#i had to get up so many times during this

[lostfracturess]

words you couldn't hear — satoru gojo

satoru's been hopelessly in love with you for years, but can only confess when you can't hear him. but someday—maybe someday soon—he'll tell you for real.

"How do these look?" you ask, slipping on a pair of noise-canceling headphones and striking a pose. "Be honest."

Satoru, who's been trailing behind you in the electronics store for the past hour without complaining like the best friend he's always been, looks up from the speaker he's been fiddling with. "You look good in anything."

"No, for real." You turn to check your reflection in a nearby screen. "Do they make my head look bigger? I feel like they make my head look bigger."

He snorts, reaching over to adjust the headband. His fingers brush against your temple, and you try not to think about how many times those same hands have absentmindedly played with your hair during movie nights, or how he still unconsciously reaches for you whenever he laughs too hard, just like he did when you were kids.

"That's what you're concerned about? The size of your head?"

"It's a valid concern."

"Your head is perfectly normal-sized," he assures you, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long as he fixes the fit. "Though I suppose all that overthinking has to go somewhere—"

You shoot him a look, but there's no heat behind it. Fifteen years of friendship has made you immune to his teasing — well, mostly immune.

You're not quite immune to the way your pulse quickens when he's standing this close, or how he still smells like that same cologne he's worn since high school, the one you helped him pick out for his first date with someone else while ignoring the weird ache in your chest.

"I really need good ones for studying," you say, checking the price tag. "My roommate talks way too much."

Satoru winces at the price. "Expensive. But they're supposedly the best."

"Worth every penny if they can block out her ramblings." You adjust the fit, immediately noticing how they muffle the noise of the shop. "Oh wow, these are actually incredible. Say something so I can test them properly."

"What should I say?"

You arch an eyebrow at him. "Anything. Just need to check if they work."

His expression shifts then, melting into something tender as his lips move. Even though you can't hear the words, something about the gentle way he's looking at you makes your heart flutter strangely in your chest.

"These are perfect!" you say, pulling them off, trying to ignore the way your pulse has picked up. "I couldn't hear you at all. What did you say?"

Satoru leans against the display counter, chin propped in his hand as he watches you fiddle with the headphone cord, a fond smile playing at his lips. "Nothing really," he murmurs, but there's something soft in his expression, something unguarded that makes your heart skip.

You pause, catching the way he's looking at you — like you're something precious, something more than just his best friend of fifteen years. "Satoru?" you say softly.

He seems to catch himself then, straightening abruptly as a flush creeps up his neck. "Ah, yes. Should we, uh." His voice comes out slightly strangled. "Should we get these paid for? Before they close?"

"The store closes in two hours."

"Better safe than sorry." He's already heading for the checkout, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

What you don't know — what you couldn't hear through those noise-canceling headphones — were three words he's been trying to say for years. Three words that slipped out so easily when he knew you couldn't hear them, when the safety of silence gave him the courage he's never had before.

"I love you."

Simple. Honest. Everything he's wanted to tell you since he was seventeen and realized his best friend was the love of his life. Everything he's been too afraid to say, too afraid to risk losing you.

But for now, those words remain caught in the space between silence and sound, in the safety of a moment you couldn't hear. Maybe one day he'll find the courage to say them again, when you can actually hear him.

Maybe one day soon.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[entitled-fangirl]

Nesting.

Cregan Stark x pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader has nesting habits while carrying their child. It's worrying Cregan to no end.

Masterlist

A/n: based on an incredible ask! He's so girl-dad-coded. Sorry, but I said the thing and I'm not taking it back. Girl dad.

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

Cregan stepped into their chamber and paused. "My love, what are you doing?"

His seven month pregnant wife looked over her shoulder. "Tidying."

She was currently standing on her small vanity bench, now pulled over to the bookshelf where she had been wiping at the dust on the highest shelf.

His hands came up, ready to catch her at a moment's notice as his body moved closer. "Why, sweet girl? Why not rest?"

She sighed to herself. "The birth is nearing. I need to be prepared."

"Love, dust on a six foot bookshelf is not something the babe will be checking." He placed a firm hand on her lower back. "Why don't you come down from there?"

Though she didn't want to, fighting him was utterly useless. "I don't know if I-"

He had already grabbed her, keeping her in a bridal carry as he moved to the bed. The slight groan from her made him pause. "Your back hurting you again?"

"Never stops," she muttered with a hand over her forehead, "It's like your child enjoys his mother's suffering."

"His? You think a boy?" 

"It has to be," she whined. "It needs to be. I don't think I can take this many more times." When his face fell, a light smirk came over hers. "I can only clean the shelves so many times."

He scoffed in amusement. "You little minx." Usually a teasing comment like that would result in the two under the covers, but during this stage, it only made him more cautious of every move.

He set her down softly on the bed, taking extra care to hold her lower back.

She let out another groan at the movement but the ache subsided for a moment. 

"Sit tight. I'll have someone fetch something to eat." And he stepped out of the room.

It was only a minute. A moment even. But still, when he returned, she was sitting in front of the fire, leaned back on her heels.

"What are you doing?" His voice echoes sharply.

Her hands flinched back as if she'd touched the fire itself, her body turning as much as possible to him. Her eyes were watery. "You're angry," she whispered.

The burly man forced himself to take a breath. "I'm not."

"No, you are."

"Fine. I am. But love, what is this?" He bent down to her level and grabbed her wrists, showcasing the ash across her palms.

"It was… it was so filthy across the front here. I've been staring at it for days. I just need to finish-"

"-With your bare hands? With these pretty little hands you intend to wipe ashes from a burning fireplace?"

"Just the front-"

"-And now I've got to wash all of this off you, don't I?" It sounded condescending, like scolding a child, but the light twinkle in his eyes proved that he enjoyed caring for her even when it exhausted his efforts.

"I was only trying to to help."

Her watery eyes were causing his heart to ache with a slight devastation. "I know, I know. But you're too close to the flames for my liking. Our little pup will melt."

A silent sob wracked through her at the mere thought of harm to their unborn child. Harm that was her fault. 

"Oh, sweet girl. I didn't- I- oh, gods," he tucked an arm around her. "None of that. Let's wash you up."

"But the ash-"

"-When you get into bed, I'll handle the ash. Alright?" He asked quietly with a hopeful look in his eyes.

Her eyes searched his for a way to truly know he meant what he was saying. To wake in the morning to the sight of ash still in place was unbearable at the moment. "Alright."

"Alright," he confirmed with a relieved smile. "Alright. Let's get you up, yes?"

She nodded as he he helped her up and sit on their sofa. He held her hands palm up and gave her a stern look. "Stay here." 

He moved to the small water basin by their beside and dipped a cloth in it, soaking it completely before moving back to her. 

He cradled each hand gently as he wiped at the ash on her hands, taking care to wipe as much as he could. "Ash is dangerous, my love. I want you to tell me next time you want it cleaned."

"I thought I could do it quickly," she explained.

"Just promise me you'll tell me what you want done rather than doing it yourself. I don't want you to overexert yourself."

She heaved a defeated sigh. "Alright."

He kissed her forehead. "Thank you. We'll wash you and get you to bed."

…

A week had passed in which Cregan had constantly ushered her to their bed, the nearest seat, and even having her sit in his large seat during petitions as he stood next to her.

But today he had yet to see her, and he began to miss her. 

The moment the petitions ended, he excused himself to his solar, where he knew she'd be cuddled up with one of her few books.

He was right. The door opened, and he grinned at the sight of his wife with his cloak wrapped around her, reading away at the book he was sure she'd read at least seven times now. "Enjoying yourself?"

Her head shot up. "I didn't expect to see you for another few hours."

"I finished early. You know I can't stay away for too long."

She set her book away as he entered the room. 

He kissed her softly and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. "What did you do with your day, pretty girl?"

She fidgeting with her hands. "I read quite a bit. That's all."

His brows twitched. "That's all? Just reading?" He knew better.

"Just that."

He ran his tongue across his front teeth. "If I go into our chambers, I won't find anything different than it was this morning?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't-"

"See? I know you too well." He leaned down and kissed her again. "You can tell me now, or I can go see for myself."

"No, stay here," she said in an urgent manner. "Stay with me. I've missed you," she tried to cover.

He pretended to give into her, letting her pull him down by the grip she had on his doublet. He kissed her cheek then pulled away quickly. "I'll be back."

"No, wait."

Cregan was already gone, moving swiftly to the bedroom and tossing the door open. Laid across their bed was an abundance of furs. Every cloak they owned but the ones they currently wore. Every fur blanket made for them was thrown on the bed. It all seemed messily done, but he knew better.

Not long after, the sound of his wife's footsteps came to his ears and he turned to meet her. "You've been quite busy."

"I'm only preparing, Cregan!" She whined. Her arms wrapped around his torso, her stomach keeping her from being fully against him. "It'll be any day now."

"You beautifully stubborn girl," he said with a shaking head in mock frustration. "You promised you'd tell me when you needed something."

"This is hardly a change. It was easy, I assure you."

"Love, I can't sleep like that. I burn like a furnace in the night anyway. This won't do any better."

"But the babe-"

He took her by the biceps, tugging her away from him. "The babe will be fine. The North is cold, but Winterfell is warm and comforting. Now please. Let me remove some of this from our bed."

Her eyes darted through the doorway to the bed and back up and him a few times in contemplation. "Fine."

"You sit over there," he pointed at their sofa. "And I'll do this."

She waddled over to the sofa, sitting down with a slight distain. 

Cregan began to throw cloaks and furs over his shoulders, inspecting each one in light amusement and annoyance. He threw looks to his wife occasionally when she would say, "Not that one." Or "Keep that one." He had managed to get most of them off the bed before he gave in. "You'll keep these three. Understand?"

She nodded. "And if I get cold?"

He sighed. "You have a warm husband. He won't let the chill touch you or the girl."

He took his leave, pausing with a smile when he caught her soft "girl?". But he left anyway, returning the furs where they belonged. 

…

Cregan was indeed right again, for she laid in bed in a small puddle of sweat. The heat was great in their shared bed, and her husband was right to correct her previous thought.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" the great lord muttered, his voice riddled with sleep. His eyes were closed peacefully, but even with no sight, he knew when his wife was troubled.

"Just-" Cregan's hand rubbed at her bump gently, urging her to continue. "A girl?"

He let out huff, pulling himself from sleep. "I know it's a girl."

"It's not," she urged. "It's not. It's a boy."

He peeked his eyes open. "I don't care what it is. But I know it's a girl."

She let out a disappointed sound and pushed his arm away, beginning to push herself up to sit.

"No. You need to sleep."

"I have to change things now. I'm not ready for a girl," she explained with a hurried tone. 

Before she could even move off the bed, Cregan had reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back to him and gently forcing her to lay back down. "There's nothing to change," he urged with his eyes locked on hers. "You've done everything right. The babe is loved and cared for, and the rest will fall into place. Yes?" When she didn't answer, he kissed her softly and tried again. "Yes?"

That was what she needed to hear. "Yes." She rubbed a hand over her shoulders in an attempt to soothe an ache. "Yes. You're right. He'll be fine."

"She'll be fine," he teased.

She sent an icy glare, making him close his mouth and lay back down.

"We'll just focus on today, alright? And today, you need sleep." When she had cuddled up to his side, he relaxed, knowing he had his entire world in his arms. "Just focus on today."

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

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[tuttle-did-it]

As a child-free disabled person in their 40s…. Don’t have kids if your main reason is for them to take care of you when you get older.

Also also, it’s not their job. Kids don’t ask to be born. This idea that ‘I took care of you as a baby so you have to take care of me when I’m older’ mindset is absolute shit.

They owe you nothing. They can choose to help you, which is great. But they owe you nothing.

And you don’t have to take care of your parents when they are older. Especially if they are abusive.

You can choose to. Which is great. But you don’t have to stop living your life to take care of them when they chose to have you.

My mother had her sons to take care of from the time she was 16 until she got the youngest one out of the house about 18 years ago. (Long story but I wasn’t raised with her).

She was going to move home to her country once her kids got out. Then her parents fell ill almost immediately after. She put her life on hold again to take care of them.

My mother has taken care of her abusive, cruel parents for over 15 years. Her mother died during one of the Covid spikes.

She’s now stuck looking after her abusive father who has treated her like shit her whole life.

I have seen her age 30 years in the past 15 from the stress. A full time job being the carer of two very difficult, ill people, and working her full time job. She wants to move home to her own country. But she doesn’t feel she can go until he dies. So She is wasting her life— what precious few last years she had with her health still well enough she could do what she wants- retire, travel, volunteer at things she cares about.

Instead she is taking her father to doctors appointments, putting up with his abuse. She is constantly sick and worried and anxious all the time because she’s stuck in a country she hates, looking after a man who has always treated her like shit. She’s aging twice as fast, burning the precious time she has left for herself.

She’s chosen this. Because she’s of the generation ‘you take care of your elderly parents no matter what.’ And it’s killing her. Taking what I’m guessing is decades off her life.

She should t have to do this. There should be affordable, accessible help for people in this situation.

If she falls and gets hurt? Gets cancer? Hit with a debilitating condition like Parkinson’s? I cannot look after her when she gets older. I’m disabled, I can barely look after myself— and some days, I cannot even do that. Her sons will absolutely not take her in if she is poorly or ill.

She is wasting the precious few years of health she has on people who abuse her.

Will she will probably struggle alone, with no family to support her? Yeah. I hate it, but yeah. Is that going to happen to me? If I live that long, yes. I will be in a wheelchair, unable to move? Unable to take care of myself, and no one else to help me.

But should I have had kids just to improve the chances of someone being around when I am that old? Nope. That’s a horrible thing to do to your kids. Because I’ve seen the cost on her face and body as she gets more and more broken down mentally and physically from all of this.

Does she owe what precious free years of health, well-being she has left to her abusive parents? in a country she hates—no.

Do I owe it to her to move to a country I hate to look after her when she is older, at great cost of my own physical and mental health? No.

Would it be less scary, the thought of knowing you’re safe if you get older and need help? Of course. Would a kid owe me the best years of their lives to dribble smashed banana into my mouth? Nope.

If I had kids, would I expect them to destroy their lives helping me? Also no. I’d beg them not to, actually.

Sane and stable countries use taxes to help people from the cradle up the grave. It’s absurd to me that so many countries, including the one I am living in, has such tragically awful care for vulnerable people. Our taxes are as much as the sane and stable countries. But that money isn’t being used to help you, or me, or or that baby or that elderly person.

Mostly, it’s going to corrupt politicians who do whatever the fuck they want. And a royal family that has billions in their bank accounts but are still living off tax payers.

This is a very broken, ridiculous system. And I’m tired. I’m scared for me, for all the disabled people in my situation. I’m scared for all the people like my mum who might not even get her own life until she’s 80? You bet like hell I am. But that’s not the kids’ faults. That’s the governments for wasting your money starting wars in other countries, paying for private jets for politicians, and generally just being shit.

We all deserve better.

It feels taboo as a childfree person to admit this but I actually do have concerns about who is going to take care of me when I'm old. The elder care system in our nation relies A LOT on the unpaid care labor of adult children. I just don't think that's a good reason to have kids.

"But you'll have more money!" does not completely put this to rest for me. Neither does "Buy care insurance!" Even if I can afford direct personal care, who is going to advocate for me to get it? Who is going to navigate bureaucracy for me when I'm 80?

"If you do have kids, there's no GUARANTEE that they'll take care of you when your old!" That's true, but doesn't solve my problem.

I think childfree people get very defensive about this question because its used as a kind of "gotcha!" against us, but I actually do not feel we can afford to be in denial about this reality. Based on current trends of more people in their 30s stating they intend to be permanently childfree, we are going to see a huge wave of childfree adults hitting the eldercare system at once in a few decades. Childfree people in their 30s should be advocating around eldercare NOW.

[barcaatthemoon]

your best girl || alexia putellas x reader ||

You comfort Alexia when she returns after the Olympics.

18+

Everybody had a job. You had nearly forgotten that with the craziness of the Olympics. Alexia worked hard to be the best captain for her country that she could. There was only so much that her on-pitch presence could do. Their issue was at the coach's level, and the team suffered because of that. Alexia had only come back to you a couple days early after being knocked away from the medals, and that was where your job started.

It was always difficult gauging the amount of space to give Alexia. You understood how devastating a blow it was, having lost the chance for a medal at your first Olympics. Back then, you had wished that someone would have helped you pick up the pieces of yourself, but instead, you tried to brave it all on your own. Alexia wasn't like you, and that was where you apprehension about talking to her came in.

The thought of smothering Alexia and pushing her away haunted you constantly. You needed to do something to show her that you were there for her that wasn't over the top of dramatic. And so, you dropped as many little hints that you were just waiting for her to come to you. You thought for a moment that you'd end up driving yourself mad waiting for Alexia, but the silence and tension in the apartment only lasted for a few days at most.

"What is all of this?" Alexia asked as she stood behind your desk chair. You tried to turn, but Alexia was holding you forward. You could feel her lean down a bit, reading over your analysis of the games for work. "You've been busy."

"Never too busy for you though," you told her. Alexia dropped her hands from your chair, finally allowing for you to turn and face her. "I'm glad to see you up and around a bit."

"The bed felt a little cold, and I know that it's not really a big thing, but I was hoping that you had some time to join me," Alexia said. You nodded, quickly saving the small additions you had made to your analysis paper before shutting your computer down and following Alexia into the bedroom.

It looked like she had been cleaning a bit before she came to get you. The nest of blankets that Alexia had created to curl up and wallow in was now dismantled. She had tidied up her laundry from the floor and made the bed, which you knew were big steps. Aside from that, you didn't let the candles on the bedside table or the songs from your R&B sex playlist playing.

"How exactly am I helping you warm up the bed?" you asked teasingly. Alexia played it innocent as she sat back on the bed. She patted the spot next to you, and you all but rushed over to join her. Sex hadn't been on the table for you mentally when Alexia got home, but you were a bit relieved to not be waiting weeks like the last big loss Alexia had faced.

You didn't understand how someone so amazing could get down on themselves so easily. Alexia was under immense pressure from fans, but it was nothing compared to what she put herself through. You felt guilty learning from those around Alexia that it only got worse when you came in the picture. In your eyes, you were washed up and spat out by the game, but Alexia held you in the regard that some had during your prime.

"I did have a couple of things in mind. I think that I need a little reminder of who I am." Alexia ducked her head down until her face was tucked into the crook of your neck. She was being shy, like she was ashamed of really asking for what you wanted. Still, you completely understood wht she needed. It wasn't exactly what had become your normal, but you were still definitely up to reminding Alexia that she didn't have to win everything in order for you to love and cherish her.

"I get that you need this for what happened in Paris, but forget about football and the Olympics completely. Right now it's just the two of us. I am just me, and you are just you." Alexia struggled to take your words to heart at first, but that was expected. You were used to this little speedbump, but it was the most important part of everything in your eyes. "You love me despite the fact that I haven't worn a jersey of my own in three years. I'll love you even if you never put another Spain or Barcelona jersey on again. I'll love you when the day comes that your body can't handle the game anymore, and I will take care of you when you inevitably push yourself too far again. Do you know why?"

"No," Alexia answered. You turned her face so that she was looking at you and you only.

"Because I did not fall in love with Alexia Putellas, the footballer. I fell in love with the woman who doesn't know how to tread lightly, so she wakes me up at odd hours every single time that she gets out of bed. I fell in love with the woman who goes out of her way to take care of her community and everybody that she cares about. I fell in love with the woman who runs into the arm of the couch every single morning because she's too busy watching me walking into the kitchen. I fell in love with you because of what I saw off of the pitch," you told her. Alexia was blushing deeply, unsure of what to do with praise in that sense.

"I just wanted to win and make you proud. You got this new job after working so hard these past couple of years to learn Spanish. You're doing so much, and what have I done to compare?" Alexia confessed. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Alexia was constantly doing things that often made you feel a bit inferior, so it blew your mind a little to hear that Alexia had been feeling this way too.

"Ale, you are the best soccer player in the world. I'm only here because I gave up and called it quits. You're doing amazing things all of the time. You're the best in the world, and let's face it, I wouldn't have gotten my foot in the door if I wasn't your girlfriend. I could have worked and worked and worked forever, but they wouldn't have cared." Alexia's face changed from its formerly soft expression to a hardened one. "I'm not here to argue about my achievements with you, I'm here to remind you that this one setback won't define your worth."

"Just you wait, they'll be referring to me as (Y/n) (Y/l/n)'s girlfriend. Hopefully one of the better ones," Alexia said. She sounded so confident and sure of herself that you had to believe her.

"You'll always be the best one. Hopefully you'll also be my last one," you told her. Alexia leaned in and kissed you, slowly pulling you on top of her. You let the kiss progress naturally, neither of you pushing things too far without the other pressing equally as much.

"Take this off," Alexia requested as she started tugging at the hem of your shirt. You sat back and started removing the pieces of your clothes that Alexia asked you to. In turn, she briefly moved you off of her lap to completely undress herself. The tension in the room thickened a bit as she laid down again, legs spread as you stood at the end of the bed.

"You look unreal," you muttered as you moved onto the bed. You didn't want to leave Alexia waiting. Alexia didn't want to wait either, guiding your head between her legs without any ounce of hesitation. You could see that Alexia was already wet. She wasn't soaked but still undeniably wet.

You didn't have a chance to tease Alexia. She guided your face to her cunt, movements on the cusp of being pushy. Alexia was almost always in control, and she doubled down whenever you were topping. She didn't want to wait around or be teased, Alexia wanted to cum. You still had your chance to revel in the taste of her, even if it wasn't in the same way that she got to with you.

It didn't come as a surprise to you to have Alexia grinding her hips to move against your tongue. She didn't seem to want your fingers at all, working herself up on just your mouth. You loved it, loved knowing that you could make Alexia feel so good with just a few simple movements. Topping Alexia gave you a rush that you'd be riding for the next couple of days, until Alexia felt up to the task of "putting you back in your place."

"I'm so fucking close. Don't stop, please don't stop," Alexia swore. She wasn't usually one for pleading, but you'd take it. Her hands were gripping your shoulders tightly, nails digging in as you savored every drop of her that you could. Alexia let you continue with the strokes of your tongue past her first orgasm, only pushing you away after the second. She rode one high into the next before her brain and body seemed to catch up to each other.

She was sensitive, and her legs jerked shut, nearly hitting you in the process. You didn't sit back and stare, instead going straight into the bathroom to get a warm washcloth. Alexia let you clean her up, not saying anything to you until after she had grabbed new clothes to wear for the night. You stripped the bed and put everything in the washer, slightly surprised to find Alexia waiting for you in the kitchen when you were done.

"I don't think I let you know how important you are to me. I don't know how badly I would have spiraled without you here," Alexia told you. You blushed as she wrapped her arms around your waist and held you from behind. "Tomorrow, I start training again. I've only got a few years until the next World Cup and Olympics."

"I mean, I guess," you sighed. Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek before she grabbed a snack to take into the living room. You went decided to go to bed, already well aware that Alexia wouldn't get to bed for another hour or so at least. You set an alarm for 1, deciding that if she wasn't in bed by then, you were going out to the living room to collect her yourself.

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

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

word count: 10.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It won't be the same without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

"What about this one?"

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

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

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

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

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

You were dressing up for him.

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

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

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

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

Did Brian? She doubted it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

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

He didn't deserve that smile.

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

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

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

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

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

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

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

Brian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

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

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

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

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

It was rage.

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

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

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

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

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

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

It was a problem. A huge one.

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

And still, she couldn't look away.

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

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

She wanted to scream.

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

But she didn't.

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

You're not supposed to feel like this.

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

And still, she couldn't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tara felt something snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

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

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

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

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

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

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

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

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

Tara nearly saw red.

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

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

It was insulting. Infuriating.

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

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

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

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

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

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

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

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

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

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

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

Because this wasn't about him.

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

This was about her.

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

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

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

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

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't about him.

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

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

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

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

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

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

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

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

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

She should've.

But she didn't.

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

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

And she let him.

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

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

And yet, she let it happen.

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

But it didn't.

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

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

What had she done?

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

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

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

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

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

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

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

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

[salemlunaa]

🎀 NEW IDEA: ASK CHAT GPT 🎀

ꨄ Use AI to your advantage when it comes to manifesting and shifting…

Although AI can get a little weird and scary sometimes, it’s actually such a great way to get information, motivation and inspiration all in one

Instead of hounding bloggers for the same thing all the time. Go to Chat GPT.

Now, how about i give you a few examples, let’s imagine someone called maya 𖨆

maya is having trouble because she feels like when she tries to induce the void, she always falls asleep and that’s taken away so many years from her dream life

she asks Chat GPT: “I keep falling asleep every time I try to induce the void, I feel so frustrated all the time and I need some help”

Chat GPT answers: “Hi Maya, falling asleep during void practice is common, so don’t be too hard on yourself. One way to combat this is by practicing at a time when you feel awake and alert, like in the morning or after a light exercise session. Another tip is to sit up in a comfortable position rather than lying down, as it can help you stay focused and avoid dozing off. Keep practicing with patience—it’s all part of the process!”

now let’s imagine joey 𖨆

joey is feeling frustrated because he feels like he hasn’t progressed, he’s been in the community for 2+ years and really wants his dream life

he asks: “I’m feeling so frustrated and upset, like I want to give up, I’ve been trying to induce the void and get my dream life for over 2 years, I need motivation”

Chat GPT responds; “Hi Joey, I know it’s tough, but remember that persistence is key—sometimes the journey teaches you just as much as the destination. Instead of focusing on the time passed, celebrate the fact that you’re still trying, which shows incredible resilience. Take a short break if you need to, and reconnect with why you started. Visualize your dream life vividly, and remind yourself it’s worth the effort. Progress might be closer than you think!”

now chloe 𖨆 is feeling really powerless lately, circumstances hit her hard on some days and she feels stuck, she wants to be reminded how the void is so possible and so easy and she’s so capable of it all

she asks: “Can you remind me how powerful I am? Some days circumstances hit so hard and it gets thought!! Can you explain manifesting from a logical point of view to remind me how easy it all is?”

Chat GPT responds: “Hi Chloe, let me remind you of this simple truth: you are the creator of your reality, the God of your world. From a logical point of view, everything you experience stems from your thoughts, beliefs, and focus. Circumstances are just reflections—they only hold power because you give it to them. Shift your focus, and the reflection changes effortlessly. When you truly accept that you’re the one in control, nothing can stand in your way. You’ve always had the power!”

Now you can see how well it works!! You can even use them to give you affirmations, help you with vaunts. You can be as specific as you want, trauma dump as much as you want and say whatever you want without crossing boundaries or being judged. You can use Chat GPT to script, i’ve used it so many times and it has given me so many ideas. And your script will still feel like your own, just see it as your collaborating with Chat GPT and that it you helps put your thoughts into words.

You can even use it when you’re having one of those days and just need to be reminded of the fact that you’re in charge. You can even use it for some tough love or to comfort you as you vent.

Like guys you can do so many things with this, I love Chat GPT so much we’re locked in like this:

LMFAOOO IM JOKING (or am i? 😏)

But in all seriousness, some of you need this. Flooding bloggers asks and dms with questions that they have repeated the answers to multiple times, asking things you damn well know the answer to or just asking for motivation repeatedly can take away from people who actually have a good question to ask and actually need help. Like fogging up a blogger’s inbox repeatedly venting about the 3d, or asking “hOw Do I gEt iNtO tHe VoId?” knowing damn well you know the answer to that, will prevent a blogger from noticing someone who actually has a good question that many people might also have and would actually spark an interesting discussion.

So just ask Chat GPT, it’s okay to have doubts creep in from time to time, it’s okay to need a reminder of basic things, it’s okay to forget how powerful you are sometimes, but you can literally ask Chat GPT to help you with that and it will. Instead of waiting around for bloggers to answer your dm or ask just to say the same thing, you can get actual help, and get it when you want it and how you want it.

Why don’t you ask “explain the law of assumption to me like i’m 5”

“explain the void state to me from a scientific view to help me believe”

“give me some dream body affirmations”

“i’ve been so demotivated, remind me who tf i am again”

“I’m going to come from a filthy rich family when I permashift, can you give me some £10Million+ per year jobs that my desired parents can do”

“I feel so lazy today, bully me into inducing the pure consciousness instead of procrastinating”

you don’t need to harass bloggers for these things when you can have immediate access to the answers you seek.

ꨄ 🧸🎀 Go download Chat GPT and knock yourself out!! 💋

[supernovafics]

you and steve like each other but neither of you want to fully admit it

wc: 1k

a tiny bit angsty but overall very soft and sweet<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it was a teasing look mixed with barely any space. it was also the mix of way too many drinks and one joint passed around your group of friends that made you and steve practically inseparable. 

in normal circumstances, you two were already pretty much attached at the hip— always finding each other in crowded rooms or having your own whispered conversations when you were in big groups. but whenever you two were drunk or high, or in this case both, your closeness seemed to only increase tenfold. 

you weren’t sure whose decision it was to move to the kitchen while your friends talked and laughed in the living room. maybe you wanted to drag steve along as you went to grab a soda from his fridge, or perhaps it had been the other way around. you honestly couldn’t remember, and whatever you planned to get became long forgotten by the time you two had walked the ten feet from the living room.

now you sat atop the counter, hands settled in your lap as you fought the urge to run your fingers through steve’s hair that was surprisingly pretty messy for once. and that made you remember that the messiness had actually been your doing because you ruffled it at some point during the night— when he playfully made fun of you for being such a lightweight and the only thing you felt as if you could do in retaliation to his words was mess up his perfectly styled hair.

you let out an abrupt laugh at the memory. 

steve looked at you curiously. “what’s so funny?”

“your hair.”

he quickly pushed a hand through it, trying to tame the mess of brown. “that’s all your fault, y’know.”

“i know. sorry,” you told him. “i think it’s pretty cute, though.”

“you’re pretty cute.” 

you let out another soft laugh. “always the charmer, harrington.” 

“and you love it.”

you nodded instead of protesting his words like you would’ve done if he had said them to you when you were sober. “yeah… i do.” 

he moved closer to you then, stepping between your parted legs, and it was hard to not let yourself lean into him just a little bit. one of his hands settled on the side of your thigh and then moved up and found your hip. 

you didn’t know if it was you or him who leaned in further, but suddenly your noses were brushing and your lips became only breaths apart. it hadn’t even happened yet, but you were already imagining what his lips would feel like on yours; the softness of his mouth, and you had a feeling that he’d taste like the tequila you two had been drinking all night. 

but then he was slowly pulling back a bit. 

maybe logical thinking was hitting him in this moment, and the smallest part of you that was barely sober was glad because you knew just how much things would change if you two did kiss right then. 

you figured steve was going to step away from you then. and in response, you would jump off the counter and slip your hand in his and then you two would head back into the living room; putting an end to your random trip to the kitchen. 

instead, though, he leaned in closer, mouth fanning right against your ear as he softly asked, “can i kiss you?”

that was not at all what you expected him to say. 

so, logical thinking was actually not hitting him in this moment, you figured; and you could say the same. kind of.

you had to bite your lip to hold back your smile. “nope.”

steve pouted at you. “please?”

seeing the look on his face made it too hard not to smile that time. 

you almost just simply shook your head and told him no again, but instead, you turned your head and tapped your cheek. steve got what you meant immediately and leaned in to kiss your warming cheek. 

the action was pretty innocent and very childish, but it still made butterflies swarm in your stomach. 

“was that good enough for you?” you asked softly, leaning back a bit so that you could really look at him, placing your hands on the cool countertop. 

the hand that he had on your hip lightly squeezed. “for now.”

quickly, your mind changed and you were reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him toward you and hugging him; you couldn’t let yourself kiss him, even though you really wanted to, so this was the next best thing. steve returned the embrace immediately, arms circling your waist and holding you tight. 

this was enough, you decided. it would have to be enough. 

steve hummed softly against your neck and you let out a giggle because of how much the action tickled. 

when your laughter subsided, you two simply stayed as you were; quietly holding one another and pretending that it was only you and him in his house right then. 

eddie’s voice from the couch suddenly broke the prevailing silence. “just kiss already! jesus christ!”

that was when you finally pulled away from each other— arms dropping and steve moving back a bit to give you some space; space that you really didn’t want. 

you both flipped eddie off with a laugh and then focused back on each other. you finally hopped off the counter and steve followed you as you headed back into the living room with everyone else.

you knew that aside from drunken moments like those, you and steve would never get that close to kissing one another, or even consider doing it; neither of you would ever have the courage to push your friendship into that entirely different place. 

maybe it was because deep down you both were scared of change, or maybe it was because you both wanted to protect the friendship you had. either way, you and steve were fine with toeing this blurry line instead of admitting the truth. it was easier that way, and a part of you loved it, actually. at least, that was what you kept telling yourself.

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,�� you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm—were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

Hiraya produced one energy sphere then another at ease. There is a smug written in her face. Janaya rolled his eyes towards Hiraya’s boasting attitude. Hiraya and Janaya are taught how to use energy magic by their father in the magic training room of their family home. Janaya is having trouble in making an energy ball.

“You’ll get it. You just need to try harder.” Said Kyle.

Janaya scowled and side eyes at Hiraya. “I am trying. I’m trying harder than anyone else. Do you know how humiliating it is to struggle with something everyone else can just do?”

“You are not, concentrate son.” Said Kyle, ignoring Janaya’s feelings. Janaya frowned. He saw how Nebula demonstrate herself in creating an energy ball (only because she has the power of the Royal Wand) and she did give tips to him. It is always concentration!

Janaya gritting his teeth out of anger. A burning rage inside in belly. He gather all the energy from his surrounding and the mana in his body as much he could. Especially his own anger, converting it into Noir Fuel Spirt. He finally made a energy ball. It is a blue colour that look exactly like a kill ball. Janaya lashes out, throwing it to the wall, sending it flying and disintegrating and splitting the target. Hiraya flinch, seeing another one of her brother’s angry outbursts. Next thing Hiraya and Kyle knew, they watch Janaya fall down to the floor. All Janaya know after he fell, are the the black dots form in his vision and soon he passed out.

“Janaya!” Said Kyle, letting out a gasp. He picks up his son and makes attempts to wake him up. He checks for concussion as well. Kyle realize that his son is not waking up as he check his pulse, still alive but slow due to exhaustion.

~~

Janaya lifts himself up from bed, he rubs his eyes in circle motions. He realizes he is in his room. Janaya see his mother, sitting on a chair, next to her son lying in bed.

“Mom?” Janaya asked. “What happened?” He said confused.

“Your dad says you have a hissy fit during magic practice again.” Janna explained. Janaya nodded.

“Did I unintentionally started a fire again?” He asked another question.

“No.” Janna replied with an answer, relieving Janaya of his anguished thoughts. He did not start fire, that means he is making good progress with his magic.

“After what happened, we can deny it no longer. Me and your father decided that he won’t be your instructor in energy magic. Since you are magically disable in this attribute.” Said Janna.

“But… I wants to be a master wizard likes dad…” he said, looking at his mom in pleading eyes and fear that he disappoints his dad.

Janna felt sympathetic towards her son. “You will be just like him Janaya, just not wielding energy magic.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

That was a back then when he was a child, Janaya watch from afar to see Second Summer Campers casting spells in The Arena of Camp Synonymous Island. In his time in Townsville, as a part of his magic journey, he had met many magic users. Some are super heroes. Some as civilians. Some as superheroes. He has seen some who have potential to be master wizards. A few who would become Sorcerer Supreme in Eugenia’s eyes.

“You okay Jan?”, Ethan asked.

“I confirm that I am fine with my emotions,” Janaya replied, maintaining his pace and volume and express openness and gratitude to not get caught up on something that bother him. “I appreciate you asking; thank you.”

Janaya out on a half smile, Ethan respond in silence, looking at Janaya’s half smile.

“Trying to get the cat to catch my tongue?” Said Ethan. “Nice try. I know that you are staring at the campers from afar. They won’t be catching up to us anytime soon. Our time right now is young. Don’t be so negative and hard on yourself.”

“……I don’t know what you are talking about.” Janaya lied.

Ethan Corduroy and Nebula Butterfly-Lucitor (mentioned) belong to @ej-cappy-universe

Eugenia Maximoff (mentioned), Hiraya B.C. Bloodworth-Thomason and Janaya A. Bloodworth-Thomason belong to @froppy-butterflyfan2000 (me)

"You'll get it. You just need to try harder."

"I am trying. I'm trying harder than anyone. Do you know how humiliating it is to struggle with something everyone else can just do?"

[ninzied]

a high school au

alex is a yapper. he yaps in math class. in bio. in ap us history with miss bankston (who only pretends not to love it he swears). he does not, however, yap during english third period. there's this boy with blue eyes who looked at him strangely when he said jane eyre was overrated.

alex hasn't spoken up since.

.

henry is shy. he knows that makes him come off a certain way to some people. it doesn't bother him. usually. he has his books, and bea, and pez.

"that alex is hysterical," pez says one day at lunch. what?

"oh, i know, what a riot. in maths the other day he—"

henry is confused. henry has literally never heard alex speak, except for that one time he made a devastating comment about jane eyre that had also given henry a lot to think about actually.

he hears alex laughing at the start of third period. henry feels speechless as he watches it happen.

he's spellbinding. he's beautiful.

he's clamming up the moment henry sits down.

oh, god. so it's him, then; it's henry. he's horrified to have had this sort of effect on someone, let alone someone as vibrant as alex. henry's shy, not cruel. and now he's feeling a bit wounded too.

he turns very purposely to look alex in the eye. brown eyes. very brown. framed by these obscenely long lashes as alex stares back, mouth open, not speaking. henry feels speechless all over again too, all from simply looking at alex.

oh.

*oh.*

now he thinks he's starting to get it.

"hi," henry blurts, before he can rush out of class and be sick in a bin in the hallway.

alex blinks. a shy smile forms. there are dimples. "hey," he says.

henry is blushing. he powers through. "so. err. what did you think about this week's reading?"

alex lights up. "ooh. so many things."

he pauses then, looking uncertain. "did you want to hear them?"

"please," says henry. "i'd like that very much."

.

alex is a yapper. he yaps through math, and bio, and every one of miss bankston's classes *obvi*ously. he yaps through english third period.

especially english third period.

the only time he doesn't yap is when he's too busy doing things like gazing at henry. sitting with henry on the bleachers, where the sun lights up his hair just right. nodding along to henry's passionate rants about poems.

watching henry eat something alex has brought them for lunch. eyeing the spot of sauce henry's missed.

"is there something on my face?" henry asks. "you keep staring."

"actually," says alex. he leans in.

they're both a little too busy to talk very much after that.

[prettyboykatsuki]

alkali. | m. bachira

✮  tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, omegaverse, morning sex, unprotected sex, knotting, bachira being a lovesick mess, 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (guys....)

✮  a/n ; a comission for @cottoncalicoes. thank you for commissioning me!!!

✮  synopsis ; every moment of bachira's life has been painted by you.

or a soft post story from another word for homesick, from bachira's perspective.

tip jar | commission post (reopening on the 22nd) | ao3 link.

[ TWENTY-ONE ]

"Meguru," Your voices catches on a breath, just short of pleasant sigh as your hand lands on his chest, pushing him away from you. "Quit it already."

There's an edge to your exasperation - familiar and affectionate that makes Bachira purr deep from his chest. He's wrapped around you tight, morning sun filtering through the blinds and casting a soft yellow glow on your skin. He buries his face in your neck, nose brushing your scent glands.

Something rich and warm suffuses through him as he inhales it. Years and years of his life entangled in you.

He's giddy with it. It's been months now and he's still so restless with his love you for.

His voice comes out whiny, high pitched yowling as he hugs you tighter, still, somehow. Trying to squeeze you into his ribs like you'll fit there with enough effort - he slots his morning wood against the swell of your belly and inhales. Marks you with his own scent until it covers you completely.

(Bachira developed this habit forever ago. Back when you were kids and you were convinced that he was another innocent omega. It worked well enough to keep alphas off of you, omega's not so much.

He wishes it worked on both. On everyone so you could be his so obviously nothing could get between you. He wishes he could bond with you so many times over until he's engraved into your bones

It might be enough then. Probably not though.)

You laugh again, and it's beautiful and measured like always. "Meguru,"

"Don't wanna get up yet." He whines. He can already feel you concede. "Wanna do stuff. And have lots of sex."

"It's too early to have sex,"

"It's never too early to have sex, silly," He replies, all smiles. "I'm an alpha you know? With the worlds prettiest omega in my bed. This much is normal. It's fine already so come on."

"I had plans for today." You say, ignoring his words with an expertise of a life time. "Errands, chores."

"Ehh?? Boring—like super boring. Super duper boring. Don't wanna, wanna stay here with you."

"You're so difficult," You're smiling while you say it. "We spent most of this week together again, Meguru."

You skirt around the obvious. Most of the week making love. Bachira can't keep his hands off of you. He can't get enough of you and during the limited weeks of his off season - there's nothing to do but indulge his strongest emotions.

He lets his nose brush your jaw, placing a kiss a a fading mark on your neck and the permanent bond on your nape. "Mhm. And you look so full and perfect with my knot, I can't help it. It's in my instinct."

"Your instinct is to keep your knot in me 24/7?" You tease. Bachira nods.

"Duh. Right where it belongs." He says, then adds. "I want to be close to you all the time. Cuddling isn't enough, yknow? I'd eat you if I could."

Weak against him, you move to curl up into him. It makes Bachira so happy he feels like he could explode into a million pieces. It's there again, that feeling. That he's so happy he could burst at the very seams of him and there's no other way to express it other then loud enough for the world to hear.

A wave of affection and aggression and adoration come over in one go. And he's swift as he flips you onto your back. You turn over with a yelp, arms securing around neck. "Don't be so rowdy this early in the morning,"

He looks at you where you look up at him, soothingly pushing hair from his face when you say it. You're not even slightly upset. You look like you love him, like you always have. Kind and perfect and lovely and wholly like you understand. Like you know Bachira. Not once in his life do you look at him like he's too much for you.

He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he—

He kisses you. Hard and desperate. A kiss to your lips, then the corner of your mouth, to all over your face as his fingers deftly pull away at your PJ shorts. You're a mess of giggles— sweet between gasping breathes. Bachira thinks it might be his favorite sound. He kisses you while you laugh, between breathless sharp bouts of it until you're content with sighing.

His brain loops the same thought, simple and constant like a stream. Or maybe more like a tidal wave. More like a tsunami, more like an Earthquake. Maybe there's no disaster grand enough to put the feeling into words - maybe a love so pure and full exceeds language entirely.

Bachira thinks so. His head is so filled with you it feels like you're what makes up the gray matter of his body and what words could there be for something so physical ? He feels it in his chest when he breathes. When his shoulders tremble with laughter, when he cries or sleeps or eats, when he lives at all and every cell in his body are screaming at him that he loves you more than anyone else in the world.

He's unceremonious and desperate when he takes your shorts off. He wants you. He needs you. You're all he's ever needed.

When you spread your legs, he's greeted by the perfect view of your pussy - hairs slicked back from arousal. He should get to take his time with you. He thinks about it. How to treat you gently, properly. He's never been good at it though.

He's never been desired you in a way that's gentle and you've never asked him too. His feelings are overbearing and possessive. Even smothering you isn't enough.

You've been dating again for a few months now, together again after years. Drops of affection piling up inside of him leaving an ocean of longing in it's wake.

You're the first person Bachira has ever known. You were the one to approach him, to trust him, to be honest with him, to accept him wholly.

He doesn't think there'll ever be a time where he can tell you what it meant to him.

He can't bring it in himself to be patient when it's so heavy in him all the time—when you've got yourself spread open like this. Pretty and perfect and dripping - aching for his knot early in the sunlight, familiar flush on your face. A wetness to your eyes, color to your lips.

"It's soft enough," You tug at his wrist. "C'mon. If you're gonna do it. Hurry."

This is how Bachira has spent every day of this week. Listening to the pleasant melody of your voice when he goads you again - loving the way you break down for him. He sits up slightly on his knees and draws his thumb against your slick folds.

Your body is so inviting. Throbbing with need as you whimper in response to his touch, his thumb settling on the swollen nerves of your clit. Drawing circles too slow on purpose and watching you get wetter. You keen.

"Meguru, don't be mean."

God. He grins a little, pulling his hand away as he shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock stands, fat and heavy as he taps it against your sex. You look down in anticipation, look up again for him at mercy. How could he fuck you gently when your expression reads as so desperate to be pounded?

He leans down to kiss you hard as the tip slides into your entrance. He captures the gasp you let out, a hand on your waist to anchor his grip - another at your jaw to hold it and kiss you deep. His tongue slides against yours sloppy and you make a noise of protest - probably concerned about your breath or something silly.

Bachira doesn't care. He can't think of anything other than how much he utterly adores you. How it wires him. Makes the parts of himself he's always been disconnected from—the alpha he's always felt separate to, pant with desire. He can feel every nerve in his body, every fiber of his muscles—all the ways they want you to be between his teeth. Devour you, makes a mess. An apex predator who so adores his perfect prey. Born to hunt you. Born to love you.

He slides his cock into the soft, wet, sticky warmth of your cunt with ease. Your slick makes it easy for him - built to take his cock in smooth motion. A soft sound comes from your throat as he thrusts in easily.

"It's so full, Meguru," You mumble, a hand on your belly. "I love you."

"So cute," He kisses your jaw, waiting for you to adjust only long enough to breathe. "You're so cute."

He rocks his hips slowly building to hard thrusts, feeling you clench down around him whenever he slides out - cunt gripping down like it needs him always.

Bachira lets the temptation of that thought guide his hips. He's always learning new things about himself with you, or maybe just the old parts of him always evolve to fit you better.

He can feel how easily his body wants to succumb to the pleasure of you around him. You wrap your legs around his waist as he fucks into you again and again, arms around his shoulders. The way you moan his name is sweet, makes Bachira feel even wilder.

Your hands card through his hair even while he fucks you hard and reckless. Gesture sweet and domestic, it makes him laugh against your mouth.

Bachira thinks of your life together as he buries his dick deep inside you. Thinks of the years you were apart and feels his chest get tight. Thinks of all the time he wants to make up for it by spending the rest of his life with you now and forever.

He was made for you. That's the only way he can make sense of it. Why else would Bachira be made to be too much if not to be softened and nurtured by you? The only omega in his life. only one he'll ever miss.

Here is the only place he'll ever feel at home.

The thought drives him over the edge. He feels his chest well up with emotion as he thrusts - gripping onto your hips as he lets it all go. He cums hard, his knot swelling at the base of his cock. You whine loudly as it stretches and stretched and stretches you, the air punched out of your lungs.

He holds it in until he can give you the same. His hand slides against between your bodies, clumsy and desperate, as his fingers find your clit. You're sensitive to the touch, throbbing endlessly as he rubs the bundle of nerves, fast and hard.

It just doesn't feel good if he doesn't cum together with you.

"Meguru—c-cumming,"

He cums right alongside you. You pulse and spasm, legs clasped around his waist and holding onto him desperately as your cunt milks cock. He follows, filling you with his cum almost instantly before the base of his cock begins to swell with a familiar euphoria.

The pleasure is intense. It never seems to settle down, sensitivity spiked as he plugs his knot inside of. The way your body accommodates him makes his stomach tie in knots, cunt clinging to him possessively in the same way his knot anchors inside of you. He shivers.

The intense feeling of longing doesn't dull even after you both catch your breath. Instead it shifts, changes to something heavier as he sniffles.

He always cries during sex lately. You comfort him the same way you did when you were kids.

"You're crying again," You whisper, all warm.

"I love you," He sniffles. He doesn't know how else to say it. "I love you so much. You're never allowed to go anywhere ever."

You laugh loudly at that and he smiles even through tears.

"I don't have any plans to do that anyhow," You hum holding him. "We're made to be a pair, you know? Makes more sense that way,"

An ocean of longing and you—the hopeful sky above it. The moon to his sun. A corrosive acid and his great equalizer. A perfect pair.

Yes, Bachira knows exactly what you mean.

[starkeyslibrary]

That's So True

Inspired by That's so True by Gracie Abrams

pairing: reader x drew starkey

a/n: i just realized that i've never formally introduced myself on here! my bad, my name is rhodee, 21 years old, living in europe and currently studying law. i love writing imagines that'll hopefully make you laugh, swoon or cry (sorry not sorry) a little too hard <3

stick around if you’re into dreamy characters, plot twists, or just want to scream about Drew with me!

hope i'll get to know so many of y'all on here!! okay that's all, enjoy <3

The night Drew had left for the premiere, you told yourself it was just another event, like all the others. You even tried to convince yourself you didn't mind staying home, avoiding the chaos of the red carpet. It's his night, you thought, forcing a smile as he kissed you goodbye, his cologne lingering in the air long after the door closed.

But as the hours stretched on, the gnawing sense of isolation grew. It wasn't just tonight - it had been building for months. Drew's career was skyrocketing, and with every interview, press tour and glamorous event, it felt like he was slipping further away from you. He'd promised that things would calm down after this movie, that he'd have more time. But those promises were always vague, like a finish line that kept moving further out of reach.

The photos hit social media just before midnight. Drew, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his co-star, Odessa A’ Zion. The fan comments flooded in, gushing about how perfect they looked together, how the chemistry was undeniable.

You slammed your laptop shut. It wasn't jealousy - not exactly. You trusted him, but trust didn't erase the ache of feeling invisible.

The sound of Drew's keys jingling at the door pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. The clock on the wall read 1:47 a.m. You hadn't realized how late it had gotten. The door opened, and Drew stepped inside, his movements slow and careful, like he didn't want to disturb you. He probably thought you were asleep.

"Hey," you called out, your voice sharp in the quiet apartment. You couldn't hide the edge of frustration.

He paused, caught off guard, then gave a tired smile. "Hey, babe. Didn't think you'd still be up."

"Well, I am," you said, standing from the couch. "Thought you said you'd be home hours ago."

"The afterparty ran late," he explained, shrugging off his jacket. "I texted you."

"That's not the point, Drew," you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended. “This isn’t just about tonight. Do you even realize how little I see you anymore?”

His brows furrowed, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s my job, you know how crazy things get during press tour. This isn’t new.”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” you shot back. “You’re always out there, Drew. With her, with them – whoever. And I’m just .... here. Alone. Waiting for whatever scraps of time you have left.”

Drew exhaled sharply, clearly tired, and not in the mood for an argument. “This again?” he muttered, his tone clipped. “I can’t keep apologizing for doing my job.”

You flinched at his words. “I’m not asking you to apologize for working. I’m asking you to make me feel like I matter.”

“You do matter,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “But you’re acting like I can just drop everything. This is how it is y/n. This is how it’s always been.”

“No, it hasn’t,” you countered. “It’s different now. You’re different. You barely talk to me anymore. Half the time, I don’t even know what’s going on in your life. But everyone else does. The fans, the press – they all get pieces of you that I don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Drew said, shaking his head. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t see how lonely this is for me. You’re so caught up in your world that you don’t even notice.”

Drew’s frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to do, y/n? Quit? Stop taking jobs? Would that make you happy?”

His words felt like a slap, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I want you to fight for this – for us. But instead, you’re treating me like a burden.”

Drew froze, his anger dissipating as he saw the pain in your expression. “Y/N,” he started, his tone softer, “You’re not a burden. I love you. You know that.”

“Do I?” you whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Drew looked at you, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t say anything,” you said, retreating to the bedroom before your emotions could completely overwhelm you.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as sobs wracked your body. You hated this – hated feeling like you were losing him. But you didn’t know how to bridge the growing distance between you.

Drew stood in the living room, staring at the closed door. He felt like the worst person in the world. He wanted to fix it; to make you understand how much you meant to him. But he was so tired – tired of the constant pull between his career and personal life, tired of feeling like he was failing at both.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands. The apartment felt unbearably quiet without you. The fight replayed in his mind, your words cutting deeper with each pass. I want you to fight for this – for us.

He realized then how distant he’d been, how much he’d taken your support for granted. You’d been his anchor through everything, and he’d been too caught up in his own world to see how much you were struggling.

When you woke up, the sun was streaming through the curtains, but the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. You found Drew in the kitchen, already dressed and nursing a cup of coffee. His face lit up when he saw you, but it quickly fell when he noticed your guarded expression.

“Morning,” he said softly, hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I, uh, I thought about what you said last night,” he began, setting his coffee down. “And you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “Drew – “

“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot what matters most – you. Us. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not part of my life, because you are. You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I know I haven’t shown that enough.”

Tears filled your eyes, and this time, you didn’t fight them. “I just... I miss you, Drew. I miss us.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling you into his arms. “I miss us, too,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, it felt like you were on the same page.

[jakeroo123]

Which of these didn't happen in Pokémon the Series?

So, this is an idea I had based on seeing someone do one for a different show a while back. Out of all of the options in this poll, eleven are real things that have happened over the course of Pokémon the Series during Ash and Pikachu's stints as protagonists. One of these is fake, and I want to see how many people can figure out which one! Or who are big enough nerds to have watched everything and know which one isn't real.

Please share! It's a fun way of telling people about the absolute nonsense that happens in this show from time to time, and I'm extremely curious about the results!

[theresascove]

oh. oh… vi’s crashing out scene shows how she’s the kind of person to be like, “eh, I don’t care,” but as time goes by they REALLY fucking do

—> so here’s a FULL break down of that 6-9 month time skip scene

• how shaky, flashy, and quick the camera moves and continues to get. It’s similar to how you get when you’re drunk. It starts out clean and then gets snappier as the scene continues

• her relationship with Loris going to shit. It started out with celebrations (you can see them cheering together, arms around each others backs) to him pulling a drink away from Vi, to him sitting further away with his back turns towards her. Then we get another scene of Vi going to cheers w him and he’s not there, she sets the cup down and then proceeds to fall on the bar counter and the drink falls to the floor

• Vi goes from laying fully on the bed on her back to (a few frames later showing a time skip) Vi barely even making it to her bed

• the alcohol bottles piling up & her throwing up from the amount (or possibly from screaming into the sink full of water)

• she also keeps screaming a ton—during fighting, in her apartment (by punching bag and in the sink). the only other times I’ve heard Vi make such a sound is when she’s fighting other people as seen in s1 and s2, so her just screaming in her bedroom is showing INTENSE feelings

• the prision wall day counting on the walls (I didn’t really count, but I estimate there’s about 100+ days seeing as I picked out each grouping and timed it by 5). they seem to show up more as they switch between different frames of Vi in her room. Also be aware this is as much as I COULD count, there’s definitely more just out of frame. The writers confirmed this time skip is about 6-9 months

• smearing the black paint on her face w intent at first but as time goes by she gets messier, full hands on her face and eyes almost rolling up

• she’s literally sobbing against her punching bag (they don’t show her crying anytime else but I’m SURE she did it a lot more… but look at the tears on her face and the pain in her expression-IT KILLS ME).

• ^^towards the end (last photo of her smearing the paint (just before that she had broken the mirror). seemingly getting fed up and reaching a breaking point

• she goes from clean fists, to bloody fingers as the time skip goes on

• how beat up she gets as the time slip continues as she loses focus and begins to fall apart

• Vi going from pit fighting, to the bar, to her room to sleep/get ready/punch the punching bag

• then she “sobers” back up as best as possible, puts the paint on again, just to go there with a heavy heart and get beaten quickly

• Vi hallucinating Caitlyn in many ways. When we see the flag and in the bar scene and one last time when Vi thinks back to when they had that moment in Caitlyn’s room in s1

• Vi hallucinating the girl she “fell in love w” and not who had hurt her/how she had become since Caitlyn’s mother died

• the way she would look up at the Kiramman flags and think of Caitlyn each time she went up the stairs to her room. pictures show her doing it a first time, and then later down the line after a few months—she’s still looking up

• (eventually snatching one at some point and using it as a blanket as shown by the show)

• practically drowning herself in the sink full of water and screaming (maybe to try and silence her thoughts…? Water is quiet)

screenshooting Vi’s crashing out phase is so much more depressing when you take it frame by frame and remove the rock music and upbeat animation

[thisonehere]

Csn you write Smoke x fem. Reader about the reader waking Smoke by giving him kisses along his bare back?

I sure csn!

The Sleeping Beauty

Tags: Request, Tomas x fem!reader, MK1, Heat, hugs and kisses

C/w: Slight-smut, body-worship, blue balls

It was morning time at the Shirsi Ryu's Sunlight poured into Tomas's room from the curtains. Blanketing you in its color, your eyes open and strain at the soft light. You can hear birds chirping You lift your head up just the slightest to look at the alarm, 8 AM. As you rub your eyes, you look over to Tomas, there he is still sleeping soundly on his stomach. Like many times before, you had stayed the night in hid room, and like nights before, it was wonderful. You're honestly surprised you woke up before him. Usually he is always the first to wake up, he lets you sleep in for a few extra minutes as he gets ready. On many mornings he has breakfast that he lovingly crafted just for you to enjoy. Other than the burnt parts, it often tastes almost decent.

A wide smile spreads across your face as you look at him. You take the moment to just admire him and how cute he is. His short hair is messy from the night of tossing and turning to find the right position, drool drips from his mouth, a pleasant smile decorates his face as if he's dreaming of something sweet. Tomas likes to sleep shirtless, leaving his body on display for you. The warm morning light blankets his back, highlighting the many muscles. Muscles he often uses to cuddle you many times during the night. You nuzzle up next to him and take in the warmth of his soft skin. Soon he'll have to get up and leave, so you melt into him as you just enjoy the moment.

Tomas, still somewhat asleep, wraps an arm at you, holding you close, then begins to snore all over again. You feel in such a state of peace, it's a shame in a few minutes it'll all be over. So why not start the morning off with a little fun? A mischievous thought suddenly popped into your head, your content face soon morphs into a sly smile as you get out from under Tomas's arm and hover over him. After trying to hold back a few giggles, you go down and place a kiss on his back. And then another. And another. Up and down his back you pepper one kiss after the other. You get everywhere, along his spine, his shoulder blades, even getting close to his lower back. You worship his glorious body with one kiss after the other.

After a few moments, Tomas begins to stir. First with a slight groan. And then he lets out a confused sound as he comes to. You just continue to kiss the man's back as he moans a little under breath. He lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at you, "And what are you doing down there?" As he has arches brow and a surprised smile. "Just making sure you woke up the right way." You finally stop as an uncontrollable giggle overtakes you. "Well, that's certainly been accomplished." His face burned red with blush as a fluster expression is on his face. He rolls over onto his back and spreads his arm, inviting you in for a quick cuddle, which you happily accept. You lay your head onto his chest as he wraps his arms around you. "There's a lot to be done today." His voice has a slight serious tone to it. "Honzo?" You guessed, Tomas just nods. "Among other things, I have a full day ahead of me." Tomas groans. The sky smirk returns to your face. "Then why don't we begin it the right way?" Tomas gives you a questionable look, it slowly dawns on him what you mean. The blush gets even harder as he stares at you flustered.

You begin to kiss him. Starting from his lips, going down to his neck, then to his chest, all the way down to his abs. Tomas lays his head back, a smile on his face as he braces to enjoy what you're about to do. You make your way down further his body, being sure to pepper kisses all over his torso and before getting to his belly bottom. Soon, you are close to his pants. Tomas lifts his head up to give you, an excited smile on his face. You reach for his pajama pants, kissing and sucking at his pelvis. You can just feel Tomas's excitement as you slowly undo his pants and pull it back to reveal a part of his groin. "I better go get ready." You suddenly say, lifting head up from his body and pulling the pants back to where it was. "W-Wait, What?" Tomas is quick to sit up in bed. He's confused as he stares at you dumbly as you jump to your feet. You leave Tomas on the bed, flustered and panting mess as you make your way to the door. "Wait," Tomas lifts his pajamas and stares at the problem you've just created. "Y/n, y-you're not going to leave me like this, right?" He asks with a panic as he looks miserably at the stiff monster. You don't answer back and you leave the room. "Y/n?" He desperately calls to you.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to�� himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.