop eating chocolate and haul his ass up."

Blue snorts quietly, eyes screwing tighter as she imagines it; pulling the bunny out of the sand, giggling, the waves crashing. She falls back onto the sand with him in tow, but he darts away from her hands, toward the water. When she looks over, sun glaring, someone else is there. It's her father, and for a moment she is ready to jump on his back and beg him to play in the waves with her. That's when she notices he is keeled over, ripped apart, bloodied and battered.

Blue jolts, inhaling sharply. When she reopens her eyes, the image is still there. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I just saw—" she rubs her eyes profusely, but he's right in front of her. Blood begins to spurt from a sever in his throat. His head snaps forward, hanging by a thin thread of tissue. "I see him! H-his head is..." 

She jerks upright from Twix's lap, her eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off the vision. When that doesn't help, she buries her face in the pillow, but the image remains too real to ignore. The thread snaps, and her father’s head rolls away silently.

Twix’s voice cuts through, her hands gently shaking Blue’s shoulders, but it feels distant, like a shadow compared to the sickening thud of her father’s headless body hitting the ground. Thick blood pools at her feet, and she tries to move, but her muscles won’t obey. The blood rises and rises, suffocating her, until she can’t breathe.

"Blue, it's just... you're imagining it."

"I can't... I can't..."

Someone flips her over on the bed and hugs her shoulders.

Twix's chapped lips press into her cheek.

"Please, Blue. I'm here."

The touch is enough to drain the blood and free her lungs. Her father's dead body floats away. She gulps for air, cold sweat clinging to her neck, and curls into the body beside her. Lingering panic races through her heartbeat, but then, after a minute, it begins to slow considerably. A new feeling washes over with the force of a tidal wave; fatigue.

Blue suddenly feels so tired that she can't keep her eyes open. It’s as though the terrible images have drained her entirely, leaving only murky water in their place. Her mind begins to float, and the edges of the world blur. Twix's face is in front of her yet feels so far away. Her lips try to part for words to come out, but it takes three tries just to manage: "I feel strange."

Across the cell, Nereida whispers, "I do, too."

Weight shifts on the mattress as Twix tries to sit up, leaning against the wall. Her head dips slightly, then snaps back up. A shaky inhale. "That... that fucking bitch. The oatmeal!"

The oatmeal? Blue’s thoughts latch onto the warm meal they’d been forced to eat, but the memory slips away before she can hold onto it. The slow descent snowballs. Twix’s voice distorts, blending with the chirping of birds outside the window. Her body slides down the wall, crumpling back beside Blue. She tries to hug Twix again, but her arms won’t cooperate.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, Blue hears the metal screech of the cell door swinging open. Veiled ghosts drift in. She can do nothing to run from them. Murmured voices, speaking words she doesn't understand, bleed through the heavy blanket of fog lying over her.

"Vous avez dit que celui-ci était intact?"

"Oui, Maman."

"Nous offrirons son corps pur au Seigneur. Les deux autres seront aptes à avoir des enfants."

"Mais elle est une... Je veux dire, oui, Maman."

She feels something cold and sinuous lifting her—snakes. No, not snakes. Hands. Cold, unfamiliar hands. Twix shouts something slurred. Then Blue is dragged by her feet, her spine no longer supported by the bed. She tries to squirm free, but her limbs feel heavy, useless. More hands clamp down on her arms.

No, no.

She wants to call for Twix, but her voice is muffled beneath a palm, the sound dying in her throat.

A weathered voice coos in her ear. "Sweet child. There is nothing to fear."

She can't scream.

All she knows is Twix is no longer the one beside her.

Cold fear surges through her veins, and she claws at someone’s arm. The retaliation is swift—a prick to her neck.

The strike of pain intensifies her dizziness, the last fight in her body fading away. They're dragging her again. The hard floor beneath her feet melts into soft grass, and the stark white ceiling shifts into a blue, cloudless sky before everything fades to black.

A gentle melody repeats in her subconscious until she rouses.

The same three-note tune, over and over.

Peeling her eyes open against the buttery sunlight, the first thing she notices is an open window above her head, its thin white curtain dancing in the light breeze. Upon the windowsill sits a small, cooing bird with pearly grey feathers and a black ring around its neck. Its head tilts almost mechanically, two little black eyes regarding her. She stares for a long moment before her eyes fall closed once more, lulled by the familiar call. Only when the bird quiets does she truly come to her senses. The sudden silence jolts her upright.

This isn't the same room she was in before. There hadn’t been a window in the cell, and certainly not one left open. The air there had been thick with the scent of old wood and lingering dust. But here... here, the air is different. It smells of fresh flowers, of the tall grass she used to wade through with Ghost while hunting. 

The bird calls once more before flittering away, leaving her reeling.

"A collared dove."

Her gaze snaps to the right where an old woman sits in a mahogany chair, knitting needles in hand. Without looking up from the red yarn she weaves, she explains idly, "They are very common. Lovely, but common."

The accent of her old voice is nothing like Blue's Mancunian one. But she understands each word.

Her voice pulls through her teeth with great effort. "I don't... Where am I?"

The old woman's brow furrows as if she is deep in thought, but it smoothes over after she undoes a stitch and loops it again, hands moving with an unnatural slowness. "You had them in England, yes? They are very common there, too."

Blue's fingers spread into the fine linen, her pulse ticking as she blinks a few times to sharpen her vision. The woman before her is older than anyone she has seen in a long time, though there is a faint resemblance to a woman deep in her memory who she believes was her grandmother. Unlike the woman who visited their cell with food, this one does not wear a veil over her face. Long wisps of gray hair fall over her shoulders. Wrinkles etch around her eyes and lips. She is still cloaked in white, but around her neck hangs a red cord beaded with a cross dangling at the end.

Her fingers clench. "I don't care about the-the stupid bird. Why am I here? Where are my friends? You..." she swallows the feel of sandpaper in her mouth, "You put something in the food. You made me lose control of myself again!"

Finally, grey-blue eyes flicker up beneath a questioning brow. "Oh, sweet child. You are so full of fire." With an unsettling calmness, the woman sets down the knitting needles on a carved side table. Pressing a palm to the surface of it, she rises slowly, then laces her hands in front of her. "Come, and perhaps your questions will be answered. Though, I wouldn't try to run." She moves toward the door, her gait shuffled but steady. A glance over her shoulder beckons. "Your friends are under my care."

The mere mention stiffens Blue's spine. She forces herself to her unsteady feet, swaying slightly, bare toes digging into the wood planks. Each small step feels lighter than the first time she woke up from being drugged, though her body still protests. Ahead, the woman is already walking away. It wouldn’t take much to catch up, but Blue lingers, her eyes sweeping the room with deliberate caution—always stay aware of your surroundings.

For a moment, she considers grabbing the knitting needle and stabbing the woman. But then what? Everyone, her father included, is under her care, and any misstep could mean their deaths. Ghost always told her to never act without some type of plan—to wait for the right moment. Blue doesn’t even know where the others are.

As she hesitantly steps out of the small house, the realization hits her. There are more people here than she’s seen in a long time. Almost like a town, but not really. Smaller than that, but more than her group. The building they just left is a small, home made of light grey stone. To her right are more homes, smoke billowing from the chimneys. She counts at least four of them. Straight ahead of her is gravel road. This is where the woman heads, with Blue trailing behind her. To the left is a stretch of green lawn, bright and lush. She has the itch to sprint over it, but a voice ends that idea.

"Catch up, girl." 

Gravel bites her toes as she walks to the woman's side. She is still only dressed in the simple, white slip. She hasn't worn a dress before.

"Where are you taking me?"

"There are some things I wish you to see." 

"Why... why can't the friends I was with be here to see them, too?"

From the corner of her eyes, Blue catches the woman smile lightly. "What do you think of France?"

Blue digs her nails into her palms, swallowing down her frustration at the non-answer. "It's... nice, I guess." It isn't a lie. The beautiful beach they left from, the fields of wheat and flowers, were things she'd only imagined before. 

"Good. My husband was from India but owned this land. I never wanted to leave it. France is the most beautiful place. I knew I wanted my son to grow here." She exhales in a quiet appreciation. "My husband said this land would thrive, even after the plague. He was right. The Lord spared it. He did not spare Ashwin, though."

Blue doesn't know what to say to that. If she should feel sorry for this person or not. She didn't state her husband's death in a sorrowful way, merely factual. As they walk, they pass a few men hunched over tree stumps, chopping wood. The smell of fresh earth and spilt sap wafts up her nose. The men glance up, their gazes lingering on Blue a moment too long, making her shift uncomfortably. Then, they lower their heads respectfully toward the woman. She speaks to them in French, and their chuckles follow her words.

Under a warm afternoon, they approach what looks like a large barn, bordered by wooden fence posts strung with taut wires. Inside the fenced area, Blue notices a white horse, smaller than Cherry, along with four cows. More men are working nearby, some tending to the animals while others, farther off, wield sickles to harvest stalks of wheat.

When they stop in front of the fence, Blue can't stop herself from asking, "Where are all the girls at? Like the one who fed us? I've only seen guys so far."

The woman doesn't look at her. "Our community is built around the roles God intended for us. Men have bodies made for working under the sun. Women, like those beautiful young ladies you traveled with, are vessels to be cherished, protected. Especially in these times when they have become rather scarce."

A few of the words fail to make sense to Blue, never having learned them from any of the books Ghost read her. "Um, is that why you separated the girls in my group from the men?"

She hums, a slow sound. "Women are kept in their own quarters with the infants."

"Okay," Blue rocks on her feet and grips the hem of the dress before the light air can catch it. So is her dad one of those men working, then? She quints, confused, and shakes her head. No; if he was anywhere out here, he would've come to her. He must be locked up, too. A wave of anger buzzes in her chest, louder than the cicadas. "That still doesn't explain why you are holding Twix and Nereida prisoner. If women are so special, why are they locked up and I am out here? And where are all the men from my group?" Her mind briefly flashes to the others; Kyle, Price, and... Ari. 

"None of them are prisoners, child. They are merely being readied for the role their bodies were created for, by God."

Blue grits her teeth. "You're not really answering my questions. What about me? Why did you bring me to," she glances back at the working men, who haven't stopped to look at her like the others had, too engrossed in the strenuous labor. "A fucking farm. What could you possibly want to show me here?"

"There is someone I need here before our next stop." She leans closer to the barbed fence and calls out, "Pierre! J'ai besoin de toi et de trois hommes pour nous accompagner jusqu'à la cale. Apporte les chaînes."

A man—Pierre, she guesses—strikes one of the cattle's hindquarters, wipes sweat from the back of his neck, then shouts in French to three others following behind him. They unlatch a gate in the fence and slip inside a small shed for a brief moment, emerging with rusted chains in hand. They approach, causing Blue to falter and step back. An old, strange woman is one thing, but three strong men are another. A fissure of terror cracks through her, and she inhales shakily.

"You need not be afraid."

She blinks up at the woman, who for a moment, conjures something similar to a comforting expression. Blue nods, and then they are walking again, with the four men trailing behind them. The sound of the chains dangling in their grasp makes her feel uneasy. What are they for, and why are they coming with them? She is ready to build the bravery to ask when the woman ghosts a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name, child?"

"It's... um, Blue."

A soft chuckle. "The English and their strangeness. This is not your real name, is it?"

For some reason, Blue finds the truth stuttering out of her. "No, it's—the name I was born with is Amelia."

"Amelia. Much better. Tell me, Amelia, did your mother have blue eyes?"

Blue nearly chokes, her footsteps halting in the grass as she flinches away from her hand, curling her fingers into fists. "What the fu—why are you asking me that?"

The woman stops beside her and clasps her hands together, the long sleeves of her gown falling over them. She is small woman, hardly taller than Blue, and can't be any stronger than she is, but something about her emits control. Blue can't look away from her eyes, even as her jaw tightens, stomach swirling.

"They are many answers to questions that can be discovered on their own if one simply looks for them. I know which one of them is your father—"

"How could you know?" Blue demands. "I haven't even said any of them was my dad."

Thin lips twitch at the side. "A daughter gets the shape of her face from her father." A bony finger reaches to trail the edge of Blue's cheek, and she trembles from the cold feel of it. "But the features are all from her mother." She looks away and continues walking, speaking over her shoulder, "A little dove might have also told me he was asking for you."

When the men step forward, Blue is forced to continue walking. It feels hard to breathe, even though the canopy of trees offer fresh, rich air. "Then why are you asking about my mother?"

"Your eyes are blue, but your father's are not. I was simply curious."

"My mother is dead," Blue finds herself gritting out. 

"I figured. Neither of those women were her, and many mothers have been lost. A very terrible thing. A child needs its mother. You will call me Maman, Amelia. This is what French children call their mothers."

"I am not going to fucking call you that. Tell me where we are going," Blue presses, swallowing as she looks back at the farm behind them. Through the gaps between the men's shoulders, she sees that it is rather distant now, along with the small homes. She looks back ahead; nothing but overgrown vegetation. Even the flowers have grown sparse over here. It is quiet and still. She can hear the thrum of her own heart.

"Your fire is admirable, but you need to learn respect." For the first time, Maman's voice carries an edge, one that sends a shiver down Blue's spine. A foreign bird call echoes through the leaves, and the woman holds up a hand, signaling for everyone to stop and listen. "Ah. That’s the Bluethroat, if I’m not mistaken. Much rarer than the dove. You won't often find those in England."

The bird calls again—a trilled chirp—as they crest over a small hill, and the air suddenly grows heavier, more pungent. A smell Blue knows well makes her freeze, but a strong grip on her arm keeps her moving toward the source of the stench: an old, smaller building made of much darker stone. The sharp rustle of wings through the trees fades into the distance, but the tension in her body doesn’t ease.

"You, too, are rare, Amelia," Maman continues, voice steady and unhurried. "A pure, young female like you—so virtuous—carries more favor from God than any other. Your friends have their purpose, and you have yours. Each of us plays a part in shaping the new vision of God's children."

The men move in front of them now, except for one who continues gripping Blue. The tremble in her body intensifies, and a cold pit grows unbearable in her chest, thundering. She is forced to stand about four meters in front of the large door, where one man grips the handle while two others, including Pierre, stand beside it, their hands ready with chains and their stances wide. It’s now, through the stinging film that grows over her eyes, that Blue notices large metal muzzles attached to the chains.

Blue is too stunned—too confused, yet frightfully aware—to move a muscle when Maman procures a knife from inside her robe. Pierre shouts something in French, but Blue can barely hear him. Her senses are fixed on the bead of sunlight glinting off the knife, and on the scratching and snarling she hears from the other side of the door.

"Please—" she gasps, unable to finish the thought.

Maman ignores her in favor of snatching hold of her wrist. Cold fingers force her arm to extend, and a burning pain cries out when the knife slashes a laceration from her elbow to the rim of her palm. 

"Une seule coupure pour les attirer."

The blood weeps, and the door shakes from the ignited frenzy behind it.

Tears finally escape Blue’s eyes just before the door opens. She feels it—the sensation of her body being torn apart beneath rotten teeth. She squeezes her eyes shut, thinking of Ghost, when she hears more shouting and the harsh sound of chains being whipped through the air. When she opens her eyes again, the men are wrestling two Greys into the muzzles.

"Deux c'est bien!" Maman orders, and the door is slammed shut over the others that threaten to spill out toward the fresh wound. 

Blue is alive.

Her arm numb and bleeding. 

Maman yanks something else from her robe—a strip of cloth. She wraps it roughly around Blue's forearm, then issues another command. Without warning, Blue is hoisted from the ground and callously tossed over the shoulder of the man who had held her in place. They start heading back the way they came, the leashed Greys trailing behind them, and finally, a scream rips from Blue’s throat.

"You said this one was intact?" "Yes, Maman." "We will offer her pure body to the Lord. The other two will be fit to have children." "But she is a… I mean, yes, Maman." "Pierre! I need you and three men to accompany us to the hold. Bring the chains." "One cut to attract them.” “Two is good!”

[takes1]

Heyy can you pls write an Ushijima smut?? Plsss, also I love all your works🫶🏼🫶🏼

ushijima x reader escalated cockwarming

thanks pookie!! sorry this took a while, i wrote half of something else for him but that idea died so i had to start all the way over. also wanted to do a normal banner for him but i'm liking my new multi-panel banners a lot more. might do a full switch🤔

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / cold start / ushijima likes old movies / sweaty ushijima / dom!ushijima / calling you babygirl / doggy / lap sitting / use of vibrator / gentleman ushijima / reader making ushijima want a kid / breeding kink / 1.2k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. my imagines

"Shh," He smushes his lips against your ear, stealing a tingly kiss or two while he's there, "Can't hear the movie..."

It was loud and overwhelming, leaving you to squirm away at the sensation. But his giant arm kept you crushed back against his chest.

It's a Wonderful Life played on an intentionally low volume on the living room TV. Your His vibrator, torturing your sensitive little clit, was louder than the dull drone of their transatlantic voices.

You took a sharp breath in to let out a cry, but his palm intercepted the attempt.

Watching favorite movie, engaged in his favorite pastime, inside of his favorite girl- he gave an approving hum into a harsh nick to your shoulder and rolled his hips.

His cock stirred again and bulged against your g-spot. He was prepared this time for the flinch. He kept you still with laughable ease.

It wasn't so much about strict punishment or absolute reward when he had such a natural, domineering presence in the bedroom. It was trust that kept you from begging him to just fuck you. There was an understanding that he would take care of you, no matter what you level of play you engaged in, for however long.

You did what he told you with a smile, enjoying how he took all your worries away, how he could bear the weight of the world off of your shoulders with his touch, his attention.

The warmth of his arms around you, his hand covering your loud mouth, kept you docile for a time.

He always smelled so good after he came home. Tasted salty, like hard work, with a stimulating, natural musk to his skin that you couldn't get enough of.

"Whadd'yawant, babygirl?" He flexed inside you again, taking his palm to your throat, instead- a heavy sigh the only indication that it effected him, "Tell me."

Your thighs flexed on top of his larger, powerful ones- "Ahh-! To- watch the- movie?"

His chuckle, rare and genuine, made you smile.

Hell, you had been sitting on top of him for so long that the film was almost over. Your response, an unsure question at best, was silly.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and moved his hips real, real slow, "You sure?"

Another gasp. This time curling your weight forward, for him to resist against. He felt so good, if he could just keep this mellow movement for two minutes, you might cum-- you couldn't lie again.

"N-o."

He bottomed out, leaving you twitchy, a shudder on your uptake, "Please, Toshi, just fuck me-,"

You whimpered at his strengthening grip, his stalled breath at his own name, "I don't care how- I just- mmh- I want you."

Usually, he didn't tease you like that because he already knew what you wanted. Usually, he didn't come home so burnt out and touchy, placing you in his lap, pushing your panties to the side.

Usually, he wouldn't be so inspired as to get you on the cold, hardwood floor, to take you like you asked.

He let you have one hand for your vibrator, but made sure to keep your free wrist still, next to the side of your head.

"Such a good girl--," Was a strangled groan.

The lewd sound of him finally pounding you mixed with your overstimulated, grateful cries.

Sure, he had been purposefully edging you for the better half of a Christmas classic, but he wasn't exempt either. Staying mostly hard inside of you was difficult when he needed to take you all day- made more critical of a task as soon as he was home, melting at your scent, your touch.

"Mmh-ha-Ah-! Tosh-i-, I'm--," You sniffled, eyes burning.

He came to the sound of you screaming his name and clenching around his sore cock.

He didn't slow or soften. He kept your hips upright when your strength failed you, always your big, sweet gentleman.

Grumbly, and quiet, and uneven, was his voice as he finally stuttered to a stop, deep inside of you.

Wakatoshi wasn't very vocal, but his habits spoke for what he liked.

You were panting, still smushed against the floor, in the lesser waves of your orgasm, as he looked down and stared hard at all the cum he crammed inside of you. His brow twitched, but you couldn't see.

Your pussy was already letting some of it drip down your thighs, so despite the how sore he was, he stuffed himself balls deep with an overstimulated groan. The desire to do it was more of a biological trance.

"M-mmnh-!" Your body braced against the feeling.

He shushed you and weighed you down into a lazier prone-bone position. The floor was so cold you couldn't help but press back into him as much as you could.

It hurt him to move, but he didn't want to soften, didn't want to waste time not filling you up again.

"Augh-h, fu-ck," His pained vocalizations were hot and tingly across your shoulder, "So- so good, baby. F-uck..."

Knowing, more specifically hearing how good you felt was a big reason why you gave a spontaneous round two the chance it deserved.

His exhaustion from the day was seeping into everything.

The huffing, the groans, vibrated against your ear as he dropped like a box of concrete to his forearms, adding to a mixture of pain and pleasure he had slowly succumbed to.

"Ah-h, fu-c'-- your pussy feels so'good, h-mnn,"

"You- ahh- want more? Huh?"

Your face warmed at his sinful confessions. His sloppy thrusts, paired with his drunken, blunt stammer fucked you into a pleasant buzz all over again.

You were so full, but, yeah, you did want more.

His forearms hugged around your front, his chest pushed down onto you, and his hand cupped your throat again.

"Mmh--!" You went to say something, but his other hand was over your mouth- so all you could do was whine, maybe drool, against his palm.

He was breathy at how fast you could get him to the edge of his orgasm again, just by taking his cock like his perfect, pretty girl.

Why hadn't he bought you a ring yet?

"Oh-h, fuck--," He got rougher, faster, at the thought of you as his little housewife, a brief flash of your future together enough to clip him over.

Another groan, this time a little whinier, into your scalp as he fucked another load into your poor, throbbing cunt.

His breath had gotten so shaky, uneven, and he grew heavier on top of you.

You were completely gone, trembling and weak, hips sinking further from him.

Warm, gentle kisses and a softer, attentive touch flooded your senses, something to focus on, as you slowly came out of it.

That was one of the many things you loved about him. He took care of you quite well, especially after being so rough.

"You okay, babygirl?"

The first thing he made sure to do was pick up you off of the floor. He utilized a cute little bridal-style carry into the bathroom so that you could shower together.

"Mmmhm," Dreamy and soft, was all you could give him.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

[khorneschosen]

And this is the thing I want to have people understand its beyond difficult and rare to actually look at their society and independently come to the conclusion that its wrong especially when everything in that society is telling you, and not only telling you, but explaining to you why its right.

Like imagine you go back in time to before heliocentrism or germ theory and ask yourself if you could convince them, disproving their theories. You know terracenterism and misma theory is wrong but you don't know why its wrong.

And heres the thing you know now its wrong but your society had to tell you that and explain how its own system works and could produce evidence.

You don't get that with the past theories and you don't get that in authoritarian societies.

It is a heroic effort to say and come to the conclusion independently that "my society is wrong". You wont have means of getting evidence, you won't even know how to understand it. You wont have people to point to in authority as justification for your opinion.

You will have to stand in front of jury not of strangers but your lovers, friends, family, and so many others and say "this is wrong." And stand by it. You have to formulate the thought and fight for it.

That is hard. Then you have to go one more difficult. To answer "and this is what we do about it." You are basically making the germ theory or heliocentrism of your era, and you have to do it all alone.

That's evil great advantage. It can live with a half truth. Good needs a complete answer.

Like you aren't worrying about dying you are worrying about the truth dying with you, hopelessly.

And that's why I say most people wouldn't have been against fascism or the nazis. They would have been okay with it. They wouldn't know any better. Because what is required to say no, is beyond difficult and when you are taught constantly to fall in line and be politically correct, the end result is that you stop having that independence to say "This is wrong". That singular important trait which is necessary to fight authoritarianism is increasingly rare in leftist spaces.

And I keep seeing it and it worries me. If any part of leftism needs to be completely destroyed for the good of humanity its that. Completely discredited, devalued, and fought aggressively.

Whatever you think of the right, they don't have that issue. We fight each other over everything. Even if you don't like the right you need to understand that leftists have to lose and keep losing until they lose those ideas which kill their ability to say "no this is wrong" to their fellows. You need it more than anything else. Please don't let it go.

The moment for thinking “what would I have done in Germany before and during Hitler’s reign” is over. Look back over the past two years. What did you do? What did you think and feel?

Did your opinion about Jews change?

If you went from supporting all Jews to thinking that a least some Jews, (namely “Zionists” or “Israelis”) deserve suffering, exile, and/or death, then you fell for modern antisemitic propaganda, and you would’ve fallen for it in Nazi Germany, too.

Maybe you would blink if the police today started rounding up the Jews in your neighborhood, or smashing synagogues, or arresting Jews off the streets. But would you feel better about it if they call them Zionists or Israelis? They’re not arresting “good Jews”, they’re arresting Zionists, to make them pay for their crimes.

It’s not too late to fix that, though. You can come back from being sucked into antisemitism. You can do better going forward.

[butternutt613]

PSA!!! IT IS OKAY TO CHANGE YOUR STORY HALFWAY THROUGH OR TO NOT HAVE IT BE PERFECT!!!

Fanfic writers (myself included) are way too hard on ourselves sometimes. I was chatting with a few amazing creators on Discord about this, and I realized just how much pressure we put on ourselves to make everything perfect.

Let me remind you: it’s completely okay if your story isn’t flawless right out of the gate.

The way I see it, fanfics, and most things posted on AO3 or Wattpad are like first drafts. ESPECIALLY!!!!! when you’re still actively writing your story. You’re still figuring things out, shaping the narrative, and building the world. It’s not set in stone, and it’s okay to make changes as you go. Hell, completely rewrite it!

So many of us get caught up in trying to make our stories perfect from chapter one because we’re scared that if it’s not, no one will read it. I experience imposter syndrome so hard lol

But NEWSFLASH!!! Even published authors don’t create flawless stories from the start. Their first drafts are messy, full of edits, rewrites, and changes. Entire chapters get cut, characters get reworked, and sometimes entire backstories get scrapped. AND THEN!!! EVEN WHEN THEY THINK THEY ARE DONE!!! THEIR EDITORS GIVE THEM 39 THINGS TO CHANGE!!!

If that’s how the ‘pros’ do it, why are we holding ourselves to an impossible standard?

And I’m going to be so real with you right now… 99.99% of the time, the characters we write about aren’t even canon or have never even interacted in canon or only had 2.3 lines of dialog (I'm looking at you, Jegulus….)

That’s the magic of fanfiction. You get to create something ENTIRELY NEW. You get to take these characters and give them experiences and a life the og author never did or never could. Fanfiction is about imagination and creation, not about rigid rules.

There will always, ALWAYS, be someone who says "you're doing it wrong” or “that character wouldn't do that” and I'm sorry to break it to them but idk if you know this but… THEY AREN’T REAL!

If I want these two guy best friends to kiss, I will! If I want my MC to save Anne by perfecting Isadora’s magic, I will! If you want Ominis to say “fuck you” to his family or Sebastian to become a healer or an auror or a potions master, then GODDAMMIT YOU DO THAT!

BECAUSE YOU ARE WRITING YOUR STORY!! It is YOURS, not anyone else's. You’re the author. Your creative process is valid and so is your work, even if you decide to change direction halfway through. (Elsa was originally going to be evil…)

There will always be haters. Even when something is canon, there are people who’ll criticize it (seriously like look at flat earthers….) That’s why you can’t let the fear of criticism hold you back. Write what YOU love. Create what brings YOU joy. The right people will find your work and appreciate it for what it is.

At the end of the day, fanfiction is about expression and connection. Whether you’re writing for an audience of hundreds or just for yourself, it’s yours. You’re building a world, shaping characters, and sharing something that came from your heart. And that’s what makes it meaningful. So stop being so hard on yourself. Keep WRITING. Keep CREATING. KEEP COMING UP WITH FUN HEADCANONS!!!

Your story deserves to be told. And you deserve to have fun and love doing it.

*mic drop* *peace sign*

[cosmiclily]

chapter one: heartache

wc: 2.1k

Five years. Vi and Caitlyn had been together for five years before Caitlyn decided that the exposure from Vi’s life as a musician was “too much.” She said she was already dealing with enough from her mother’s expectations, constant scrutiny, and the pressure to be perfect. Being tied to someone constantly in the spotlight only amplified the chaos she was trying to escape.

But how do you just walk away from five years? Five years of love, growth, and shared memories. They had been through everything together—the awkward phases, the big milestones, the small, intimate moments that made life feel worth it. They were each other’s first in almost everything: first love, first heartbreak, first time believing someone could truly know and accept them for who they were.

Vi couldn’t imagine a future without Caitlyn in it. Caitlyn wasn’t just her girlfriend; she was her rock, her balance, her safe place in a world that could be loud and overwhelming. With her, life made sense. Without her, it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under her feet.

Now, Vi was left standing in the ruins of what they had built together, forced to pick up the shattered pieces and figure out who she was without Caitlyn. Every corner of her life reminded her of what she’d lost—the songs Caitlyn inspired, the jokes they shared together, the faint trace of her perfume still clinging to the throw pillows they’d picked out together.

Relearning herself wasn’t just hard—it felt impossible. How do you start over when so much of your identity has been intertwined with someone else? How do you let go of someone who was your past, your present, and the future you were certain you’d have?

Vi’s days were spent trying to fill the void Caitlyn left behind, and her nights were haunted by the deafening silence where laughter and love used to live.

──────────────────────

“Wake up!” you say, shaking Vi’s body aggressively. “I sure hope you’re not dead or still drunk because we leave in 30 minutes. Pack your shit.” You’re already gathering her clothes scattered across the room, shoving them into her beat-up suitcase. It’s barely holding together, much like its owner.

The thing is, you love Vi—you really do. She’s one of your best friends, and without a doubt, one of the most talented people you’ve ever met. But ever since her breakup with Caitlyn, she’s been a complete wreck. All she does these days is drink and mope around like the world ended.

When she first came to you, heartbroken and teary-eyed, spilling every detail of the split, you were genuinely sad for her. Five years with someone isn’t easy to walk away from. But, selfishly, you couldn’t help but think,“At least we’ll get some killer songs out of this.” Heartbreak always fuels the best music, right? You figured she’d take her pain and pour it into the band.

Instead, she spends 85% of her days drowning herself in booze and picking fights with strangers in dive bars, and the other 15% passed out somewhere she probably shouldn’t be. Honestly, it’s exhausting keeping up with her. At least this time, she actually made it back to her own hotel room instead of crashing on some stranger’s couch—or worse.

“Violet, seriously,” you snap, shaking her again when all you get is a groan. “You’re a grown-ass woman, and I’m not your babysitter. Get up, get dressed, and try not to look like you’ve been on a week-long bender. The van is leaving, and I’m not letting you make us late again.”

She finally stirs, one bloodshot eye cracking open as she glares at you. “What’s your problem?” she mutters, her voice gravelly and tired.

“My problem? My problem is that you’re wasting your talent and dragging us all down with you. I get it—you’re hurt, heartbroken, life sucks. But this?” You gesture around the room, littered with empty bottles and discarded clothes. “This isn’t you, Vi. And it sure as hell isn’t the Vi this band needs right now.”

She sits up slowly, rubbing her temples like even that’s too much effort. “You don’t get it,” she mutters, her voice low. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like Cait.”

You take a deep breath, softening your tone. “No, I don’t. I won’t pretend I do. But I know Caitlyn wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. And I know you’re better than this. So, get your ass up and let’s get to work. You don’t have to fix everything right now, but at least show up—for yourself, and for us.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. For a second, you think she’s going to argue. But instead, she sighs heavily, dragging herself out of bed like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

“Fine,” she mutters, running a hand through her mess of hair. “I’ll pack. But don’t expect me to look ‘presentable.’”

You snort, tossing her a clean shirt you found buried under a pile of god knows what. “Presentable’s overrated. I’ll settle for functional.”

She gives you a half-smirk, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from her in weeks, and starts gathering the rest of her things.

You make your way to the van, your thoughts swirling as you reflect on how much your lives have changed in such a short time. Just a few months ago, you were barely scraping by, playing gigs at any bar that would have you. Your dad thought joining a band was a terrible idea—especially since it meant you wouldn’t be going to college. He never liked Vi, or her family for that matter, constantly calling her a bad influence. He’d been saying that ever since the two of you met in high school, always claiming that Vi was the one putting reckless ideas in your head.

When you told him you were starting a band with her, he completely lost it. You could still hear the echoes of his angry voice, the awful things he said, the way he swore you’d never make it. “You’re throwing your future away for a pipe dream,” he’d yelled. “Mark my words, you’ll regret this.” Those words used to haunt you—sometimes they still do. But right now, you can’t deny the faint sense of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve proven him wrong. Sure, things aren’t perfect, but you’re here. You’re on a tour van, opening for a bigger artist, starting to get noticed by her fans. It’s not the dream yet, but it’s closer than it’s ever been.

Climbing onto the van, you spot Jinx already in her usual spot by the window, earbuds dangling around her neck as she scrolls aimlessly on her phone. She glances up when she hears you, a crooked grin forming on her face.

“Did you get her to wake up?” she asks, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disgust. “I tried, but it reeks in there. Smells like whiskey, sweat, and bad decisions.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Yeah, she’s up. Barely. I had to practically shake her awake and threaten to leave her behind. She’s packing now, probably still half-asleep.”

Jinx smirks, leaning back in her seat and tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “You’re a braver soul than I am. I gave up after two knocks. You know how Vi gets when she’s hungover—like a grumpy bear. Or a bear with a hangover.”

“She’s not a bear,” you say with a sigh, dropping into the seat across from her. “She’s just… going through it. Though, honestly, I wish she’d just move on already.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and frustrated. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. When does ‘going through it’ stop being an excuse? She’s dragging herself—and us—down. It’s not like we’re rolling in free passes for her to waste.”

You glance out the window, watching the early morning light streak across the horizon. She’s not wrong. Vi’s breakup with Caitlyn hadn’t just been hard on her—it had been hard on all of you. The drinking, the fights, the inconsistency... It was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Where’s Ekko?” you ask, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me he’s late too.”

Jinx shrugs lazily. “Oh, he forgot something in his room. He’s probably on his way back already. You know him—‘fashionably late’ and all that.”

As if on cue, the hotel doors swing open, and Ekko steps outside with Archie, your ever-enthusiastic manager, trailing close behind. The two are deep in conversation, their hands gesturing wildly as they talk.

“Oh, you girls are already here! Excellent.” Archie’s voice carries before he even reaches the bus. His short, chubby frame and thick british accent somehow manage to command attention wherever he goes. He’s the reason the band even had a shot, the one who saw potential when no one else did.

“I have exciting news,” Archie announces, his grin stretching ear to ear as he climbs aboard. Then, his expression falters. “But… where is Miss Violet? Don’t tell me she’s late again.”

“She’s packing,” you answer, sitting up straighter. “She’ll be out any minute.”

Archie narrows his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Packing? At this hour? I gave everyone strict instructions to be ready by now.”

“She had a rough night,” you offer, though you feel like a broken record at this point. How many times have you covered for her?

“A rough night?” Archie throws his hands up dramatically. “She’s had a ‘rough night’ every night for the past month! If she’s not careful, she’ll burn herself out before we even get close to making it big.”

You exchange a glance with Jinx, who shrugs as if to say, He’s not wrong.

At that moment, the can door opens again, and Vi steps aboard. She looks like she just rolled out of bed—hair tousled, hoodie wrinkled, and sunglasses covering her undoubtedly bloodshot eyes.

“Morning,” she mutters, flopping into a seat without so much as a glance at Archie.

“Morning?” Archie echoes incredulously. “Miss Violet, this is hardly the professionalism I expect from you. We’re opening for one of the biggest acts of the year, and you’re showing up like you’ve just walked out of a frat house!”

Vi groans, tilting her head back against the seat. “Save it, Archie. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Archie pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before shaking it off. “Fine. I’ll save my lecture for later because—believe it or not—we’ve got good news. Big news.”

Everyone perks up at that, even Vi, though she does so begrudgingly.

“What kind of news?” you ask, leaning forward with curiosity.

Archie’s grin widens as he claps his hands together. “You’re being added to three more tour dates! One of which is in LA. And, if you can manage to pull yourselves together, there might even be offers for an single on the table.”

The van erupts into excited chatter, a buzz of energy filling the space. Jinx punches the air, Ekko grins from ear to ear, and even you feel a rush of exhilaration. This is what you’ve all been working for—an actual shot at something bigger.

Even Vi, slouched in her seat with her sunglasses still on, cracks a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s there. Maybe this could be the spark she needed—the moment she finally stopped wallowing and started using all that anger and hurt for something productive.

“Quiet down, please,” Archie calls out, waving his hands to settle everyone. “I know you’re all excited, and you should be. But this will only be possible if you show your absolute best in the upcoming concerts. No more sloppiness, no more excuses. This is your chance to prove you’re ready for the big leagues.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the stakes. The excitement dims just slightly, replaced by determination.

“So,” Archie continues, checking his watch, “settle down, get your heads in the game, and prepare to give it everything you’ve got. We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

Jinx leans over your seat, her voice low but tinged with excitement. “Three more shows, an album, and LA? Think we’ll survive?”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Vi, who’s staring out the window now, her expression unreadable. “We’ll survive,” you reply. “The question is whether we’ll thrive.”

Jinx snorts. “Speak for yourself. I was born to thrive.”

Despite everything, you feel a flicker of hope. This was it—the break you’d been waiting for. Now all you had to do was rise to the occasion.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter two

notes: i love making vi suffer 😔 it’s a character flaw im sorry

[salemlunaa]

WHY YOU CANT MANIFEST THE STATE OF PURE CONSCIOUSNESS FOR OTHERS

it looks like some people have rocks for brains

@empyrealoasis also has a lovely read on this explaining perfectly: right here, so check that out!!

you ask me why the void pact doesn’t work again, i made an analogy using canvases: “let’s say you’re painting in class with your friend, and you all have big canvases to paint many little pictures. Your paintbrush only works on your canvas, it’s not possible for you to paint on your friend’s canvas or anyone else. You can create a small drawing on your canvas depicting your friend eating an apple, but it’s not on their canvas. You can’t paint that picture on their canvas, And it’s not a reflection of their own experiences or preferences. They have to do it themselves or their canvas will NEVER contain a picture of them eating an apple, the version of your friend that is on your canvas is eating an apple but the version of your friend on their own canvas isn’t. The outcome of your friend having a picture of them eating an apple on their canvas is 0, unless they paint it themselves. It’s not a limiting belief because you can paint ANYTHING you want on YOUR canvas, it just won’t show up on theirs.”

and i will keep on posting this analogy until you get it through your heads

this person has used people manifesting healing for their family as an argument or someone manifesting a little girl to be found after she was deemed missing. What is so hard to understand:

Manifesting healing for a family member or finding a missing person is done through the manifester's own intention and focus. It's about shifting their reality to align with a desired outcome, not about 'entering the void' on someone else's behalf. The outcome influences their perception of reality, but it doesn't involve physically transporting others to or from the void.

Manifestation works within the framework of your own reality. While your manifestations can influence events involving others, they don't 'override' others' free will or autonomy. The void is a personal experience-you can only use it to manifest changes within your perception of reality, not to directly act on someone else's behalf.

These examples are about manifestation, not proof of someone going to the void for someone else. Healing and synchronicities can happen through energy alignment or intention, without requiring someone to physically access the void on behalf of another person.

If it's possible to go to the void for others, why isn't it being used to instantly end all suffering in the world? Doesn't that suggest the void is personal and limited to individual intent?

If you can manifest the void for someone, you can also manifest death for someone right,so won’t you drop dead randomly because someone decided to induce for that? why haven’t any of you reached the void state yet? if someone scripts a war in their desired reality (for…idk angst or something) then why aren’t we in a tragic world war right now? If someone scripts that in their desired reality religion won’t exist, does the religion you practice just cease to exist when they induce? If someone scripts that your country doesn’t exist, do you guys just randomly vanish into thin air? These are the questions they never wanna answer? since we can do anything right?Since what i’m saying is apparently a “limiting belief” Since you can apparently alter someone’s life with the void to the point where they induce, why can’t all this other stuff happen, but we’re the ones cherrypicking…? okay….

And no, we’re not cherrypicking Neville’s teachings; we’re interpreting them with clarity and context. Neville emphasized the power of imagination and individual consciousness in shaping reality. While he taught that we can manifest outcomes that involve others, he never suggested we could directly control or override someone else’s consciousness by ‘entering the void’ for them. The void state is a deeply personal experience, and using Neville’s work to justify claims that contradict the foundational principles of manifestation—such as personal autonomy and responsibility—is a misinterpretation, not selective understanding.

And the big question everyone wants to know, where are these success stories, and i’m not talking about someone manifesting a relationship for their bestie or someone manifesting money for their father, i mean void state success stories. Since the void is as easy as breathing, where is the evidence that the 100+ of you in this pact have induced pure consciousness? we’re all waiting for the influx of successes

With this deranged ideology and the way you’ve been speaking to people in dms, i’m starting to come to the belief that you don’t even believe in this “pact” yourself, you’re preying on people who are desperate and you’re using them to bring drama into the community. If you actually believed this you would use this energy to supposedly reach the void state for all your little friends, i mean since you’re the main preacher?

No one is trying to be mean when we say that if you believe that SOMEONE ELSE is going to do this for you, you don’t understand the state of pure consciousness and how easy it actually is, if you believe that someone people are more capable than others (which you are affirming btw) you don’t understand what this actually is, and without understanding nothing can be done.

And from now my account will ONLY be for people who are willing to do anything it takes to get their dream lives this year. The only possible way to do this is by yourself and i’m ready to interact with my people who believe and are ready to do what it takes. Call me mean, i. don’t. care. i’m trying to help you and stop you from wasting your time.

Keep your cult away from people who actually want something out of this year

These people will still be here asking and bullying people into believing, don’t make yourself one of them.

i’m going to take my own advice and focus on people who deserve it. it’s 2025 enough of this drama farming

𓇼 ˚∘ therefore we can’t alter ANOTHER persons life due to our own “I AM” intentions, and we never will

@void1finder here’s your answer, again, weirdo

[moralesluvr]

FABLE AND TRUTH 6 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. back to my regularly scheduled programming…trying to upload everyday. i’m so excited about this series and what’s in store; enjoy !! wc. 12k

✧ 4:26 am, thursday ✧

billie’s pacing felt like an endless, drunken mess, the soft padding of her socked feet on the hardwood floor the only sound filling her quiet bedroom. every step was wobbly, uneven, the thuds of harder steps sinking into the floor. her phone sat on the edge of her desk, lit up and buzzing as her thumb hovered over the call button, swaying, like even it didn’t know what it wanted. 

her chest was tight, like she couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard she tried. 

“god, this is so stupid,” she slurred, a bitter laugh bubbling up and spilling out, “so fucking stupid.” her voice cracked halfway through, and her giggles fizzled out into silence.

she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the ends as if the dull ache in her scalp could distract her from the mess inside her head. the fight played on a loop in her mind, the words that you had thrown at her cutting deeper each time she replayed them. i don’t want you. at all.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, stopping mid-step and leaning against her desk. her fingers curled around the edge, gripping it tight enough to make her knuckles bleed white. she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the memory away, but it was no use.

because the thing was— she did know you. at least, she thought she did. she knew how your hands trembled when you were nervous, how your eyes darted around the room when you were thinking too hard about something, how you bit your lip when you were holding back words that you weren’t ready to say.

but now? now, billie wasn’t so sure anymore. had she been wrong about you? had she pushed too hard? maybe you were right— maybe billie didn’t know you the way she thought she did. and that realization was almost worse than the fight itself.

she tried to really think through how you were feeling, but everything was so unclear. you go out with her, kiss her, and then run off like nothing happened? she tried to hear you out, but things weren’t making sense. she felt like you were projecting, like there was something else underlying your irrationality, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. 

oh, how sorry she felt. billie felt like she had did you wrong, like she should’ve been more careful, more understanding. but she knew that she couldn’t change what she did, what was said— it was all too late now.

she really liked you, if that wasn’t obvious enough. but given the way you placed your faith above anything else, the way that you carried yourself, she knew that deep down, you could never be interested in someone like her. and she couldn't blame you, she just didn’t fit into your lifestyle. 

she didn’t mean to make you feel like she was wrecking your morals, but she couldn’t stop herself. her crush blossomed when you two talked, and even more when you didn’t. because then, her imagination could roam. she could think of a world where she belonged in yours, where you two were absolutely inseparable. she could pretty much ponder about whatever she wanted, and if she thought long and hard enough, she could convince herself it was real. 

she had only met you shy of a week ago, and that was the bad part. usually, billie was more stoic, careful with what she said and did. she couldn’t let herself fall to easily, but it was like she was starstruck by you. 

and she hated it. 

she hated that everytime she got around you, she couldn’t get that stupid grin off of her face. she hated that when you touched her, even if it was on accident, her skin would light up, identical to the way her eyes did when she looked at you. she hated that your opinion was the only thing that mattered to her— but most of all, she hated how much she didn’t hate you.

because, in reality, she should. you hated her back, and that should’ve been a good enough reason for her to hate you, right? 

wrong. 

she wanted to chase after you, no matter how many times you’ve told her to stop, to let you go, pushing her away. she was drawn to you no matter what you did to her, and that’s what billie despised. whatever you did, said, however you acted— it was never enough to get her to stop. 

but a little sliver of her understood. she knew deep down that it was just how you were— a faithful Christian and a girl who hardly believed, how was that going to work?

it was just the principle, she thought. it was just how things were going to be. but at the same time, she wished you would at least try. try to let her in— she wouldn’t hurt you, and she was certain that you knew that. you just weren’t brave enough to give it a try. 

and then, she was angry. 

angry at how you stormed off, after you were the one to kiss her. she was angry at how you pretended like everything between you was just friendship, but billie saw the way you looked at her when you thought she didn’t notice. yeah, she saw that. 

she saw everything. and it made her even more upset, because how could you just walk away, after everything that had happened?

billie chewed on the inside of her cheek, her gaze flicking to the phone again. her stomach twisted at the thought of pressing that button, of hearing your voice again, of maybe making things worse. but she had to try. she couldn’t let it end like this, not after everything. it was too easy to give up, and she wouldn’t have it. she needed to make things right.

just call her, she told herself, but her fingers wouldn’t move. her head was loud, so loud, her thoughts a jumbled mess of regret and anger and confusion. she needed answers, needed to understand why things had unraveled so fast, why you had kissed her and then pushed her away so violently, all in the same breath.

and, if she was being honest with herself, she needed to know if there was still something left between you two. if the thread that had always connected you hadn’t completely snapped, if there was something worth saving. 

billie took a deep, shaky breath and reached for her phone. her eyes hovered over your profile picture, your pretty smile illuminating her screen. she almost broke at that, and she shook her shoulders to try and shake it, her thumb hovering over the call button for a second that felt like an eternity. then, with a quiet exhale, she pressed it.

she held the phone to her ear, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would drown out the ringing. once, twice, three times— it felt endless. and just as she was about to lose her nerve and hang up, the call connected.

“…hello?”

your voice was soft, hesitant, and billie’s breath caught in her throat. she clenched her jaw, trying to steady herself, but the cracking in her hushed breathing gave her away. she could feel the tension on the other side of the line, and she almost spoke to break it, but then she heard a voice. 

“no, dude— hang up!”

“shit.” was all she heard you say before the line went dead. 

billie almost lost her mind at that, and she threw her phone harshly onto her bed, cursing underneath her breath. it didn’t take a genius to know who was talking in the background, obviously it was emma. 

so your friends hated her, too? what else was new? 

she sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands dragging through her hair, fingers curling at the roots. the sting in her scalp didn’t compare to the tightness in her chest, like her ribs were caving in on her lungs. her jaw ticked, her gaze locked on the phone lying motionless on the bed. it just sat there, mocking her, your contact still opened. 

“unbelievable,” she muttered, the word heavy with frustration. her mind wouldn’t stop replaying it— emma’s sharp voice, that venom-laced “hang up.”

of course, it was emma. always hovering, always protective, like some unspoken barrier between you and everyone else. billie got it— she really did. emma was just looking out for you. but that didn’t make it any less maddening. it didn’t make the rejection hurt any less.  

her knee started bouncing as she leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs, her head in her hands. every second of that call was burned into her mind, every pause, every breath, every muffled sound from your end.  

why? why couldn’t you just talk to her? why did you have to listen to emma, let her speak for you like you didn’t have your own mind?  

but then, in the quiet of her room, another thought crept in, unwelcome and sharp. maybe you don’t want to talk to her. maybe you really mean it when you say you don’t want her.

the thought twisted in her gut, and she stood up abruptly, pacing the room again like it would help, but it really didn’t. nothing did. the same questions looped in her head, over and over, no answers in sight.  

she wanted to be mad at you, to hold onto the anger, but it didn’t stick. because she knew. she knew how you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, she knew the way your voice got quieter, softer, when it was just the two of you. she knew the way your lips lingered just a second too long when you kissed her.  

and maybe that’s why it hurt so much. because she couldn’t be making all of that up. could she? could she really be the only one who was feeling like this? was everything unrequited, or were you just afraid? 

billie eventually stopped pacing, only because her legs were aching from doing so. her hands found themselves on her hips, her eyes fixed on her phone like it might come alive and give her the answers she was too afraid to ask for. but all it did was sit there, silent, just like you.  

“why’d you kiss me if you didn’t want me?” she mumbled, her words thick, slurred. her voice cracked again, and she let out a shaky breath, “why’d you—” she started, but she couldn’t finish. her throat tightened, and she felt the tears spill over, hot against her flushed cheeks.

billie found herself sinking onto the floor, curled up in her own frame, trying to keep her emotions at bay and her swirling mind at rest. but she was too tired of thinking, too tired to try and make things seem rational. she was over it, over everything.

she thinks back to the night that she first met you, though everything’s kind of choppy. she thinks about when she told you that she didn’t really believe in getting drunk to solve your problems, or to pretend that things were better then they seem. but now, it seems like those morals aren’t as strong as they were. 

she fumbled for the bottle of tequila she’d left on the floor, her fingers slipping a few times before she managed to grab it. the glass was almost empty, but she tipped it back anyway, the last dregs burning slightly as they slid down her throat.

“god, i’m such a fucking mess,” she said to no one, her giggles bitter and hollow. she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but it didn’t help much, because tears still streamed down her cheeks.

you were all she could think about. you, with your stupid soft voice and your stupid pretty face and your stupid everything. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair that you got to live rent-free in her head while she was falling apart over you.

her phone buzzed again, and her head snapped toward it, her heart lurching in her chest. she scrambled to grab it, almost dropping it in her drunken haste. but when she saw the screen, her stomach sank. it wasn’t you. of course it wasn’t.

“why won’t you just talk to me?” she asked aloud, though you weren’t there to hear it. her voice cracking again, “why won’t you just tell me how you feel?”

sobs shoot through her body, and she’s sure this is the hardest she’s ever cried before. but she couldn’t help it. with the help of the alcohol that was coursing through her veins, plus the confusion and the fight, it was all she could do. 

she cries until her eyes are too tired to form more tears. she cries until her eyes are drained and her throat is scratchy, and she finally sits up, her back slumped against the wall.

her chest heaved with each deep breath that she took, her hands trembling as she gripped the phone like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. the screen dimmed, and she stared at your name, willing it to light up with a call, a message— anything. but it didn’t. it stayed still, cold and indifferent, mocking her desperation.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” she muttered, her words slurred. she wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to you anymore, to be honest.

“why do you— why do you get to walk away like that? like you didn’t…like you didn’t kiss me first. so fuckin’ rude.”

her grip on the phone tightened, her jaw clenching as her tears dried, replaced by something hotter, angrier. she pushed herself off the floor, stumbling slightly as she paced the room again. her head was spinning, from the alcohol and the heartbreak, but her anger was sharp and steady, a beacon in her haze.

“you kissed me,” she said aloud, her voice louder now, more forceful, “you kissed me, and then you acted like— like it didn’t mean anything. like i didn’t mean anything.”

her fists curled at her sides, and she kicked the edge of her desk in frustration, wincing as the sharp pain shot through her foot. but it didn’t stop her, it didn’t even slow her down. she kept pacing, “you’re so fucking unfair,” she hissed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “you—ugh!”

she turned to her bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it across the room with all the strength she could muster. it hit the wall with a dull thud, but it didn’t satisfy her, didn’t even come close. 

“why are you like this?” she yelled, though careful not to wake any of her neighbors up. her voice cracks again, “why do you get to mess with my head, make me feel like…like i’m not enough?”

her knees wobbled, and she sank onto the sheets of her bed, her hands burying in her hair. the anger drained as quickly as it had come, leaving her exhausted, empty. her thoughts spiraled, looping back to you, always to you. the fight, the kiss, the way your voice had trembled when you said her name.

and then— quickly, her mind wandered, unbidden, to the bar. to the way your lips had curled when you threw that sharp, biting remark at her. to the way your eyes burned with frustration, your voice rising in a way she’d never heard before. and— god, the way you had sworn at her, the first time you’d ever done that. it shouldn’t have made her feel the way it did, but nevertheless, it did. she hated how hot it was, how the word rolled off your tongue like a challenge, like a dare.

“billie, would you just shut the fuck up?”

yeah, she was whipped.

billie groaned, her hands dragging down her face as she pulled her navy blue covers over her frame. the ceiling spun above her, and she fluttered her eyes closed, but that didn’t really help. all she could see was you. your lips, your eyes, the way your hand had brushed hers whenever she was patching you up in her car. it had been such an innocent touch, but it had set her skin on fire, left her wanting more.

she cursed under her breath, her mind betraying her as it conjured up images of you. not the angry, distant version of you from the fight, but the softer, quieter version. the one who laughed at her dumb jokes, her teasing nicknames, it was all you. you who leaned closer than necessary when you spoke, who looked at her like she was the only person in the room, which always made her feel better, way warmer, even if your intentions were innocent. she thought about the version of you who kissed her like you meant it, like you wanted her as much as she wanted you.

her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as her thoughts grew more vivid, more dangerous. she could still feel the ghost of your lips on hers, the way your fingers had curled into her jacket like you didn’t want to let go. she wanted to believe that version of you was real, that it wasn’t just a figment of her drunk, desperate imagination.

“shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she threw an arm over her face, trying to block out the images, the feelings, but it was no use. they kept crawling back into her conscience, no matter how hard she tried to kick them out. you were everywhere, in every thought, every breath, every beat of her pounding heart.

she hated how much she wanted you. hated how, even now, after everything, she couldn’t stop craving your touch, your voice, your laugh. hated how her body betrayed her, how the memory of you swearing at her sent a shiver down her spine, made her stomach twist in that familiar, dangerous way. it made her whole body set ablaze, tingles and rushes of adrenaline tangled within her nerves.

billie’s arm slid off her face slow and choppy as she let out a long, frustrated sigh, staring blankly at the ceiling that made her eyes spin. her thoughts were a mess, tangling and then untangling, looping back to the way your voice sounded— sharp, angry, and utterly captivating. she hated herself for it, for how much she liked the way you challenged her, even when it hurt her. 

she shouldn’t like it this much.

you were always so calm, so composed, so measured in everything you did. but at the bar, you were raw and unfiltered. the way your lips had pressed into a thin line, the way your eyes blazed with frustration— it wasn’t something she’d ever seen from you before, and gosh, it did something to her. it was like you had cracked open, showing her a side of you that no one else got to see.

“get it together,” billie muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. but it was useless. her mind was already spiraling, drawn back to the memory of you leaning over the table, your voice low and heated as you argued with her. there was a fire in your eyes, a passion she hadn’t expected, and it had set something alight in her, too.

and that kiss. man, that kiss. she could still feel it, the way your lips had pressed against hers, hesitant at first but quickly growing bolder. it wasn’t soft or sweet— it was urgent, messy, like you were trying to pour everything you felt into it. like you were saying all the things you couldn’t put into words.

billie groaned, turning on her side as heat crept up her neck. she was drunk, sure, but even she couldn’t blame the alcohol for the way her thoughts lingered on you. on the way your hands had trembled slightly when you kissed her, the way your breath had hitched when she pulled you closer.

she couldn’t blame the alcohol, because this wasn’t the first time she had these thoughts. 

her chest ached with memory, a mixture of longing and regret swirling inside her. she wanted to be angry, to stay mad at you for storming off, for listening to emma, for acting like she didn’t matter to you. but she couldn’t. because deep down, she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. she knew there was more to it, more to you.

maybe that’s what scared her the most. not that you didn’t care about her, but that you did— and that you were too afraid to let yourself feel it.

“you’re such an idiot,” she whispered out, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about you or herself. maybe both.

her cheeks flushed, a baby pink hue finding its way onto her cheeks, playing on her features like some sick game. she was way past embarrassed, but she was alone, and it didn’t seem as bad as it really was. 

without thinking, billie sank deeper within the cushioning of her bed, her fingers grazing over the hem of her gingham shorts, her breath hitching. she stopped for a second, trying to think hard about what she was doing, but the alcohol forbade her from staying on track.

eventually, her mind couldn’t help but wander, identical to the way her fingers ventured down her thighs, grazing them with her fingertips in a slow, vertical fashion, until she made it back to the scrunched waistband. and with swift movements, she slid her shorts off of her legs, pushing them through the covers until they found themselves on the floor.

billie took her sweet time, at first, just toying with the outer corners of her lacy black panties, pulling at the semi-circle flowers on the ends. she closed her eyes, letting herself drown in all the events of the night, the heated flirting, the way you had kissed her so passionately in the passenger seat.

she shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not after everything. not after the way you walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of that bar, a mess of confusion and longing. but deep down, she couldn’t let go. she liked the fuel, like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to you. she couldn’t help herself. 

she couldn’t help the way her hands moved to slide her underwear down to her ankles, kicking the article of clothing off and down to the floor, along with her discarded shorts. a sudden rush of cool air made her let out a small gasp, the breath low and sultry as she pulled the covers closer.

she wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but billie was always easier to turn on when she was drunk. and with recent events, it wasn’t helping the heat that was burning in her lower abdomen. 

she traced a finger over her sensitive core, and then adding another, before pushing her slit open slowly, webs of wetness latching onto her fingertips as she let out a cool, choppy moan. 

this was awful, so very wrong— to touch herself while thinking about you, especially now. but you didn’t have to know, no one did, and that’s the logic she used to satisfy her greed, her hunger for you, her constant need to see you, touch you. 

billie spread her legs as she slipped her fingers inside of her warm cunt, the digits stretching out her walls sweetly as her thumb latched onto her clit, rubbing tight and firm circles against it. every thought of your pretty face, of your tooth-aching sweet smile, your precious eyes— that was what fueled her to keep touching herself, to feel those ground-breaking tingles against her exposed skin. 

she bit her lip, her hips bucking underneath her satin sheets as her fingers thrusted quicker into her pussy, though her movements were choppy and uneven— it still felt good. she kept thinking about you, unashamed now, your face etched into her memory as she fought to keep her moans at bay. 

she thanked the heavens that she didn’t have a roommate.

beads of sweat formed onto billie’s back as her head sinks into her pillow, little whimpers passing through her reddened, plump lips, her movements quickening as she felt a tight knot from in her stomach. images of you flashed against her mind, like gasoline to a fire, stoking up the adrenaline that was entangled in her veins. her fingertips curl and graze against her sweet spot, angelic moans falling thin and weak in the air as she moaned out, little syllables of your name rolling off of your tongue. 

it was so bad, but it felt so good. she was needy, eager, and that was obvious in the way that her hips lifted off of her covers, her hands sliding in and out of her wet pussy, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt her orgasm crash over her like a warm wave. she panted heavily, her movements slowing down, along with her breaths.

billie placed her back against the sheets and let out a long, unsteady breath, her eyes finding themselves at the thought of what she just did. but she’s too drunk and too exhausted to care, and she figures that she’ll deal with the repercussions tomorrow. so she flips onto her side, pulls the covers over her, and falls asleep.

✧ 11:05 am, saturday ✧

the dorm was alive with energy, the kind that only comes on a lazy saturday morning when no one’s in a rush to be anywhere. sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting soft patterns on the carpeted floors as the group sprawled out in various spots around emma’s and your small room. naomi was perched cross-legged on your desk chair, spinning lazily while scrolling through her phone, one earbud in. jules was on the floor, back against the bedframe, fiddling with the frayed edges of her ripped jeans while flipping through some fashion magazine. oliver had claimed the beanbag in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, relaxed. and emma— well, emma was laying half asleep underneath your covers, waking every once in a while when someone would say something funny, and then she’d lay back down.

you sat on your bed, legs tucked underneath you, careful not to disturb emma. your hands clasped around a warm mug of tea, a small comfort, the heat grounding you as your thoughts buzzed louder than the conversation around you. everyone was talking about their plans for the day— emma wanted to hit the library for an upcoming paper, oliver was trying to convince naomi to come with him to a record store downtown, and jules was debating between joining them or staying behind to binge a new show. after individual plans, though, jules insisted that you all hang out and go roller skating, something that the five of you liked to do pretty often. 

“you’re quiet this morning,” naomi said, her voice cutting through the noise as she turned her gaze toward you.

your head snapped up, startled, and you forced a small smile, “i didn’t sleep well at all. just exhausted.”

it wasn’t a lie, you truly hadn’t slept well at all. after the bar fight with billie just shy of three days ago, you weren’t really feeling all that great. you hadn’t talked to her since, and it was both a relief and extremely nauseating. 

you missed her, deep down. but you knew it was an absolutely horrible idea to reach out, and start this sickening process all over again. you were making small but victorious progress, and you really didn’t want to take any chances at ruining that. 

after the fight, you woke up with a headache that made you feel like your forehead was going to split wide open. you threw up twice, your throat burning as you had finally wiped your lips, standing above the toilet and flushing it. emma had held your hair back for you, giving you tips on how to never throw up when hungover, at least for a lightweight like you. but if you were being honest, it didn’t really interest you to get drunk ever again. 

you had prayed and did Bible study for what felt like an eternity. you didn’t hear God speak, but you figured it was because you had strayed off your path, so the fault settled on you. but you wrote in your notebook diligently, said your prayers thoughtfully, and skimmed the pages of your devotionals carefully. in due time, no matter what was going on, you were sure He would answer.

you even called loretta, as you had missed one of your calls when you fell asleep. she was just calling to check in, and she could tell even through the phone that you were doing at least a little better. 

you had to admit, you were proud of yourself for getting back on your feet. or, so it seemed.

it appeared to everyone else like you had somehow become completely fine. and you had, for a solid…five minutes. but, of course, all the doubts and ‘what-ifs’ began to creep back in. 

you weren’t sleeping well at all, which was the first issue. you’d stay up glued to your studies or scrolling on pinterest until your eyes were burning and your skin was sweating from the constant tossing and turning. and when you finally would fall asleep, you’d wake up with headaches or your limbs tense and unstretched. 

you didn’t have the slightest bit of energy to do anything, either. you were doing just enough to keep A’s in all your classes, neglecting most of the extra work that your teachers assigned, only taking the extra mile when absolutely needed. 

but you were masking it well. you took small victories when you could, although, you felt a little empty. you were tighter with your friends, hanging out almost everyday, mainly as a healthy distraction. but sometimes, all you really wanted, was billie. 

you fought tooth and nail not to pick up your phone and call her. to spill every detail of your life out to her, to update her on how things were, even if they weren’t good. it was killing you that you couldn’t speak to her, even if it was a decision that you had made. 

you didn’t like that you had the upper hand in this situation. you wished that it had fell back on billie, because although it was selfish, you really wished that you could have one less thing on your plate. deep down, you honestly wished that you had never met her at all. 

you were doing fine until she came into the picture. though you knew she didn’t mean you any harm, you were picking up the pieces that she caused to crumble, making you spiral and act irrational, something you would’ve never thought about doing in the past.

but it wasn’t all her fault, you couldn’t put the blame on her. you were there too, and you had to take ownership of that, even though it was hard. 

jules and naomi had raised an eyebrow at your statement like they didn’t quite believe you, but they didn’t press. instead, the both turned her attention back to oliver, who was now trying to win the both of them over with promises of coffee and pastries in order to go record shopping with him.

you tried to focus on their loud, happy chatter, to let it pull you out of your own head, but it was no use. your thoughts were stuck, looping in a way that made your chest feel tight.

you thought about two nights ago, about coming out.

the words lingered in your mind, heavy and sharp. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it recently, you had, a lot— but thinking about it and actually doing it were two very different things. and with naomi and jules sitting just a few feet away, laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

emma and oliver already knew, and were doing exceptionally well at hiding it. they understood that it was something you would share when you were ready, and they vowed to keep quiet about it. naomi and jules were wondering about the awkward tension that was taking place before, as you weren’t texting or calling pretty much at all. but emma just shrugged it off, covering by saying you were going through a rough time and just needed a second to breathe. which, wasn’t all that false. 

you glanced at them, at the easy way they moved through the world, at how free they seemed. naomi, with her loud, unapologetic laugh and her wild hair that framed her face like a halo. jules, with her sharp wit and soft smile that could disarm anyone in an instant. they were your bestest of friends, and yet, the idea of telling them felt impossible.

it wasn’t that you didn’t trust them— you did, more than anyone. but there was this nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering all the worst-case scenarios, how’d they react. what if they didn’t understand? what if they looked at you differently? what if it changed everything?

and then there was your faith, tangled up in all of it like a knot you couldn’t undo. you’d grown up in the church, surrounded by sermons and scripture and songs that painted the world beautifully, but it was in black and white. you’d been taught that love was normal to desire, it was healthy, but only when it looked a certain way, fit into a certain mold. anything outside of that was wrong, sinful, unworthy.

you swallowed hard, the taste of the tea suddenly bitter on your tongue. it wasn’t that you didn’t believe anymore— you still did, in your own way. but reconciling your faith with who you were, with how you felt, was a battle you fought every single day, and it was hard to keep on track, if you were being completely honest. 

“you okay?” naomi’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find her watching you, her head tilted slightly in concern.

“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing another smile. “just zoning out. i need to get out of this dorm room.”

she seemed to accept that, nodding as she turned back to oliver, who was now listing off his favorite bands like his life depended on it.

you let out a quiet breath, grateful for the reprieve, but still feeling the weight in your chest.

emma caught your eye from across the room, her expression soft but questioning. she always seemed to know when something was off, even if she didn’t say it out loud, which was needed sometimes. it was one of the reasons you’d told her first, days prior, in the quiet of this very room. she’d taken it well, better than you’d expected, and you were thankful for that. but even her quiet support wasn’t enough to silence the doubts that clawed at you.

the conversation in the room shifted again, this time to lunch plans, and you nodded along when someone suggested the diner a few blocks away, your group’s spot. looks were shared between all of you, and it seemed like everyone had remembered that night that billie came in. but when you smile, and assured them that it was okay to go, they carried on. but your mind was still elsewhere, caught between the fear of staying silent and the terror of speaking up.

you wondered what it would feel like to finally let it out, to let them see all of you. would it be freeing? or would it be just as heavy, just as hard, but in a different way?

“alright, you sure you’re good?” emma asked quietly, leaning closer so only you could hear.

you nodded, your grip tightening around your mug as you took your last swig, the warmth making you feel slightly more at ease, “i’m okay, really,” you said softly, “i’m honestly just… thinking. you know how it is.”

she didn’t push, just gave you a small nod of understanding before straightening up again, making sure to include you in the conversation between the five of you.

“alright, i really think we should just go skating,” jules advocates from her spot on the floor, closing her magazine, “we all love skating. why don’t we do that?”

“because naomi here is like bambi on wheels.” oliver snorts, pointing to the purple-haired girl, and she gifts him a well-deserved, playful slap to the arm. 

emma nods, “i don’t think skating’s a bad idea, i’m down. everyone’s already ready, so, when are we heading out?”

“just need to get dressed, and then we can go.” you say, pulling the covers off of your frame, standing up and heading over to your dresser. you fumble around for something to wear as the four behind you discuss what’s for lunch, and things of that sort. you eventually settle on a jean skirt and a white top to match, with a baby pink cardigan thrown over it. you turn around and show the group your outfit, holding the pieces up to your body to provide something to the imagination, “this cute?”

“adorable!” naomi grins, and the others agree, too, and oliver gives you a sweet thumbs up, which makes you smile. you grab your phone off of your desk and slip into emma’s room, since you figure that changing in there would take less time than walking to the bathrooms.

you close the door behind you, and you look around for a second. emma’s room is a complete contrast to yours— cheetah printed blankets, posters of lana del rey and other singers hung up on her walls, right next to her deep red electric guitar and shelves of different sneakers and expensive handbags. she had a bookcase dedicated to anything but books, it was mostly filled with perfumes, fashion mags, and candles. her desk was a mess, makeup everywhere, and trash anywhere but in the bin, but you admired her style. it was an oddly warm comfort to you, the difference of style, and that’s what you always loved about emma— she was so unlike you, and yet, you two were the perfect set of friends. 

you found her mirror and stood in front of it, slipping off your matching pj set and quickly sliding today’s outfit on. you fixed your hair and toyed with the ends, curling them around your fingers to give their already kinky state a little bit more bounce. 

when you were satisfied with your appearance, you twisted the doorknob and stepped out, doing a little twist for the group as they all cheered. you felt more welcomed than ever— appreciated, accepted, and you wanted it to stay like that, like how it always was. 

but with this huge secret (although it wasn’t so huge, because emma and oliver knew), you didn’t know how long this would last. you were going to latch onto it as long as you could, hoping and praying that when the time came, you would still be loved as you were, before everything went down. 

you knew your best friends, they wouldn’t really care all that much, but it would just be so unexpected coming from you. were you ready for that, truly? were you ready to live out the things you had always felt? you weren’t too sure now. 

you walked back over to your desk, slipping your nearly dead phone into your bag as you leaned against the edge of it, trying to find some sort of calm. the room was filled with chatter, naomi arguing with jules over whether or not they should try the new sandwich spot downtown or stick to the diner, and oliver chiming in with some random fact about artisan bread that seemed nice to try. emma was scrolling through her phone, half-listening but still throwing in a laugh here and there. it was so normal, nothing out of the blue, but you felt this strange ache in your chest.

you thought about how emma and oliver already knew that you were a lesbian, how it had felt like peeling off a bandage and exposing something raw when you’d told them just a few days ago. emma had hugged you tight, whispering that she was proud of you, and oliver had just nodded, his usual soft, understanding smile on his face, cracking jokes back and forth with you. but then, that night after billie called you, it all hit you like a wave.

you didn’t mean to hang up so abruptly. you wanted to hear her out at first, but you quickly realized that it wasn’t a good idea. emma had urged you to hang up, and you did with no hesitation, suddenly realizing that answering in itself was a mistake. 

it wracked your brain for the rest of the night, and it bothered you badly that you couldn’t talk to billie. you felt like at least one more conversation could help, but it was too late for that, and you had to put yourself first. so you put your phone up for the night, falling asleep not to long after emma did. 

and then, you cried. 

but not about billie. about your friends.

it wasn’t even that you were scared of rejection. you knew naomi and jules loved you like family, and you couldn’t imagine them turning their backs on you. but it was the shift you feared— this tiny, delicate balance being thrown off, even if just for a moment. you hated being the reason things felt different. you hated the idea of anyone looking at you like you were someone else now.

your fingers toyed with the strap of your bag as the thought settled in your mind like an unwelcome guest. it wasn’t fair, really, how much weight this little not-so-big secret carried. it was supposed to feel freeing, like shedding an old skin that didn’t fit anymore, blossoming into something new, and much more beautiful. but instead, it felt like walking on a tightrope, praying you wouldn’t fall and drag everyone else down with you. you couldn’t let that happen again.

emma’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the moment. “you okay?” she mouthed, her brows knitting together slightly. it’s all she seemed to ask now, but you appreciated the sentiment. you nodded quickly, offering a small smile to reassure her, but the way she tilted her head told you she wasn’t convinced. she didn’t push you, though, she just gave you that look that said i’m here when you’re ready.

and you wanted to be ready, for all of it. for the conversations, the questions, the vulnerability, all the jokes that would be cracked. you wanted to be able to say everything with confidence, to look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you weren’t hiding anymore, like you were proud to be just the way you were. but there was still that small, stubborn part of you that whispered, what if you’re wrong? what if this isn’t who you’re supposed to be? is a phase, something that will pass when the time comes?

you pushed the thought aside, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the present. the laughter in the room, the warmth of your friends, the way everyone was bickering about oliver’s odd knowledge about sandwiches and bread. you let yourself laugh, even if it felt a little hollow, because you were sure, slowly yet surely, it would make you feel better.

you’d hold onto this moment, this fragile, fleeting sense of normalcy. you’d hold onto it for as long as you could, and when the time came to tell them, you’d trust that naomi and jules would still love you, still see you the same way that they always did. at least, that’s what you prayed for. and lately, that was all you could do.

“okay, so are we ready to go, or are we gonna argue about sandwiches all day?” emma said, rolling her eyes with a grin as she grabbed her keys off of your nightstand, standing up to dust off her wide legged jeans. naomi and jules were still in a heated, albeit playful teasing sesh against oliver, and he was just sitting on the arm of the couch, shaking his head at them.

“for the record,” he interjected, raising his hand like he was in a courtroom, “the sandwich shop idea isn’t bad. but if we’re talking about lunch and activities, why not just roller skating now? we can grab lunch and still get dinner at the diner. there’s that rink a few blocks from here, and they’ve got a food court with, you know, options. not just flavorless-ass bread that’s probably already stale.” he gave a pointed look at naomi and jules.

“skating?” you repeated, “okay, yeah, i’m down.”

“me too,” emma said, already grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, “besides, i can’t wait to see naomi bust her ass out there. wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen that, hm?”

naomi gasped, clutching her chest dramatically, “okay, excuse me! i have impeccable balance, so thank you very much.”

“uh-huh,” jules snorted, already pulling her jacket on, zipping it up as she let out a mocking laugh, “we’ll see how long that lasts when you’re out there, bambi.”

the group laughed as you all filed out of the dorm, everyone grabbing their belongings as you closed and locked the door behind you, and then the walk started. emma, jules and naomi walked up front, while you and oliver retreated to the back, following close behind them. you heard easy banter filling the air as you all walked outside, stepping out into the cool air, though the warm sun gave hints of a warmer afternoon. 

“how are you feeling?” oliver asked you as you walked, his eyes glancing down to meet with yours. they were glossed over with concern, but it was out of love, so you spoke honestly. 

“good, overall, i think. i really have no complaints— i just…you know. i get into my own head sometimes.”

oliver nods at you, “i get that. just remember, i’m always here if you need something, ‘girlfriend.’” he nudges your arm on that last part, and you shake your head at him, though you can’t help but laugh.

the walk to the skating rink was a short one, but it was peaceful. occasionally, everyone would turn around and talk, and jules would sometimes snap a picture of a cool tree or pretty flowers on her digital camera. you stayed toward the back of the group, letting their energy pull you along while you kept to your thoughts.

when you all arrived at the rink, the hum of retro music and the buzz of people skating hit you instantly, accompanied with the smell of pretzels and store-bought pizzas. the place had an old-school charm— bright neon signs, colorful lights that reflected off the fresh, polished floor, and rows of skates lined up behind the counter as employees waved the five of you in. 

“this is gonna be so fun!” naomi cheered, her face lighting up as she clapped her hands together. she then looked at emma, who seemed all but convinced that naomi would stay on her feet, “and just for the record, i’m gonna be the best one out there. no questions asked.”

“uh huh, yeah— you’re really committed to this narrative, huh naomi?” emma teased as she slipped a ticket across the counter in exchange for her inlines, “we’ll see how you do, but don’t cry when i’m doing laps around you while your ass is super-glued to the floor.”

everyone laughed at that as they grabbed their skates, and you were last to do so. you grabbed a pair of quads and took a seat on the bench, slipping them onto your feet carefully. emma was already up and skating around, practicing whatever tricks that she had hidden up her sleeve. 

whenever she had to clear her head, she’d go to the rink— something she had been doing since she was younger. that’s where you learned how to skate, from emma’s constant visits to your rink back home, and it felt like that you had a hobby you could both share.

when everyone was ready, the group shuffled out onto the rink, the polished floor gleaming beneath the flashing lights. it was awkward at first, your legs feeling wobbly and unsure as you gripped the railing for support. it wasn’t that you didn’t know how to skate, it had just been so long, but you picked up your pace when emma and jules grabbed both your sides and forced you out onto the floor. 

“you got this!” jules had said, and then you three were off, hands laced within one another’s, skating rhythmically to some old song that was playing on the speakers above.

“look at you!” emma called out, gliding up beside you with ease after you and jules had broke off, skating at your own pace. you were twisting and turning like you usually did, the art becoming more comfortable to you, and you were enjoying yourself.  “you’re not even holding on to the wall anymore! i’m so proud.”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, laughing as you pushed off your right food little harder, gaining more speed with each loop around the rink, “just don’t jinx it.”

everyone was pretty much skating alone now. you were doing your usual thing, crossing your feet and gliding side to side to the music, which was always fun for you. emma was on a roll— skating backwards between crowds of people, hopping on her feet, taking her party tricks to the extra mile. jules and oliver were racing, as they always did— and of course, jules won, also as always. 

meanwhile, naomi was loudly declaring herself the queen of skating, much to jules’s amusement as she stumbled and nearly fell. you tried to contain your laughter, but you had to admit, it was pretty funny the way she swore up and down she was the best out of the group, though she hadn’t even found herself making a full lap around the floor yet.

you were skating peacefully as a new song came on, something by stevie wonder, which you liked. you started to slow down and accommodate to the blue-sy rhythm, but then, as you rounded the far side of the rink, your eyes caught a figure near the edge. your breath hitched in your throat, your heart dropping to your stomach. it was billie.

God, could you ever get away from this girl?

she was sitting on a bench, tying her skates with that familiar furrow of concentration on her face. her hair was pulled into one of the messiest buns you had ever seen, even for her, though a few pieces effortlessly accented her face around the sides. she was wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of shorts so long that you couldn’t tell if they were supposed to be like that. but, to your surprise, she was alone.

panic flared in your chest, and if you weren’t as comfortable with skating, you were sure that you would’ve fallen. your mind was racing as you quickly turned your head away, trying to keep her from seeing you. the last thing you needed was another interaction, another moment where she could belittle you, looking at you with that stupid grin that never seemed to leave her face, like she was always teasing you for something. 

you skated past her as casually as you could manage, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt like you were going to burst, like your breath was stolen right out of your lungs. you heaved as you looked in front of you, where your friends were still laughing and teasing each other, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your stomach.

you felt sick.

you risked a glance over your shoulder, relief washing over you when you saw that billie hadn’t noticed you. she was still focused on her skates, completely oblivious to your presence. which, you definitely wanted to keep it that way.

you tried to focus on your friends, on the way naomi shrieked as she nearly toppled over again, after falling nearly ten times already, but she was saved only by oliver’s quick reflexes as he grabbed her arm. 

“you owe me for that,” he teased, smirking at her as she tried to compose herself, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“whatever, i was totally fine. i could’ve gotten back up.” naomi huffed, wiping a few particles of dust off of her shirt as she stood up.

“sure you were,” jules said, rolling up beside her, her grin wide and mischievous, “next time, maybe we should get you those little kid trainers, you know, the ones with wheels on all four corners? seems pretty fitting if you ask me.”

“you’re all so mean to me!” naomi cried dramatically, though the laughter bubbling in her voice gave her away. she didn’t mind that she couldn’t skate all that well, truthfully, but it was always fun to mess around for a while. 

the lightness of their banter helped ease some of the tension in your chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get swept up in it. emma had started a race with jules now, the two of them zipping around the rink in an uncoordinated blur, while oliver stayed back with naomi, coaching her like a patient older brother, though she still wasn’t quite getting it.

you skated in slow, deliberate circles, careful not to look in billie’s direction again. you didn’t want to tempt fate, not again.

but it wasn’t just fear that made you keep your distance. it was the weight of everything you’d been trying to leave behind— the fight, the tears, the way her voice still lingered in your head, sharp and biting, but also soft in ways that made your chest ache.

you couldn’t reminisce on that though. you had to stay focused on what really mattered, and it wasn’t billie. it was you, your happiness, your walk with God, and everything else that surrounded that. you didn’t have time to pick more stupid fights with her, when she would not and could not ever understand where you were coming from.

“you’re doing great, by the way,” oliver called out, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. he had left naomi with emma, though her coaching wasn’t as gentle. your eyes immediately find oliver’s as he skates with you, and you cock your brow at him, still nervous.

“what…what do you mean?” you ask.

oliver rolls his eyes, “i saw her. the others didn’t, and don’t worry, i won’t snitch. but just ignore her, for your own sake. you deserve nothing but peace right now, so don’t let her disturb that.”

“right, yeah.” you nod, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. you’re just moving, fighting for a distraction, focusing on finding a steady rhythm again. the music shifted to something slower, softer, and the lights dimmed slightly, casting the rink in a warm glow. couples started pairing off, holding hands as they skated together, little holographic, neon hearts sliding against the wooden floors.

“ugh, so cute it’s disgusting,” emma squeaked, skating up beside you and nodding toward one particularly affectionate pair to your right. they were adorable, two girls holding hands and skating identically together. however, it made your chest cave in when one girl was wearing bright, pretty soft hues, while the other was wearing deep blacks and purples, a huge contrast to her girlfriend.

it felt like you and billie, in a way, and you almost gag at that. it seemed like everything reminded you of her, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it. 

“don’t be a hater,” jules chimed in, coming up on your other side, an easy distraction. you ease up as she teases emma, “maybe you’ll find someone to hold hands with one day, em. miracles happen, i’ll make a phone call to the angels for you, see what they can do.”

“very funny,” emma said, rolling her eyes. “i’m holding out for someone who can actually keep up with me, thank you very much.”

“wait, what happened with that guy i saw you with?” you questioned, hoping that the conversation would flow in a way that would make you forget about seeing billie.

“oh gosh, where do i even begin,” emma dragged on, and that’s when you knew that your plan was in motion. she babbled on about how he was a player and had no common sense, and something about how she didn’t like that he had bed covers with patrick mahomes’ face on it. which, you really didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but you just let her talk.

but then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her again. billie.

she was on the rink now, skating slowly, her movements a little awkward like she wasn’t used to it. she was smiling, though— a small, quiet smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.

a smile that you missed.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding loudly in your chest all over again. she still hadn’t noticed you, thank God, but just seeing her was enough to unsettle you completely, working your nerves right back up.

“you good?” emma asked you, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“yeah,” you said quickly, though your voice was too high-pitched to be convincing. you cleared your throat, forcing a smile out as you turned a corner, “just... distracted, i guess.”

emma tilted her head, studying you for a moment, but she didn’t ask anymore questions, “well, let me know if you need a distraction from your distraction.” she said with a wink before skating off to join the others.

you stayed where you were, finding refuge in a wall, letting the others drift ahead. your gaze flickered to billie again, despite yourself, and you wondered— just for a second— if she was thinking about you, too. if she had seen you.

but then she turned, skating toward the far side of the rink, and you quickly looked away, pulling your hair over the side of your face in hopes that she wouldn’t recognize you, if her eyes had somehow found their way to make out who you were, even though you were on the complete opposite side of the roller rink.

you skated to the edge of the opposite wall, trying to put as much distance between yourself and billie as possible. your heart was still pounding, your thoughts racing as you fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, to get one more glimpse, even though you knew you’d regret it.

so you didn’t. because the last thing you needed was for her to notice you.

but then, a sharp pang of anxiety hit you. what if she did see you? what if she thought you were alone, vulnerable, still hung up on everything that happened between you two? it felt irrational, but the idea of her pitying you— or worse, thinking she still had some sort of hold over you— made your stomach churn. you couldn’t let her have that type of victory over you. you were in control, not her.

your eyes scanned the spot that you were in, and then you spotted oliver across the rink, helping naomi wobble along the railing. relief washed over you— oliver was the perfect shield, the one person who could make you look completely unbothered and perfectly fine. after all, he was supposed to be your ‘boyfriend’ now, wasn’t he?

you pushed off the wall, skating toward him as steadily as you could.

 “ollie!” 

he turned around when he heard your voice, his face lighting up when he saw you, “hey, what’s up?”

you skated up beside him, lowering your voice so only he could hear, though your request wasn’t all that abnormal, “okay, this is going to sound weird, but… can you hold my hand?”

he blinked, tilting his head, “uh, sure? what’s going on? is it…?”

you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure billie was still on the far side of the rink. you looked back at him, “yeah,” you whispered quietly, “and i just— i don’t want her to think… you know, that i’m…”

“still hung up on her?” oliver finished your dead sentence for you, his expression softening with understanding.

you nodded, biting your lip, “i just need her to see that i’m fine. better than fine, even. like… totally over it.”

he smiled gently, reaching out to take your hand. “yup, fake dating duty. got it.”

you felt a small wave of relief as his hand slid into yours, warm and steady. oliver gave it a reassuring squeeze, and you squeezed back, grateful as ever for how quickly he reacted, how eager he was to help you with no complaints.

“you owe me for this, by the way.” he teased as he started skating beside you, his tone lighthearted, and you knew that it was only jokes.

you snorted, “yeah right. just put it on my tab.” 

naomi shot the two of you a curious look as you passed her idle spot next to the wall, “okay, wait, are we holding hands now? did i miss something?”

“we’re practicing for the couples skate,” oliver said smoothly, his tone so casual that even you almost believed him. it was a good lie, one that would hold over your little secret until it forced itself out. and now, now wasn’t really the time for it.

naomi narrowed her eyes, but jules came barreling toward her before she could press further, their laughter echoing across the rink.

you felt a little more at ease now, skating alongside oliver, your hand laced within his. your heart still raced every time you thought about billie, about everytime that you saw her around the rink. but having him there grounded you, reminded you that you weren’t alone.

you cast one more glance toward the far side of the rink, where billie was still skating. her focus was elsewhere, thank God, it was on anything but you.

you exhaled softly, squeezing oliver’s hand again. he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow, “feeling better?”

“yeah,” you said quietly through a smile, “thanks, ollie.”

before he could pay your statement back with a ‘you’re welcome’, you hear jules, naomi, and emma all agree that it’s time to head out and grab some food. they had apparently decided that eating at the diner for lunch was a better idea, saving time to possibly go downtown or go somewhere for dessert and take pictures. so, you and oliver followed accordingly, hopping off the floor and returning your skates to the counter.

as everyone slipped on their shoes and grabbed their things, jules went right back to her teasing of naomi, “so, did you fall?”

“i’m too hungry to argue with you.” she laughed, sliding her tote bag onto her shoulders as the group made their way outside, walking to the diner.

౨ৎ

the diner felt like a sanctuary at first, a bubble of warmth and laughter that protected you from the turmoil brewing just beneath your skin. the clatter of plates, the hum of the jukebox playing some old 50s song, and the low din of chatter around you all made it easy to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay, even if it was nothing but that.

you were wedged between emma and the wall in your usual spot, picking at the remains of your burger while naomi recounted some story about her boss at work, who she thought was all types of dreamy. oliver and jules were hanging on her every word, laughing at all the right moments, and emma was chiming in with her usual quick-witted commentary. it should have felt normal, comforting, just like how it was in your dorm this morning. but it didn’t.

you couldn’t stop replaying the moment at the rink. the way billie had looked— so familiar, yet so distant. and, to be honest, it kind of bothered you.

it hurt that you would have to see her around so much, way more often than you would like. it’s like all your hangout spots were hers too, and it was inevitable to get away from her. but you had to try, at least— try and heal from your wounds, try and forget everything that had happened and turn a new leaf. and you knew it would be hard, but you were going to work on it, because you owed it to yourself. you owed it to yourself to be happy.

you were about to take another bite of your burger when the bell above the door jingled, and your heart dropped. you didn’t even need to look to know who it was. the shift in the air was enough. you had felt it before, back at the bar, and earlier in the roller rink. you knew it was her.

but of course, you being you, you looked anyway.

and there she was. 

her presence was like a punch to the gut, a mix of anger, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite place. she looked almost the same as she had at the rink— disheveled, guarded— but her eyes were sharper now, the playful nature of skating long gone.

your stomach twisted and screamed as her gaze landed on your booth, just to your luck. her jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes locked on you.

“oh no,” emma muttered under her breath, her fork pausing mid-air, “are you serious?”

“is that…?” jules started, but oliver kicked her under the table, shooting her a warning look, and her lips pursed quiet at that.

you quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in the fine lines of ketchup bottle on the table, but it was too late. billie was already walking over to you, her strut quick and strong, like she already had what she wanted to say and do in mind.

“can we talk?” she said once she reached your table, her voice low and tight, standing awkwardly next to your booth.

you placed your head in your hands as everyone went silent, their eyes darting between you and billie like they were watching a live fight scene. and honestly, you knew that’s where it was heading.

but there was nothing you could do. you couldn’t escape, she was here now, so you might as well engage, because there was no other way out of this.

“you want to talk here?” you asked, your voice sharp.

“no,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest, “outside.”

“you don’t have to go, love.” oliver said, quiet, but loud enough to where billie could hear. he knew that you needed this— a way out, a cover-up, even if she wasn’t buying it right this second. you felt his hand brush against yours under the table for added effect, though he was unsure if billie could see you two.

but you knew you couldn’t avoid this forever. so, with a heavy sigh, you slid out of the booth, avoiding everyone’s longing and confused looks as you started to walk, following billie out of the door.

the late afternoon air hit you like a slap to the face, much like the way billie had strutted in the diner, demanding a piece of your time like she was the one that owned it. she stopped a few feet away from the entrance, her back to you as she ran a hand through her hair.

“okay, what do you want, billie?” you asked, crossing your arms to mirror her, “i don’t have time for this, be quick and get straight to the point. i don’t even want to be talking to you right now.”

lie.

she turned to face you, her eyes dark and stormy, “honestly, i just want to know why. why you couldn’t just talk to me. why you couldn’t just tell me what was going on, instead of doing all…of this.”

“are you serious?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling quickly to the surface, “are you seriously going to ask me this question again like i haven’t already answered it? what else do you want me to say to you? i told you to leave me alone, and i’m not so sure why this can’t get through to you, so i’ll say it again. leave. me. alone!”

her jaw tightened, and she took a step closer to you. her eyes were glossed over with tears, but you didn’t care at all. you were sick of her acting like she was the victim, like you hadn’t asked her countless times you just leave you be. at this point, she was just harassing you. 

“i-i’m sorry…i know, but…i feel like you’re not telling me everything, y/n. i feel so deeply that there’s something you aren’t telling me, like i’m not getting the whole wide of this story…i just, i needed to know—“

“i don’t owe you explanations about my own life,” you shot back, “why can’t you just give up on me, like you did back at the bar? why can’t you just let me live my life without showing up at the most random times, without making me feel like i’m the one that’s crazy, huh?” 

“give up on you?” billie repeated, her voice cracking. she was full on tears now, “do you have any idea how hard it was to leave? how much it killed me to walk away?”

you flinched at the raw emotion in her voice, but you didn’t back down. she couldn’t phase you now, “if it was so hard, why did you do it?”

“because i didn’t know what else to do!” she shouted, her hands balling into fists at her sides, “you wouldn’t let me in, and i was fucking drowning. i couldn’t keep—”

“couldn’t keep what?” you interrupted, stepping closer now, your own anger flaring, “couldn’t keep dealing with me? with my problems? sorry i wasn’t perfect enough for you, billie, but you knew what you were getting yourself into, it was obvious.” 

“that’s not what i meant,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense, “and you know it. you know that’s not how i felt about you.” 

“then what did you mean?” you pressed, your heart pounding in your chest, “i mean, do tell billie, because i’ve been waiting for this. tell me what you really wanna say, because you’re doing nothing but wasting my time.” 

she opened her mouth to respond, but then her gaze flicked behind your back, back toward the diner. you followed her line of sight and saw your friends watching from the window, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning in so close in hopes that they could hear what was going on. 

billie’s expression shifted, her anger giving way to something softer, something almost vulnerable, like she really was going to tell you how she felt. but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference, confusion, of something unsure. 

“you know what? forget it,” she said, shaking her head at you, “this was a mistake. you were right.” 

and then she turned on her heel without a word, and started walking away, her boots echoing against the pavement as she started towards her car. 

“billie, wait,” you called after her, your voice trembling, but it was no use. 

she didn’t stop. she didn’t even look back, and for the first time, you really wish she did. 

you wanted to hear what she had to say, but you weren’t ready. you couldn’t handle all of that, but you thought you could at least try. but now, it was too late. 

it was always too late. 

you stood there, frozen, your fists clenched and your chest heaving as you watched her disappear into the driver’s seat of her car, cranking up the engine and speeding out of her parking spot. 

your friends were still watching from the window, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face them. instead, you turned around and leaned against the wall of the diner, your head falling back as you stared up at the sky.

you wanted to scream, to cry, to do something about this, but all you could do was stand there, the weight of her words and your own anger pressing down on you like a weighted blanket.

and then, you heard the door to the diner swing opened, a voice pushing out into the empty air, 

“i promise you, despite as much as you think you are, you and billie are far from done.” 

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[yanderespetdarling]

Yandere yandere stalker! x reader

based on this by @cloudedwonder

TW: stalker, yandere, you're held captive by a chain

.......................................................................................................................

“Do you like to read?” you asked timidly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your captor sat beside you, the chain around your ankle clinking softly as you shifted. His eyes lit up at your question, a wide grin spreading across his face as though you’d just given him the greatest gift imaginable.

“Poetry,” he said, almost breathlessly. “I only really read poetry.”

For a moment, just a moment, you forgot. Forgot the chain, the cold metal biting into your skin, the oppressive reality of the room he had carefully constructed for you. You leaned forward, hopeful.

“Oh, I love poetry! I’m the same way- it’s hard to get through fiction sometimes. Do you write poetry too?”

His smile faltered, just slightly, replaced by a look so intense it made your breath hitch. His gaze bore into you, unblinking, as though he were memorizing every detail of your face in that moment.

“Yeah,” he said softly, standing up with a sudden urgency. “Wait here. I’ll show you.”

As if you could go anywhere else.

He disappeared through the heavy, locked door, his footsteps echoing in the hallway beyond. A chill swept through the room, the absence of his presence almost worse than his overwhelming proximity. Before you could dwell on it, he was back, clutching a battered notebook in his hands like a precious relic.

“I’ve never shown this to anyone before,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He placed the notebook in your lap, his fingers lingering on the edges as though reluctant to let it go.

You opened it, flipping to the first page, but your stomach sank. The handwriting was chaotic, messy beyond comprehension. You struggled to make sense of it as you debated what to say.

“I think…” you began carefully, “I think I’d like it better if you read it to me. Would that be okay?”

His face lit up again, his posture straightening as he took the notebook back with reverence.

“Of course,” he said, settling back into his spot. His voice softened as he began to read:

“There is no home where my heart lives: No, my heart lives with you. My heart settles under your pillow, Nestles in your hair, Wagging its veins like a tail without care, My heart lives in every glance you give me, Tends to your wounds, Sees the pain and the wear. My heart longs to hold you while your bruises heal, My heart yearns with no compare. My heart lives with you. My heart knows that you are rare.”

His voice wavered on the last line, his eyes searching yours with a quiet desperation.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat as your mind raced. The words were beautiful, haunting in a way that made your skin crawl. 

“Well?” he asked, leaning closer, his voice a trembling whisper. “Did you like it?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “It was…” you hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Beautiful. Really, it was beautiful.”

The relief that washed over his face was staggering. His smile returned, wider than ever, and he let out a small laugh, almost giddy.

“I’m so glad you think so,” he said, his voice light with a mixture of pride and something darker. “I’ve read your poetry, you know,” he continued, the words slipping out before you could respond. “I’ve read every scrap of it. The things you write… they’re different. It’s like I’m reading the words of someone who’s been hiding, someone who doesn’t want to be found. But I found them, didn’t I?” His smile deepened as he leaned in, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling satisfaction.

You froze. Your stomach sank. You knew he’d been watching you. That much was clear. But reading everything you wrote? The things you kept hidden? You couldn't help but look surprised. 

“I love it,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent, the edge of admiration in his tone sending a shiver through you. “The way your words ache, the way they hide the truth but beg to be seen. It’s… beautiful, really.” He leaned back, “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything so real before. It’s as if you’ve written every feeling I’ve ever had, every secret I’ve buried in my own chest.” His hand reached for yours.

His gaze never left yours, and you could feel the weight of his words settle over you like a thick blanket. Your poetry, your inner world, he was reveling in it, and somehow, it felt like he was claiming it as his own.

“Thank you..” You squeaked, not knowing what to say. 

His fingers lingered on yours a moment longer before gently pulling you closer, his touch slow and deliberate. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace careful, as though you were something delicate—fragile, yet somehow precious. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The quiet warmth of his body against yours was both soothing and unsettling, like a storm settling into a calm. His breath, steady and slow, filled the silence, wrapping around you as if it were part of the room itself.

The chain around your ankle felt like it was miles away. The heavy door that separated you from the outside world was an echo in your mind, distant and fading. There was only the space between the two of you now, only the simple act of holding and being held.

Part of you wanted to pull away, to guard yourself, but another part, the part that had been buried under the weight of fear, allowed yourself to be held, to forget everything else, even if just for a moment.

There was something comforting in the quiet, in the stillness of his touch, as though you were both suspended in time, alone but not lonely, vulnerable yet safe. His words had bared your soul, but in his arms, there was no judgment. There was only acceptance.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop worrying about escaping, about surviving. In this moment, there was only the soft comfort of being held, of being cared for in a way you had never allowed yourself to experience. And as he held you, you let yourself believe that, for now, that was enough.

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ But The Night, He Calls Me — Bruce "Batman" Wayne x GN Civilian!Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It was hard to imagine a time where anything noteworthy in Gotham didn't happen during a dark and stormy night. The city was a pretty big pull for raincoulds, low hanging fog, and a general morose look. But above all else, it was your home, though you didn't prefer to walk out at night these days. With the notoriously shoddy work of the GCPD and crime rates almost triple as high compared to the neighboring cities, you didn't exactly feel the wet concrete and dark alley corners beckoning you anytime soon.

The roof, however, was a different matter. Your roof— or, well, the roof to the apartment complex you lived at— became a frequent spot to the one man who could ever make a dent in Gotham City crime. The very same man you could see perched on the edge of the parapet right now. You approached slowly, taking careful steps as to not make a sound. After painfully long moments of inching, you were almost close enough to reach out. You shuffled just a bit more, preparing to make yourself known-

"Go back inside" the dark figure cut in, low gravelly voice clear and familiar. You sighed deeply, giving up and moving to step up to the vigilante's side "How do you always do that?". "I'm a detective, it's my job" the Batman said flatly. You leaned against the parapet he was standing atop "It's uncanny is what it is. After all these months you'd think I'd be able to get the drop on you at least once". "Villains who have been chasing me since the beginning of my career haven't managed it either, don't be too discouraged" Batman replied.

You chuckled a little, looking over the edge of the roof. The crime fighter's dry humor was a reason the two of you got along so well. After meeting by chance a few times, it became a more regular occurrence to meet up like this. Sometimes you'd get to see him spring into action, or maybe even return from a fight. But tonight, it seems, was uneventful. "Slow day?" You asked. "There's never a slow day in Gotham," Batman responded "You just need to know where to find the action". You couldn't help but snort a little at the claim "Okay, tough guy, so why haven't you set off yet?". "There's no point to a stakeout if you jump in before the crook" Batman said, and you gave a thoughtful nod in reply.

"You should really go back inside" the caped crusader spoke up "It's late. You've got work, I'm sure". "Got the day off, actually, detective" You responded "And I can't sleep knowing there's a bat on my roof". That got a faint hum from the dark knight, the closest you got to an amused reaction from him. The wind picked up from the just-passed storm, bringing a chill that bit your cheeks and clung to your clothes in one large wave. You couldn't help but shiver, tugging your jacket tighter around your pajamas.

Batman kept his gaze on the streets below, watching as puddles rippled with the last few drops from the sky and lamps flickered from lack of care. He was in tune with every foot of concrete road, attuned to any and every movement. The only thing that pulled his attention was when feeling his long billowing cape being tugged. His head looked over, seeing you wrapping the inky black fabric around your shoulders. "What- what are you doing" Batman asked, mildly confused. "It's not really fair that you're the only one that gets to wrap up in this thing" you said, scooting closer to him for more coverage.

"I do that to cloak myself" Batman countered, sliding off the parapet to be standing on the top of the roof beside you. "Right. And I'm using it to warm myself" you said casually, shuffling to his side. You honestly expected him to give some gruff, witty comment and snatch the cape back. If it were any other situation, with any other person, maybe he would have. But instead, he just looked back to the streets, using an arm to hold out more of the martial for you. You smiled, tucking fully into his side and now being fully wrapped up. "Better?" Batman asked, avoiding looking down at you. You nodded, leaning on his shoulder "A lot, yeah. Thanks, Bats"

Batman gave a short 'hm' in response, going back to being silent. But he kept an arm around your lower back, keeping you held close to his frame. As much as he was trying to avoid it, it did poor things to his heart to see you shivering in the cold because of him. He very briefly placed his chin atop your head, using his free hand to tap your shoulder. "Ten minutes. Then you're going back to bed"

"Fine, fine" you said, nuzzling up to him a bit more "Ten minutes". Batman hesitated a little, before allowing himself to wrap his arms around you fully. He gave you a brief but strong embrace, letting you soak up his warmth just for now. He could spare ten mintues. It's not like any villain could outrun him for long, anyways.

[poetinthelakes]

DRESS . . . . hansol vernon .ᐟ

LYRICS. flashback when you met me, your buzzcut and my hair bleached ───────hansol vernon x afab!reader WARNINGS. MDNI .ᐟ smut, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, buzzcut!vernon made me go feral 🗣️ NOTES. this is the first time i write smut so please bear with me 😭 I need some tips on writing smut, if anyone wants to help, you're completely welcome but please be kind T_T

“I lost a bet,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth after walking through the door of your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Vernon, who looked at you with wide eyes.

You'd never dyed your hair any color so now seeing yourself with your hair bleached was a radical change for you and a pleasant surprise for your boyfriend.

“You look good,” he smiled at you, making you feel the same butterfly's as when you first met him, "It suits you,love."

“Really?”

“Really,” he stated, giving you those heart eyes he only had for you before talking again, “I lost a bet today too”

“Oh?” you said curious.

“Kwan made me do it,” he continued, bringing his hands to the hat that covered his head and consequently, his hair too.

“What are you hiding?” you asked, becoming suspicious of him.

Before you could say anything else, your boyfriend took off his hat, showing off his new haircut, a buzzcut.

You had to admit that he looked amazing with this cut, so much so that you couldn't help but open your mouth in excitement before smiling wide.

“You look hot,” you said, letting your impulses win over your reasoning for a moment, but you couldn't help it, Vernon had always been handsome and with his new hairstyle he looked twice as hot.

He chuckled before coming closer to you and give you a kiss on the forehead before going to where your lips met, leaving sweet yet intense kiss between you as a declaration of how much he liked your freshly bleached hair and how much you were turned on after seeing his new cut.

He wrapped his hands around your hips to pull you even closer as your kisses started to turn hotter and sloppier. It didn't help the fact that you started to feel a bulge forming in your boyfriend's pants, causing you to get wet as your core started to ache for him.

“Can i take your dress off?” he panted, his eyes filled with desire for you and you were sure you looked exactly the same as you nodded.

Vernon didn't waste time to pull the zipper of your dress down, leaving you completely naked with the exception of your underwear, you moaned in his ear the moment he took your panties off and he couldn't help the groan he let out at the sight of your pussy that was already leaking.

With no anticipation, he slowly pushed his fingers inside of you, making you crumble at the feeling of him stretching you out, “Nnghh! feels good~” you moaned as he found that spot your fingers never could reach.

“Yeah? Wanna feel the real thing?” he smirked, taking his fingers out of your wet cunt before licking them, making you let out another moan, this time louder than the last before shoving your tongue against his, tasting yourself on him and starting a make out session.

“I need you inside of me, please,” you pleaded, separating your mouth from his, leaving a thread of spit between you both as you felt his hot breath against yours.

Your hand quickly found his jeans, already taking them off of him, his boxers seeming tight against his hard cock. You licked your lips at the sight your boyfriend was giving you, pulling down the only thing that was keeping you from seeing his dick just as he took off his shirt.

Finally after leaving nothing to the imagination, Vernon grabbed you by the hips, causing your legs to immediately wrap around his waist, feeling his hard cock directly in your dripping pussy.

Vernon wasted no time and without waiting he pushed his cock inside of you, taking control over you as your arms held tightly onto him so you wouldn't fall. Your breasts bounced against his warm skin every time your boyfriend moved you up and down to push his cock all the way up to your cervix.

The grunts and moans coming out of your and Vernon's mouths were a harmonious melody to the silence of your apartment and hearing the sound of his balls hitting against your ass was even ore hotter than what you could bear.

“A-ah~ i'm close, Vernon!” you cried out as he made you bounce in his cock.

“M-me too,” he panted, looking for your mouth to give you a sloppy kiss capable of ruining you both.

You felt his pace slow down a little, the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock was enough to bring you both closer to the climax until you couldn't take it anymore. Vernon made his last efforts, resuming his speed.

“Oh god, I'm cumming, a-ah~!” you whined, trying to move your hips against him to help you both find the release you both wanted and needed so bad.

“Agh~! I'm gonna cum, you're gonna cum too?” he asked, watching your fucked out expression before nodding, “Cum for me baby, cum for me,” he grunted before he finally came inside of you, his hot seed leaking out of you with each thrust your boyfriend made, quickly leading your to your own orgasm, so strong and so good it made you scream in complete pleasure.

Vernon gave you one final kiss before pulling his cock out of your cum-filled pussy that was already running down your thighs. As your breathing labored and tried to catch your breath, your boyfriend led you to the bathroom to take a well deserved shower.

“We should change our hairstyle more often, don’t you think?” he joked, making you giggle before kissing him again.

“So. . .round two?” you asked mischievously and he just gave you a smirk before leading you into the shower.

This was definitely gonna continue for a while, and all you could think about was how losing a bet was the best thing you both could've done.

© POETINTHELAKES 2025

[russo-woso]

Hey, can you write something for the lyrics of The Alchemy-Taylor Swift with Alessia? "There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league Where's the trophy? She just comes running over to me

Don’t come to me! || Alessia Russo x reader

Masterlist

Summary you’re the first one Alessia runs to when Arsenal win the FA cup

A/N another short fluffy one

It had been a thrilling four goal match so far.

Manchester City had been in the lead the first forty five minutes, holding a comfortable 2-0 lead over Arsenal.

But during the second half, Arsenal made their comeback.

The scoreline soon became 2-1 with a goal from Frida, then 2-2 thanks to a screamer from Katie - let’s be real, every goal she scores is a screamer.

The 90 minutes ended 2-2 so the game went to extra time.

You sat on the edge of your seat as the clock drew closer and closer to the second final whistle.

“You’re gonna fall off of you move any more.” Luca, your brother in law, joked clearly noticing how far forward you were.

“I’m nervous, I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.” You told him, referring to the girls on the pitch.

“Lessi’s used to it by now.”

“I know. I asked her this morning how she was feeling and she just said it was a normal match - no it is not! It’s the fa cup final! I think I was more nervous than her.”

“She hasn’t always been like that. She used to be so nervous before big matches but as soon as she met you, she knew you were her lucky charm. That’s what she told me anyway. If you’re in the crowd, her nerves go away.” Luca explained, your heart warming at your wife’s past words.

You went to respond but before you could, the crowd started getting rowdy.

You looked in time to see Caitlin pass a perfect ball through to Alessia.

With brute force, Alessia struck the ball, sending it flying to the back of the net.

You jumped up, pride filling you as you watched Alessia get tackled by her teammates.

Alessia quickly found you in the crowd - easily due to her getting you front row tickets by the corner flag.

She swiftly blew you a kiss before jogging back into position for kick off again.

The minutes ticked by and although it was painfully slow, the whistle finally blew.

Arsenal had won.

You watched as the whole team ran to each other, engulfing each other in hugs, but there was one person who wasn’t with the team - alessia.

It wasn’t hard to find her though, her blue eyes being so easy to find - for you anyway.

She had a massive smile on her face as she started jogging towards you.

“Lessi!” You exclaimed as she tackled you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled away from the hug to place your lips on hers.

“You’re my lucky charm.”

“So I’ve heard. Go celebrate with your team, lessi.” You told her but she turned your suggestion down.

“I just want to celebrate with you, love, no one else.”

“They’re getting ready for the trophy, less, go.” You laughed, watching as she cling onto you.

“You’re my trophy. You’re the only one I need.”

“Oh, baby.” You laughed, stroking a hand through her sweat dampened ponytail. “I tell you what, go get your medal and celebrate with your team and then we’ll celebrate properly when we get back home - however you like. Deal?”

“Deal. Try get a nap in at some point because it’s gonna be a long night, pretty girl.”

[margeoww]

Hey, I think I already requested this, but I didn’t specify what I meant. I asked about if you’d be up to writing an alternative 2nd part to “too wide a divide” where reader finds out she is pregnant?? Like before they got back together. Maybe happy ending??

Too Wide a Divide: Alternative Ending

part 1 | part 2 (endl 1) | part 2 (end 2)

pairing: toto wolff x fem!reader

summary: months after toto and the reader part ways due to the disapproval of her family, she finds out she’s pregnant. Torn between resentment and longing, she debates whether to tell him. Fate intervenes when their paths cross again, leading to a heartfelt confrontation and the possibility of a second chance.

It had been three months since that night when everything fell apart. His words still echoed in your mind:

“I can’t keep going, knowing your family is tearing you apart because of me. I can’t be the reason you’re suffering.”

The memory was a knife that twisted in your chest every time you let yourself think about him. You’d tried to move on, but the ache lingered like a shadow. His scent still clung faintly to your pillow, and when Formula 1 broadcasts filled your living room, your gaze always searched for him, despite yourself.

But something else had begun to demand your attention. It started subtly—a faint nausea when you woke up, an overwhelming fatigue that had you retreating to bed far earlier than usual. At first, you dismissed it as stress. The breakup had taken a toll on your body and mind.

But one morning, as you sat at your kitchen table trying to stomach your coffee, a wave of dizziness struck you so strongly you had to grip the counter for support. You froze. Your mind pieced together the symptoms, and a cold realization settled over you.

An hour later, you stood in the bathroom, a test in hand, staring at two unmistakable lines.

You were pregnant.

The discovery left you paralyzed. Joy and fear warred within you. A part of you thrilled at the thought of a life growing inside you, something so uniquely yours and Toto’s. But then, the doubts crept in.

What would Toto say? The question haunted you. Could you even tell him? After all, he had been the one to leave, to decide that love wasn’t enough to overcome the barriers between you. Would he see this child as another complication?

And then there was your family. The disapproving looks, the harsh words they had thrown your way when they learned about your relationship with Toto. You could only imagine their reaction now.

But despite the fear, one thing was clear: this baby was yours to love and protect. And no matter how daunting the path ahead seemed, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Weeks passed, and you kept the secret to yourself. You focused on preparing for the baby, slowly coming to terms with the reality of doing this on your own.

That all changed on a crisp winter afternoon. Leaving your first ultrasound appointment, you were tucking the image of your baby into your bag when you saw him.

Toto stood in the hospital lobby, speaking with someone you didn’t recognize. His tall frame and familiar presence made your heart lurch painfully. You tried to turn away, to slip out unnoticed, but fate wasn’t on your side. He looked up, his piercing eyes meeting yours across the room.

—You’re here —he said —his deep voice laced with surprise as he stepped toward you.

You froze, unsure what to say, until his gaze fell to where your hand rested protectively over your stomach. His expression shifted, confusion melting into realization.

—Is it…? —His voice trailed off, his eyes wide.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. There was no point in hiding it now.

—Yes. —you said softly. —It’s yours.

Toto’s face was a mixture of emotions—shock, disbelief, and something deeper, something raw that made your chest tighten. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, as if the words refused to form.

—Can we talk? —he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You hesitated. The urge to run was strong, but you knew this moment was inevitable. Nodding, you led him outside to a nearby bench. The winter air bit at your skin, but the cold was nothing compared to the tension between you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He was staring at the ground, his jaw clenched. You could feel his struggle to find the right words, and finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking with yours.

—I didn’t know. —he said, his voice heavy. —If I had known… I…

You cut him off, shaking your head.

—If you had known, would it have changed anything? You made your choice, Toto. You walked away because you didn’t think we could make it work.

Your voice cracked, but you pushed through.

—I wasn’t going to tell you. I thought… I thought it would be easier for both of us. You left, and I wasn’t going to beg you to come back. But now…

You paused, placing a hand on your belly. The gesture was unconscious, but his eyes followed it, softening as he looked at you again.

—Now you need to know, because this baby deserves to have both parents if that’s what you want. I won’t force you to stay. I’ve already decided to do this on my own if I have to.

Toto’s brows furrowed, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the ground again.

—You think I wouldn’t want to be here? —he asked, his voice quiet but firm. —You think I’d walk away from you? From them?

He sat up straight, his expression resolute.

—Yes, I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go. I thought I was protecting you from the pressure, from your family’s disapproval. But it was the worst decision of my life.

His voice wavered, but he pressed on.

—I still love you. I never stopped. And now… Now we have a chance to build something, to be a family. Please, let me prove it to you.

Your heart ached at his words. You wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant every word. But the pain of his leaving still lingered.

—This isn’t just about me anymore, Toto. If you’re here, it has to be for both of us, me and the baby. Not because you feel guilty, not because it’s the right thing to do.

He reached for your hand, his fingers warm despite the cold.

—I’m here because I want to be, he said softly. —Because I love you, and I already love them. I want to fix this. I want to be in your life, in their life.

Tears burned in your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. He was serious, and for the first time in months, you felt a glimmer of hope.

—Okay, you said. —your voice trembling. —But this is going to take time.

Toto nodded, squeezing your hand.

—As much time as you need. I’ll be here.

The months that followed weren’t easy. Trust had to be rebuilt, and the wounds of the past didn’t heal overnight. But Toto was there for every step of the journey—doctor’s appointments, nursery shopping, late-night cravings.

He made mistakes, of course, but he worked tirelessly to prove his commitment, not just to you, but to the family you were creating together.

The day your baby was born, Toto was by your side, holding your hand as tears streamed down his face. When he held the baby for the first time, his broad shoulders seemed to shake under the weight of his emotions.

—He is perfect. —he whispered, his voice thick with tears. —Just like their mother.

You watched as he cradled the tiny bundle, his hands so careful and steady, as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. In that moment, the doubts and fears that had haunted you for months seemed to dissolve.

Toto looked up at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of love and determination.

—I’ll never let you down again. —he said softly. —Both of you.

You smiled through your tears, reaching out to stroke the baby’s cheek.

—We’ll hold you to that. —you replied, your voice light but full of meaning.

The three of you sat there in the quiet room, the chaos of the past forgotten as you embraced this new chapter. It wasn’t the fairy tale you’d once imagined, but it was real, and it was yours.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the divide between you didn’t feel so wide anymore.

[n0vation]

Are you ugly? Quite the opposite. Salesman x reader

ㄨSUMMARY:Getting caught spying is probably the worst she could imagine, expect when the worst is looking down at her, wanting to play Russian Roulette .

ㄨ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗PAIRING: Salesman x fem!reader / Smut / Dark Content

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TAGS/WARNINGS: kidnapping,sadism, blood/brief gore, blood kink, noncon/dubcon, sizekink?,manipulation, power imbalance, top!salesman x bottom!reader, p in v, choking, creampie.

══✿═══✿════✿════╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞════✿════✿════✿══

"Such a bounty on that man. That's weird. He doesn't look like this type of guy." You thought walking through the streets of Seoul.

4 zeros , no, 5 zeros, you don't even remember who much money will you win if you get information about him. Better, if you get him. But damn you're not a fighter, you just need to learn more about him and lure him to let his guard down before you become millionaire.

Now you were waiting on a corner counting the seconds.

3 , 2 ,1

The tall man came from a luxurious taxi, entering a bakery. He watches the bread, bending his head, his fuckass weird smile sticked on his face. How can someone be so creepy?

"Do not lose him, do not lose him.."

Your prayers seem to have been heard as your taxi catches up with his and arrives in a park. The scent of the grass tickling your nose before the smell of sweat and pee caught you. Homeless. The filth of society. The bottom of the hierarchy.

"I gave you a chance, and you made your choice. I'm not the one who threw these away. It's you, ladies and gentlemen!" He yelled, before stomping the breads in front of their shocked faces. His expression distorted by a deep hatred toward them. Costume readjusted and hair arranged, it seems like he never lashed out.

What is that? Are you feeling bad for them? Do you wanna go help them?

Oh, please! You're not different! If he had handed you a bit of money, you would have done way worse. Since when was your mind so corrupted? Empathy is a primary feeling, yet your brain could only tell you to catch up with the salesman. Your money.

You followed discreetly your jackpot.That, until he stops in the middle of a narrow street. You took some seconds to realize the situation before attempting to hide. Unsuccessfully. He grabs a good hold of your hair and pulls you toward him.

Silly you, nobody stop in the middle of a street unless it's for someone else. And you thought you could break free? He yanks you on his chest, feeling the hard features of his toned torso before sliding down his arm under your chin and locking your head. You feel his muscles clenching, pressing dangerously on your wind pipe, bringing you close to failing into Morpheus arms.

You grabbed your hidden knife, attempting to slice the arm choking you, but he caught you on the spot. "Too bad", you heard coming from him before feeling your eyelids getting heavier.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌

Ropes digging through your sore arms and smoke of luxurious cigarette greets you while you regain consciousness. Classical music in the background matching the expensive furniture of the room.

Woke up, bakery, gross homeless, the salesman , ̸̠͕̮̔͆̍͋́̐͆͝/̴͍͖̲̄̅̏͆̀̇̊͝\̴̢̞̬̥̣͔̈́͂̈́̐̊̚͝/̶̯͔̝̘̥͚̼̹̪̟̬̬̀́̂͝͠ͅ\̵̡̛̛̳̥̱̱͑̾̾̆́͛̓͋̓̔̈|̶̱̙̜̲̩̲͇̜̭̹̯̬̰̌̎͊͝|̴̛̯̯̼̯͋̈͗̾͆̅/̶̩̫͖̻͓̪̣͊/̸̢̹̾̆͌̒́́͠\̸̯̓̒̃̈́̈́̿̒̋̏͂́̉̏̕͝|̴̢̯̲̱̗̤̖̠͈͒̋̇̿̾̆̇̔̀͘͠/̸̧̢̻͉̣̪̭͈͔̄͂́̈̃͂͑̓̍̾͑̓/̷̠͖̙̜͔̺̹̜͈̟̼̅̋̀͋̿̈̏̕͝ͅͅ\̷̙͈̥́̏̚|̶̙͇͇̜͂̃͑̐̈́̇̑\̵͙̭͓̩̣̯͉̏̎̎̕|̸͙̯̠̘̪̲̤̱͎̜̖͈̜́̉͜ͅ\̷̢̭̻̱̝̹̞̗̻͔̏͒͆|̵̨̖̣͗̃.

Then black out.

"You don't greet me?" He asks, bending to meet your eyes. How could you while your mouth was stuffed of whatever he tied around it.

"So? Are you a secret admirer or a spy?" He asks holding eyes contact with you. His features as soft and angelic as you saw them from far.

"Spy since you were armed." He stands, straight using his full height to look down at you.You watch him walk around the chair you were tied to.

"So that what they thought was my type? You were gathering information about me to get closer easier, right?" You feel his fingers grazes over your neck from behind. Going all the way up to mess with your hair. His touch was soft and apprehensive, almost romantic if you haven't noticed the gun on his other hand before.

"You're shy? You don't answer. Or maybe you're not confident enough to answer." He slides down the fabric over your mouth. Your cheeks meet with the cold barrel of the gun. Thrills spreads all the way down your neck upon hearing him shush you. The threat clear and understood.

"So, are you ugly?"

Sadistic and psychopathic traits, that was for sure. Overconfident and proud. The best answer was to show you're not scared and defy him.Maybe you could surpass him and gain respect.

"Quite the opposite" You said, your voice shaking a bit at the end , betraying your confident tone. He chuckled, his fingers resting over your head.

Then he pulled harshly your head back, put the gun under your chin as he bent over you, meeting your gaze.

"I like you. You're entertaining. I wanna play with you." He utters before sitting in front of you, flicking that annoying smirk.

Rich looking table, cigarette next to the ashtray and lighter, shiny cups of alcohol accompanying an expensive bottle. You could see your reflection on the glass table: marks all over your neck.

Your attention goes back to the man, humming the music.

"What about Russian Roulette? I will gladly risk my life along yours." He leans on the table, showing you the empty gun before filling it with one bullet.He then slaps it, making the cylinder roll and get in its place. The sound of the metal awaken your sense, and fasten your breath.

"He can't be serious. What if he dies? Yet..he has already done silly games with homless before.." You thought, your mind racing and survival instinct kicking in.

He then aims slowly at your head, his smiles widening.

"No reaction?" You were just frozen by fear. He leans over the table, his hand grabbing your wrist to lift it up, considering how the rope were only around your upper arms. You try to move away, but he only pouts, waving the gun.

"I wouldn't do that." He states firmly. He places the canon of the gun on the back of your hand ,counting to three.

"Hope you're lucky!" He said before firing the first shoot. You felt a horrible pain spreading into your hand as blood splashed both of your faces. You screamed at the combination of the pain and the sight of your right hand: your knuckles spreads apart by the hole formed of the shredded flesh and skin that was supposed to hold the pairs of fingers together.You cry at the blood flooding watching your tendons move grossly with the clenching of your exposed muscles ,dropping more blood at each movement like a sponge.

He let go off your hand, watching intensely your face contortion, making your tears roll messily on it. He paid attention to your moans of pain and shaky hand movements, terrifying for you and almost pornographic for him at how much he liked it.

"Unlucky I guess" He said, fascinated by your face.

"My turn." He says before faking taking a deep breath and aiming at his hand.She had already lost.He was safe.

He opens the cylinder again and fill it up one more time.

"Round two." He says, trying to catch your attention.You were too focused on the blood coming from your hand. He sighed before grabbing the fabric he used over your mouth and wrap it around it, clearly annoyed.

"I said Round two." He orders started to get angry. You meet his gaze once again, clearer now that it wasn't filled with tears.

Uneven eyes.

He smiles sadistically, playing with the aim of the gun. Forehead, neck, chest, stomach, tighs. He stops on the gun on it, smiling happily. He leans toward you, giving you a made-on-purpose sight through his blouse.

"Pray, you're unlucky" He mumbled , holding a laugh as he stays close, watching your widened eyes.He fires again, bullet piercing through your left thigh as you yelled.

He laughed watching you squirm, attempting something to stop the blood. He keeps laughing as he unties his black tie. You would have called it hot if you were emptyingfrom your blood. Drowning in your tears, you watch him raise your bleeding thighs to slide his tie under it. His fingers pressing the disgusting fat soft flesh close to the wound, making you wince. He then suddenly ties a knot on it, pulling a last scream from your throat. And stopping the bleeding.

"My turn." He says before leaning back on his seat and manspread aiming the gun on his inner thigh. He smiles psychotically before firing nothing.

"I won the two rounds." He states like nothing.

"Last roun-" He doesn't finish his sentence as you jump on him, attempting to grab his gun. He looks on the table startled at how could you break free.

The lighter is missing. And the faint scent of burned rope finally reach his nostrils.

"Fucking bitch-" He slurs as you catch the gun and pull it toward you difficulty with your exploded hand. He stumbles back on his chair, making both of you land on the overturned chair.You grip firmly on it, your life hanging on a thread. He crushes your hands under his and managed to be the one aiming it. Both of you roll over, ending up on him over you, pressing the gun firmly on the ground.You tried to yank it to you, but it just ends up in the weapon being thrown far from both of you. You felt something burn in your rib cage, feeling the hope running low and adrenaline mixing to fear. You roll under him, on your knees ,before dashing toward the gun.

"One last round." He said as he catches your ankles. If only the bullet in your thighs didn't stopped you from dashing further. His eyes squinting, distorted by the pleasure he took in watching the waves of despair over your face. You were laying flat ,held by his large hands.

He kept you there for a moment, feeling your small limbs shaking and eyes blurring as adrenaline ran away from you. Oh dear ,if you knew how much that aroused him. Having the upper hand over.

He then suddenly grabbed your wounded hand, throwing away the poor fabric over it before intertwining your bloody fingers with his. He leaded that right hand toward your left shoulder, letting his arm bend you down to arch and head look at him over you.

" How romantic." He mutters, pressing your fingers, parting your parted in half hand. You scream of pain, feeling the skin pulled apart as well as your fingers. That's when you looked at his face, a sadistic grin spread wide over it.

Uneven eyes.

"Let's do a more special round for you." He said appreciating how the sight of your back bend painfully turned him on as much as your warm blood trickling down his hand.

" If you cum before me, you're eliminated. And if you don't ..." He pauses, thinking of the best way to reward you. " I will patch you up"

You pleaded, begged, implored him not to. He just shushed you as he pulled your pants down, ignoring your cute attempts at squirming away.

After freeing his cock, he admired the sight. Bent back, bloody, pain all over your body.

"Cute" He muttered before placing himself between your legs and pushing his tip slowly in your small body. He kept quiet, hearing your sounds complementing the opera in the back. His two fav sounds, cello and pleadings coming from a broken voice.

He yanked your chest more, making your head rest back. He smiles at your reddened eyes and shaky lips. He pressed his fingers more,extracting a poor moan of you as he started moving. He filled you so deep, you felt like he was gonna tear you down one more time.

"Please, please" You repeated as all he did was watch your eye's reaction to him pushing a deep thrust in you, extracting a louder please. He laughs at your face, going back to his slow and romantic rhythm.

"Told you you were entertaining. You're so expressive, a gift from whoever hired you" He started pounding harder in you, watching your head move slightly every time he bottomed you.He bent toward you, admiring your fucked up eyes.He slowed down, watching relief regain your eyes . He then shoved forcefully, breaking that look on your face and making your chest jumps. Another forceful shove and that insatiable look on his face, appreciating your eyes widening and loud breathing of yours.

Again, no, this time he stops half way, watching your face stops half way too. He breaks in laughing loudly, throbbing in you so bad, feeling the hardest he has ever been in so long. He loved how a simple romantic move as pressing lightly your tangled fingers could get you to cry, giving you pleasure would destroy that hope in your eyes and how getting closer to you felt like hell for your back.

He then picked up a rough pace, his own breath getting louder than your moans.He looks straight into you, straight into your soul.

"You have pretty eyes." You started to struggle to keep your eyes open, feeling your lungs unable to give you the oxygen you needed. If only his biceps wasn't pressing on your breast. You move your shaky but free hand to push his lower away from you.

"No, no. None of us have lost yet." He states before giving you messier thrusts. If you listened carefully , you could hear his deep voice each time he hit that spot deep down who made your eyes cross. He pressed your chest more, starting to make you cough at the lack of oxygen.

" I-I give up...You won..." You managed to say without thinking of the consequences. All you could focus on was how good it felt each time he was deep into that spot. How his other hand on your waist was so fucking rough yet so fucking good. How full and pleasured you ever felt while he was corrupting your mind.

Was it the lack of air that fucked your brain or how good he fucked you that messed with your brain?

"Then you have to cum. Or you want me to make you? That's why you wanna get eliminated?" He says, looking straight into your eyes. Do you want him to? This question echoed in your brain, altering your way of thinking as much as the pleasure that stacked up into you.

"I ... Dunno..." You managed to say as your eyes rolled back, your body going limb. You passed away! That, until a harsh slap lands into your face, waking you up. That's for sure. The feeling of pain through your body soothed by the pleasure into your stretched inside greeted you with your tormentor handsome smile.

Uneven eyes.

"Wake up sweetie. I haven't lost yet." He said, slowing down his movements, feeling about to bust.

"Imma take your answer as a yes." He says, before cutting your breath again and picking up in pace and precision, hitting that spot again. Before you faint again due to the blood loose and choking ,he let goes of your hand.He watches your top fall heavily to the front, grabbing a painful hold in your head and shoving your face on the expensive carpet. He pounds in you, making you reach your climax as you stopped fighting, letting the pleasure sooth the pain.He thrust last deep shoves before filling you up.

He admires you're fucked up being as he pulled out, not restraining you anymore. Why? You were so sore. He was just admiring you again.

"I guess it's time to process to the elimination."

[mommybard]

Whats the matter? A bit distracted? Mind wandering a bit? Youre not thinking perverted thoughts again, are you?

No, not you. You're definently not thinking about feeling a hand running through your hair, just to stop and pull you forward. Forcing you right up against a sweaty cock, letting the scent fill your lungs, overwhelm your mind, leave you in a drunken stupor where all you can do is struggle to form the words to bet for permission to lick.

And you're absolutely not thinking about getting thrown down onto your stomach. Feeling someone else's hands squeezing your hips and spreading your cheeks, grabbing you and lifting your rear into the air. That sudden sensation when their tongue is dragged along the rim of your ass before pressing in, eating you out to get you ready to take their cock or strap. Getting those whines of pleasure to escape your lips no matter how hard you try to stay silent. That sudden shock when they pull away and the cool air hits, just to be replaced by the feeling of them forcing your hole wide as they sink that hard shaft into you.

And I just know that there's no way you're imagining getting pinned to the bed by someone much bigger than you. Feeling their weight pressing down on you, looking up at them towering over you. The fear and excitement that courses through your body when they slap their cock down against you. Seeing just how far up your body it reaches. Realizing that normally there's no way it could fit. No way could you take it all. But that look in their eye. They're not going to take no for an answer. Not going to stop or give mercy. They're going to make sure every bit of that bitchbreaker is buried inside you, even if it utterly ruins your body~

I mean, youd have to be an utter pervert to think any of that. Someone who felt themselves getting wet or hard as you read all that. Someone who's hand is already moving between their legs to touch themselves because you have no self control~

[jewish-vents]

I just want the hostages who come back (and SOME WILL RETURN TO US ALIVE, THEY MUST) to know how much we love them. How much Am Yisrael even in diaspora thought about them and advocated for them and cried for them and prayed for them and kept putting up their pictures, even when people kept tearing them down. Even when it became unpopular. Even when everyone else forgot and moved on. We learned all their names and what they loved. Shlomo Mansour loves ice cream. Na’ama Levy is a triathlete who wants to be a diplomat. Agam Berger plays the violin and volunteers. I want them to know that they even as they went through a hell we can’t even imagine, the Jewish people were out here, trying as hard as we could to love them through it. And we’ll still be here to love them on the other side.

Blessed be HaShem, freer of captives. May they be free, may they walk with light and peace for the rest of their lives.

.

[crazyk-imagine]

Pack

Pairing: Jacob Black x Uley!reader

Characters: Jacob Black, Uley!reader, Paul Lahote, Jared Cameron, Embry Call, Leah Clearwater, Seth Clearwater, Quil Ateara V, Brady Fuller, Collin Littlesea

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Paul being an idiot again, it got cuter, Jake had a brain, Emily is an angel, Sam and Emily are my fav, Embry just wants his imprint, Paul is such a big brother here, love writing for the wolfpack, reader knows about imprint history, reader worries about Jake not having feelings for her, Jared is an idiot, Emily is that mom

Word Count: 2,431

A/N: Okay my fellow readers, I did it. I finally sat down and did part two

*will be edited at a later time

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

It was a hard few days after, well, learning that you were forever bonded to him.

You didn’t quite know what the right move was or if you should consider dating Jacob, even though he had clearly been in love with the whitest girl in Forks.

You gulp as you take a step back. “Could you,” you sigh, not wanting to lose it on the guy when he’s been nothing but nice to you since this whole thing happened. “Jake.”

He wasn’t paying attention and stepped closer to you again, wanting to get more bacon on his plate.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Jake! Would you please get out of my way before I declaw your paws!”

Jared glances back at the two of you, with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

Paul doesn’t do anything to hide his amusement, much to Jacob’s chagrin. “Looks like the princess finally showed off her claws.”

He pats his pack mate’s shoulder, “glad it wasn’t your face that took the brunt of it.” Paul steps away, grabbing the muffin off your plate as he goes to sit down.

You shake your head; definitely not your finest moment. You don’t want to look at him because you don’t want to see his disappointment.

Jacob clears his throat, “we’re going to go outside.”

You open your mouth to argue as a piece of toast is shoved into your mouth.

-

“I bet that’s not what she imagined getting-” Paul doesn’t need to turn around to know his alpha is staring at him. He bolts out of the chair before anyone can take a breath.

“Paul, get back here.”

The hot head shakes his head as he shifts mid air, running into the woods.

Emily shakes her head sighing.

Jared nods, “I know. I don’t know why Paul thinks he won’t be reprimanded for saying things like that. I mean clearly, she’s going to be the dom over Jake, not the-”

He sheepishly smiles at the angry face his luna is making. “I didn’t mean it,” he sprints out the door. He looks over his shoulder and calls out the her, whining, “don’t call my mom.”

She smiles, picking up her landline, punching in the numbers. “Hi Mrs. Cameron, it’s Emily.”

A sad wolf howl can be heard from the side of the house.

-

You let him drag you out, unsure of what else to do as you feel down about how you behaved a few minutes ago. You pull the piece of toast out from your mouth. “If you’ve brought me here to kill me, just do it already.”

He scoffs, “I’m not a leech.”

“Oh, he has a heart, how wonderful.”

He rolls his eyes, “would it kill you to act normal?”

You immediately nod, “yes it would and how am I supposed to act normal when none of this is normal.”

He opens his mouth to say something when he realizes you’re right. “Okay fine, maybe none of this is normal but that doesn’t mean you need to act like it’s the end of the world.”

You scoff, “I’m not.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe,” he crosses his arms.

You can’t hold this in anymore.

“You know what, Jake. I’m tired. I’m so sick and tired of this- everything is so crazy and wrong and I,” you close your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry.

You lower your head, holding your breath, trying to keep yourself together.

He can sense your sadness and reaches for you, placing his hand on your arm.

You hiccup, taking a deep breath.

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer; his body heat warming you in a second.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, to calm yourself enough so you could talk to him without losing control of your emotions.

You can admit sometimes it does help to have a good crying session, but not when you need to talk.

He can tell with how slower your back is moving under his hand that you've managed to calm yourself down. He doesn't say anything to not startle you or break your concentration. He won't do that to you.

“I'm scared,” you mumble.

“Scared of what?”

You want to pull back so you can look into his eyes but you're afraid he won't understand and squeeze him tighter. “This isn't real.”

He opens his mouth to respond and stops, letting your words sink in. He can understand where you're coming from with him being in love with Bella for more than half of his young life but he also knows that this is real. Yes-

He sighs, lowering his chin to rest it on top of your head. “I know this doesn't seem real but it is. My love for Bella has nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

He squeezes you in a tight hug and pulls back. “I know things are all happening fast but I want us to work. You know, I- I can be whatever you want me to be. I can be a- a friend or a brother or more. I don't care as long as I can be in your life. We haven’t known each other long but I do know that I care for you more than I've ever cared for anyone that wasn't my family or, now the pack.”

He sucks in a nervous breath, showing off his pearly whites with his commonly new nervous grin. “I hope I didn't make things weird with that whole um-”

“Speech?” You interrupt.

He nods, “yeah that.”

You purse your lips to hide your amusement. “I,” you sigh. “I have more feelings for you than I thought I would, I'm not entirely sure what they are exactly. I know the bond isn't the whole reason why I feel the way I do but- I- if we're going to start, whatever this is going to be, this needs to start off slow. I don't just jump into things especially when it comes to starting a new relationship with someone.”

“So we're starting a new relationship?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes and smack him with your piece of toast. “God, you're just like a guy.”

“I am a guy.”

“Not right now you are. You're mister professing his love,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of me.” He sits down on a rock nearby, patting the open spot beside you. “I don't want to rush into anything either and I don't want to mess this up... more than I already have-”

You stand in front of him, shaking your head. “You haven't messed anything up.”

“I did. If I didn't you wouldn't have screamed at me-”

“I didn't scream.”

He owlishly blinks. “My ears were close to bleeding.”

Your jaw drops and you smack his arm. “You're so dramatic.”

“Not always.”

You roll your eyes, “sometimes you are.”

He nods, “yeah, I’ll admit that sometimes I am.”

You take a bite of your toast.

“I don’t know how that thing has lasted this entire time.”

You shrug, “I don’t either but here we are.” You slowly lean against him, resting your head on his warm shoulder. “You’re so warm.”

“I bet he could think of another way to warm you up.”

You roll your eyes at Paul’s comment. “Go suck Jared’s-”

Your uncle, still in his wolf form, growls at the two of you.

You take another bite of your toast and look away. “He started it,” you mumble while chewing.

“Let it go,” Jacob advises. “Or else he’ll make you do things you don’t want to do.”

You shake your head, enjoying the scene of Paul trying to run away from his alpha as Jared is on the floor cackling with Embry and Quil joining after the man falls face first into the dirt.

Brady and Collin trail behind the two boys, confused at the sight before them.

-

“I can’t believe I’m stuck here.” You sigh, throwing your head back against the couch.

“It’s not that bad.”

Your snaps towards Jacob, glaring at him. “I am sicker than- well you know.”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

He nods, happy to see you finally agreeing with him.

“I’m a comedian.” You smile at him before coughing more, your sides start hurting more.

He carefully sits down beside you and hands you your cup of tea.

You breathe in the hot steam for a few minutes before taking a careful sip of the hot beverage.

He doesn’t stare at you (like you’d caught him doing a couple days ago, he doesn’t want you yelling at him again) and waits for you to ask him to set the mug on the table beside him.

He turns at the weight of your head resting against his shoulder and smiles softly at you as you close your eyes and breath in the steam.

His ears pick up on your slow breathing and he grabs the mug from you before you can drop it in your lap. He adjusts himself so you can lay on him, letting you use him as your “personal heater” as you said earlier.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken you out of the house and to the cliffs without a jacket the other day but he can’t deny, he likes you relying on him to take care of you.

He brushes away the few strands of fallen hair out of your face, studying your sleepy expression.

He thanks all the stars that aligned to make you his imprint, you are more than he could have ever wanted in a person. He knows now, as he listens to your breathing, his feelings for Bella are nothing compared to what he feels for you and will continue to feel for you.

He realizes he lied, he can’t be the kind of guy who’s like a brother or a friend to you.

He wants more; the wolf inside him needs more.

He would walk hundreds if not thousands of miles to be the only one to have a romantic relationship with you. He will wait as long as it takes until you feel ready to give your heart to him and chase off anyone he needs to.

He’s yours as you will (hopefully, fingers crossed) be his.

He can’t help himself as he leans forward and pecks your forehead, silently promising to spend his forever with you. 

Extra

Jared walks into your room, searching for Jacob. He needs help with his bike, hell if he knew how to describe what was happening to it.

His jaw drops, surprised to see you bundled in Jacob’s hold. He creeps into the room, practically tip-toeing to the person he needs to talk to.

He bends down and pokes Jacob’s shoulder.

The shifter barely opens his eyes as he lifts his arm to smack Jared in the back of the head, who opens his mouth to whine but is stopped by his friend covering his mouth.

“Make a sound and you’re dead.”

Jared nods, thankful for his shifter healing abilities; if he didn’t have them, he’d have a headache by now. “I need a favor.”

“You need a lot of things.”

Jared rolls his eyes, “okay, that’s fair but I need you to look at my bike.”

“Why?”

“It’s making that weird noise again.”

"Describe it to me."

“No. You made fun of me last time.”

“Fine, if I promise to not make fun of you, will you help describe it so I can figure out your issue.”

“I,” he sighs. “Roo- reer- r-” He stops when Jacob snickers. “You told me you-”

Jared falls on his back and struggles to understand what happened.

The door slams shut up the two boys.

“I told you not to go in there,” says Emily.

“You told me not to wake her,” Jared corrects her.

“And how did that work for you?”

The shifter stomps his feet as he walks down the stairs.

Jacob cackles at his friend's behavior.

“And look what the cat dragged in,” she teases him.

“Hardy-har.”

“I told him not to go in, I knew she’d kick you two out.”

He shrugs, “I know, I mean it was kind of my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have messed with Jarhead.”

“Is that princess’ new nickname?”

“Paul, shut up with that stupid nickname,” you shout from inside your room.

“Hey your voice is coming back,” the hothead comments.

You roll your eyes and open your door, glaring at one of your best friends. “Paul Isabel Lahote-”

“My middle name isn’t-”

“I know your middle name isn’t a girl's name,” you huff. “But your dumbass won’t shut up about this and I can’t take it anymore. You need to shut up so I can feel better.”

“Screaming like that won’t help you.”

You take a step forward and he takes off.

Emily shakes her head, “you’re just like your uncle.”

“Runs in the family, Em.”

Jacob steps forward and blocks your path from Paul. “You’re going back to bed.”

“But-”

He shakes his head, “bed.”

You sigh, “fine.” You sadly walk back into your room.

“Jake, tell me what you did. I can barely get her to help me be my wingman,” Embry whines.

“No one can help that.”

“You all are so rude.”

“We never claimed to be nice,” you say, voice muffled because of the door.

“I’m getting that now. I don’t even know why I shifted now.”

“You had no choice.”

“Shut up.”

Emily shakes her head at the sight of her kids (yes, she’s officially claimed you all) messing around with one another. 

Previously: Part I

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