#i have special dislikes for both of these people.

[matrixbearer2024]

I had an ask about this regarding my AU but I don't know what happened to it after I saw it in my inbox cuz it might be tumblr being funny but essentially it was just:

"Does West Coast Tech still exist? Why didn't Ford go to West Coast Tech?"

Short answer is, he simply didn't want to in this AU. West Coast Tech is among the Ivy Leagues in my AU and BMU still exists too, it still has the prominent reputation of being a back-up university.

In this AU ultimately Ford never really developed the mindset that he was "special" and had to make a point of it or prove that he was somebody. Because of their upbringing, there wasn't a "preference" others had towards either twin because Filbrick disliked them equally and their academic and extracurricular skills basically made them break even. There wasn't a stupid twin/smart twin between them and Caryn made damn sure about it.

Possibly the only thing that most people say about the two is that they're "smart but stupid" because of all the trouble they get wrapped up in doing whatever or being too curious for their own good.

The teachers or coaches didn't favor one twin over the other either and they were generally liked by their peers. Ford didn't end up with that sense of arrogance that you can typically see in canon where he believes he is above the rest and he has to be and Stan didn't develop that inferiority complex compared to his sibling.

In this AU, Ford had the option to go to West Coast Tech but even throughout senior high he already knew that a good university could really only get you so far. He was a sharp tool yes, but... he didn't think that edge would really push him far. He had an edge, but it wasn't much.

There's a lot of gifted people nowadays and even good credentials aren't going to guarantee a decent job or a stable career, that's if you can even get a job right away.

The science project and everything was still what gave him the opportunity and Stan even congratulated him for scoring that high but Ford wasn't really pleased? I'm not sure with the word but he wasn't exactly happy with the circumstance. They didn't fight over it considering all throughout highschool they kept talking about potential careers and whatnot.

It didn't help that Filbrick encouraged the idea of West Coast Tech because of how much money Ford could potentially make. Even so, Ford was stupidly skeptical after seeing the pamphlet and researching online. Realistically it seemed too good to be true, and he couldn't even sleep on it from how much he kept thinking.

Stan knew he would likely take longer to figure things out but he'd get there, and he was willing to let Ford just reach for the stars as he always did. They still have that dream of sailing around the world as adults but it's a lot more defined and realistic compared to how they planned it in canon. They're thinking, work hard, get rich, then retire early to sail and travel around the world. If their paths split early, they'll find a way back when they grow up. They always do.

It's something they constantly talk about because they both desperately want to move out after graduation just to get the hell away from Filbrick. It doesn't matter where they end up they just need to get away.

Even so, Ford mulled over the offer and decided to visit the university before making his decision. His gut feeling was both parts right and wrong, sure— what he thought was too good to be true was the actual reality of the school and it's pursuit of academic excellence, but he was right to be skeptical after he noticed the snobbish and arrogant nature most of the students have. It's a common thing for ivy leagues to have that mentality that they're the cream of the crop. The best there is. Not everybody is like this of course, but sometimes the loudest crowd doesn't always have to be the majority.

It does take a lot of work to get to their level and to stay at that level but Ford couldn't see himself in that school. He didn't want to allow himself into that crowd where he knew it would potentially make him worse off as a person. Also, he had the entirety of undergrad to get through, if he so much as wanted to transfer to an Ivy League to get his masters or doctorate he knew he could! So what was the rush?

University was a stepping stone and he had time, he knew he could do a lot but he didn't need to rush. So... Ford turned down the offer.

Sadly, it was pretty much as chaotic(bad) as you'd think.

Of course, that meant looking for another university instead and it was mostly Stan who did the research this time because Ford was too burnt out and sulky after everything. He knew he made the choice that would inherently grant him more happiness, but it doesn't always feel like that right away and it didn't help that the walls were paper thin. It's hard to fall asleep to your parents yelling and throwing things around in a fight because of a decision you made.

Both of them had generally pretty good track records academically and a long list of achievements to follow it so it wasn't hard for them to find universities either. That's how they ended up with Graviton University in Oregon, it's not an Ivy-league but it's not as bad as BMU either. It really is just a stepping stone in the middle, your performance practically shapes the path you walk on.

The Stan twins have a choice in this AU mostly because they could also afford it, take note- the family is financially comfortable in this AU because Filbrick is one hell of an unscrupulous businessman but very successful. They're not rich but they're comfortable, and that's a lot in the state of the economy nowadays.

Ford has choices in this AU and it's also a very big part to play in why he could turn down the offer at the time and not look back at it with regret. Stan also being on even ground beside his brother is why they don't ever fight about such topics either, he's not ever chasing after Ford— he's standing right next to him.

The subtle differences from canon can genuinely just make a world of difference in the bigger picture. But yeah, it's why I had them go to Graviton University instead. It's a middle-ground and it's also how I can essentially get them to stay in gravity falls instead of ending up elsewhere when I cranked the "weirdness" level pretty low. There's still bits and bobs of it around, but not to the degree of the canon show I would think.

I hope this generally clears up how I wrote or my thought process as to why I didn't have Ford reach for the stars despite having that option and why the Stan Twins are generally this tight knit in my AU.

[blatterpussbunnyfromhell]

I still haven't had the time to watch the Wwdits finale, but I've seen enough of the plot online to talk about this. I've also seen people calling it "the worst ending in tv history" and I am convinced that these people are either very young or haven't seen that many tv shows in their lives lmao, or both.

Some of yous were in middle school when the Game Of Thrones finale aired so I don't think you were around for this but. That cultural juggernaut of a show that made every production team want to make the next GoT, a show that even people who weren't nerds or into fantasy that much were watching, from your stay-at-home mom to your jocky and preppy classmates, a show that was referenced everywhere on Youtube and tv, which had merch everywhere from specialized nerdy shops to big chain malls, a show that literally changed the media landscape for the better part of a DECADE

That show, fizzled out into oblivion because of how terribly written, rushed, incoherent with the plot and themes of the story it had established, its ending had been. People only remember it for its terrible ending now.

Are you telling me that Wwdits' ending was worse than that?? I highly doubt it.

And in more recent years we've had the endings of shows that were considerably better than Wwdits at handling continuity and character development (like, say, The Umbrella Academy), still ending like shit. In much, much worse ways than Wwdits (which at its core was always meant to be a silly comedy, and I'm sorry to say it but some of yous were treating it wayyy too seriously).

What I'm getting from all this negativity, is that some people dislike/hate the ending because it wasn't what they had expected, some because they have a warped or absent sense of media literacy (no, nandermo wasn't ""queerbaiting"", you guys need to learn the meaning of some words) or were expecting way too much from it (no, a secondary character that served as a punchline 5 years ago wasn't going to make a comeback in the finale).

It makes it disappointing for you, yes, but doesn't necessarily make it bad. I can't talk about my own opinion on the episode itself as I've not seen it yet, but honestly, I know it's not THAT bad.

[skyland2703]

Bingo Ask:

Zordon x Zophram | Lord Zedd

Ummm honestly… no.

I don’t like Zordon.

I don’t like Zedd.

So just. Uh. Nop.

[moe-broey]

Random small talk event at the yard sard set-up, very nice lady, but ESP when asking "Oh are you still in school? ☺️" I literally never know how to say "Oh I graduated a long time ago. Yeah. I mostly do art now" and she says "Oh to sell?" and so far I'm having a reasonable and effective small talk conversation, when I hit that pitfall and lock up and I worry I'm becoming unfriendly bc I locked up. Because I REALLY don't know how to say, "Nah, I kind of do fuck all. I'm 25 and I do fuck all. For nothing." Like I can see the conversation tree in real time and I know that's the worst dialogue option. And there are no other dialogue options there's just Press B to get the fuck outta there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bitchthefuck1]

The Bear fans stop being wildly misogynistic about Claire challenge

[othercrossee]

Name for my fashion girlboss, Aditya

[lgbtlunaverse]

I've seen a good number of people ask a question along the lines of "why do characters like Falin and hate Laios when they're so similar?" and i've also seen good analysis on the differences in how the touden siblings carry themselves that would, despite their shared traits, make a person gravitate to one more than the other.

But i feel like we've overseen one very central thing here.

People don't like Falin

Like... the average person in dungeon meshi doesn't like Falin. She was deeply ostrasized by her home village, in magic school she had zero friends before Marcille and the others generally saw her as strange and a bit offputting.

Characters like Namari and Chilchuck like her well enough but not necessarily more than any other member of their party, including Laios. Neither Kabru nor his party think much of her. The canaries don't give a fuck about her. Toshiro's retainers don't see her as anything else than the weird foreign girl their boss has a crush on.

The reason we think everyone loves Falin is because, despite all the indifferent side characters, the 2 most important and central characters of the story are Laios and Marcille. Who are NOT representative of the average attitudes to Falin! But necromancy georg number 1 and 2 are our main eyes into the story and they love Falin so much that it colours our perspective of the whole world.

The only side character who qualifies as liking Falin and not Laios is Toshiro (at least at first, as he ends the story on much better terms with Laios) and that says a lot about his character, with him drifting to the quiet Falin precisely because of her oddness but being both uncomfortable with and deeply jealous of Laios' much more open expression of that oddness. Because he's a repressed guy from a culture where etiquette is incredibly important.

But like I said, that's a specific aspect of him, not to the world at large.

Because there's also people that click more with laios than with Falin.

Kabru, for one, who is initially distrustful of laios but clearly also deeply fascinated by him and drawn to him.

Minor spoilers, and you don't have to read too deeply into this, because I don't think Kabru particularly dislikes Falin or anything. But it's interesting that when he talks about his distrust of the toudens in ch.32 he's talking about them both. But his big friendship declaration in chapter 76 is aimed squarely at Laios, he doesn't say "you and your sister" he says "you"

And Senshi!! He instantly clicks with Laios, well before he does so with anyone else in the party– who he also becomes friends with, it just takes a bit longer– specifically because they bond over their shared special interest in monsters!! Senshi is kind towards Falin and cares for her wellbeing, but he also... doesn't know her. The reason he is even here, helping to save her, is because he and Laios bonded over monsters and he wants to help his new friends out!

Of course, the theme of neurodivergent isolation is very present in Laios' story. I'm not denying that. He does turn people off, without meaning to and unable to fully understand why! But so does Falin. And just like there are people who like her despite of or even because of those traits, there are people who do the same with him.

In conclusion: "Average person loves Falin and hates Laios" factoid actually statistical error. Average person is neutral on both Falin and Laios. Georcille, Laiorg and Geoshiro, who live in the dungeon and think over 10,000 Falin-loving thoughts a day, are statistical outliers adn should not have been counted.

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

(Warnings: Strictly platonic , not incest)

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby

[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.

[yuvany]

# SPECIAL ACTS WITH ENHYPEN༝༚

Moments that feel extra special with bf enhypen •° ot7 enhypen x fmr . . 664 words ° fluff + est relationship + skinship && not proofread!! & Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 shows a new side that is different from before he met you. He warms up to people quite fast, but even then, his character differs compared to how he is with you in a relationship. Before meeting him, he was shy, his smile being awkwardly extended, but as you got closer, you realised how sweet and funny he was. Now, the relationship has grown more complete. Heeseung feels free with you, knowing you won't judge him for his likes and dislikes, and his flaws. Establishing that has resulted in the two of you watching his favourite kid's movie on repeat.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 plan the future together. Jay is dedicated when it comes to something serious like a romantic relationship. Sit together during breakfast or dinner to just talk. "Do you think we'll be together in the future, because I hope so." He confessed, and you undoubtedly answered, "of course," making his worries vanish. Will talk about how he envisions your future, moving in together, getting married, and traveling together to visit his home land. He likes getting the reassurance that you feel the same.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 Silence isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, being too talkative or loud can be very draining, so being with you in comfortable silence means a lot to him. That way, he understands that he doesn't need to be his best all the time, but that he has the opportunity to be calm. Watching a movie that played in the background while you two held each other close on the sofa with Jake making small comments about the movie here and there. "That was stupid." He said when watching a horror movie, and a character investigated the suspicious noise. You giggled along, and returned to the film.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 Deep conversations that could go on for hours was something you signed up for when you accepted Sunghoon into your life. Be prepared that the movie night you two planned might become a session where the two of you discuss things that have disturbed you guys, or just something philosophical. Having times like this can sometimes feel more intimate than a hug or kiss to Sunghoon. "What is our purpose in the universe?" He's gonna spill everything he's been thinking about while zoning out recently.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 does skincare together with you. His skin is awsome, and naturally, he wants yours to reflect as much as his. You guys wear matching headbands, and matching pyjamas as you stood in the bathroom, sharing the single mirror above the faucet. "Let's do the face masks now!" Sunoo beams, the apples of his cheek rising as he holds up one packet in each hand. "Let me do yours first, babe.", you told him, your palm resting on his shoulder, guiding him to sit atop of the closed toilet seat. After you both were done, you watched some youtube videos together.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 Falling asleep in his arms always feels like you're being transported onto a cloud. You found yourself on his bed, legs entangled with his arms wrapped around you, your feet almost falling off the edge of the bed. Yet it was so immensely comforting. You sleepily watched the content on Jungwon's phone, the blue light making you yawn. "Are you tired, angel?" He asks, and you nod, nudging your head closer to him. You feel his arms and broad shoulders come closer, and eventually you fall asleep.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 likes reminiscing the past, and talking about your childhoods. Riki's past has certainly been eventful, and talking about it with someone special makes it all worth it. You scroll through your gallery to find some photos of younger you, and you show it to him. "That's a cute picture, babe." He says, and starts searching for some of himself. Eventually, Riki shows you a photo, and you question, "What's happening here?", with a giggle, and he realises that he showed you a video of him dancing with his sisters instead.

Layout credits to @flwrstqr

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!zayne, husband!zayne x wife!reader, reader has body insecurities and negative thoughts, kissing, heavy petting, body worship, praise and reassurance, nipple play, clit play, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, soft sex, slight dirty talk, slight cursing, use of pet names "sweetheart" "snowflake", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 5.4k

youtiful masterlist

You couldn't sleep.

It was late; later than late—you knew that once Zayne got home, you would definitely be reprimanded for your sleeping habits again.

But how could you sleep like this?

The day had kept you restless.

Tara had proposed another one of her gala nights this afternoon, having practically spammed your texts with an invite for next week. She was quite adamant in this one, considering it was the only time that everyone seemed to be free enough at the same time, and of course, it went without saying that you were invited. But Tara wanted it to be extra special—to make up for all the lost time, and to make the most of the moment, because who knew when you all could get together like that again?

And you couldn't really argue with her on the matter; she had a good point. Though Tara and you saw each other often enough, both being the senior hunters that you were, schedule clashes were becoming more and more common. Suffice to say, it was even harder for the two of you to get ahold of the other girls you'd become close friends with over the years. Adulting was hard, sometimes.

So naturally, this was, as she put it, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one worthy of a little extra—and while exaggerated, in typical Tara fashion, you could definitely see where she was coming from.

You wanted to meet with the girls, just as much as she did.

But formal events had never been your favorite.

Earlier in the afternoon, you had spent your lunch break with Tara in favor of scouring for the perfect new outfit for that night out. "Window shopping only, for now, of course!" she had said, none too keen on spending right from the get go, but excited to scan all the options nonetheless. And perhaps, you, too, had been excited along with her—Tara's energy was always contagious, and she knew exactly how to string people along with her in all of her happy-go-lucky skip-throughs. But soon enough, you were quickly reminded as to why you disliked formal events so ardently.

It was the clothes.

While many girls you knew jumped at the prospect of dressing up a little fancier, it was hard for you to love—you never saw yourself as someone with a body shape that could easily fit into these fancy clothing, and you had always been jealous of the girls around you that did. You weren't exempt from the same desire to dress up, of course, but—it was simply harder to enjoy when it has only ever caused your confidence to dwindle.

You, yourself, had never really voiced out your insecurities.

You didn't know if the girls knew, nor if Tara had figured out why you were so hesitant to try things on with her.

But whether or not you spoke about it or showed it at all, it did nothing to change the reality that those thoughts were there.

In truth, you hated it.

Despised it.

You never thought yourself to look good in those form-fitting clothing; never thought yourself to look good in a dressed up skirt. If anything, it was hard for you to feel comfortable in such clothing at all—and shopping for them was always a pain.

You wanted to meet with the girls.

You did, you really did.

But suddenly Tara's little cocktail dinner party was more daunting to you than you'd have liked it to be.

Naturally, by the end of your little mall adventure, Tara had found herself a few options to go back, revisit and, perhaps, buy for that very night... While you remained blank on your choices.

The mere thought had you sinking even deeper into the duvets, never more grateful for the fact that you were covered and unseen under the thickness of them.

Your mind was simply racing too much.

You, too, wished you could just sleep all of your thoughts away, and maybe,  maybe, the morning will be more bearable.

...If only.

You haphazardly brought the duvet over your head, burying yourself completely hidden under them, and let out a whine.

Zayne would probably be home in a few moments.

He would see you like this, very much wide awake despite all his texts having insisted you not to wait up for him, already on the verge of crying from the sheer intensity of your less-than-welcome thoughts.

You didn't know how much he knew of all this, either.

Though you had been together for a couple years, married for roughly one—the topic had simply never come up. You hadn't explicitly told him anything about it; you'd simply managed enough through all the other formal events you'd had to attend.

You didn't want to be a baby.

In the end, you knew that this would pass, and you would get through it just fine like you always did—

Only that, somehow, today, it was worse than all the other days.

The thought of trying to get through this like you normally would only made your heart churn with discomfort, tears welling up in your eyes unwarranted.

Fuck.

Your lips quivered.

You didn't want to cry.

Zayne would be getting home from a long day.

He would be tired.

He would want to sleep.

He had an equally early start to the next day, and you couldn't—

You couldn't possibly bother him with petty problems you could solve on your own.

You always have, anyway, right?

Why should now be any different?

You heard the door click gently, followed soft, careful footsteps padding the floor to the room—

The minute the doorknob turned and you could vaguely make out the brief flicker of light, you shut your eyes tightly and turned to the side.

You had to sleep.

You had to sleep.

You swallowed thickly as you heard the faint rustle of fabric, the lightest clink of a hanger meeting its clothesrail, and the shifting of weight on the mattress.

Though you were under the blankets, you could feel the telltale warmth of your husband beside you, enough for it to have some form of comcort wash over you in an instant.

Perhaps, too much comfort.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and you drew in a careful, shaky breath.

Of course, Zayne, of all people, would never miss the slightest of cues from you.

"Sweetheart?"

There was a soft murmur of his voice over the top of your head, and you felt the duvet being slowly peeled off of.

There was a rush of cooler air over your face, and Zayne's arms wrapped around you, pulling your body closer to his.

...Ah, shit, you instantly surrendered, knowing there would be no way to play it off, only willing for those stupid tears in your eyes to magically disappear.

"You're awake, aren't you? It's not healthy to sleep under the blankets like that."

His voice was soft, and gentle, and he placed a light kiss into your hair.

You swallowed thickly.

"H-how was your shift...?"

You winced internally, thinking the waver in your voice was already a very telltale sign.

And as you were met with momentary silence, you figured you had been right.

Zayne shifted around, gently pulling you backwards against him, just enough for him to see your face.

And the moment your eyes locked, it was almost as if you couldn't take it anymore.

His lime-green eyes regarded your own with concern, and affection, and love—

It was almost as if all and any emotions swimming restlessly in your heart overflowed in an instant, and you couldn't think to stop the tears from falling. Choked sobs edged their way out of your throat, completely ignoring the horror at your sheer inability to control your own emotions.

You were so... pitiful. So pathetic.

You'd promised yourself you wouldn't cry in front of him over this, and yet, here you were.

Insult after insult swirled adamantly in your head as you turned, burying your face into his chest, desperately searching to anchor yourself in his warmth.

"What is it, snowflake? Are you unwell? What's wrong?" He murmured into your hair, soft, soothing rubs against your back, holding you tight against him—and you didn't feel like you deserved any of it. You wanted yo shy away from his gaze, from his touch—but the mere thought of such irrationality had you sobbing harder, berating yourself for even daring to doubt him at all.

You shivered in his arms, shaking your head, willing yourself to calm down.

And, perhaps, to you, there was no greater comfort than having him here with you.

Despite the conflicts in your mind—whether or not you were deserving of all of his affection—Zayne, and his sweet whispers of comfort, his reassuring squeezes, his loving caresses... Time and time again, you would never fail to find solace in his arms.

Now was no different.

Zayne always had that effect on you, and, perhaps, you wondered if maybe you should have considered opened up to him about this much sooner.

Now, at least, it was enough for you to steady your breaths, eyes closing, your own arms shifting to hug him back.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," he said, running a hand through your hair, soothing you through your sniffles. "It's bad to go to bed with negative feelings. Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

He didn't push you away, nor egg you to look back up at him, but you could easily hear the concern in his voice.

You shut your eyes tightly.

"...But you're tired," you whispered. "It's silly, Zayne..."

"It is not silly, not if it can make you cry."

This time, he brought his hand to your cheek, caressing it gently, and you tilted your head upwards to meet his gaze. "I didn't see you all day, snowflake," he nuzzled your forehead. "What happened to make you so upset while I've been absent?"

You pouted, already feeling another set of tears prick at your eyes, though you blinked them away rapidly.

"I... I missed you," you said quietly. And it was the truth, just not—all of it. It wasn't as if you planned on lying to him—what kind of a wife would you be if you did?

But you wouldn't have known where to start on this otherwise.

It was still true, anyway.

You'd missed his presence; you almost wished you had spent your lunch break with him like you normally did, and, perhaps, that way you wouldn't be feeling so down in the dumps like this.

But what was done was done.

"I missed you, too, sweetheart." He brushed the tears away from your face, and leaned down to place his lips on your temple, causing you to close your eyes at the gentleness in his every action. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Ah, a faint, barely-there smile made its way to your face. Zayne always knew you so well.

You let out a sigh, feeling yourself move in to chase his lips, hopeful for a more proper kiss that you had, in fact, been missing for most of the day.

While he allowed you to steal one, his eyes were expectantly searching yours.

You faltered, like you always did.

"...There's... a cocktail party next week..." You started quietly, moving to lay back on your back, eyes focusing on the ceiling above. "Tara planned it just this afternoon. A girls' outing."

"Did she? It's been a while since you've had those."

"...Yeah."

You turned to look at him, another tiny pout forming on your lips. "I just... I don't know if I want to go..." You leaned into his touch when he brought his hand back to cup your cheek, a familiar, comforting action he would often do with you.

"If you don't, then you shouldn't," he spoke matter-of-factly.

You let out a soft laugh.

It was a very Zayne-typical answer.

"Right, because it's always that simple," you rolled your eyes playfully. "...I wish it was, anyway. Zayne, I haven't seen them in forever..."

"Forever would be an exaggeration..."

You could almost hear the frown in his voice, but for a while, you didn't say anything else.

"...Sweetheart?"

Another gentle squeeze of your arm, and your eyes searched his, feeling your throat close up at truly admitting the source of your problems.

But you should, right? This was... communication. The both of you had always valued it; you couldn't just... go back on your own promises to him.

...It might have made you hate yourself more if you did.

"Zayne... I— I want to, but..."

You paused, taking in a deep breath, averting your gaze once more. Your lips quivered again, and Zayne's immediate reaction was to give you another soft, gentle kiss. Now, you could only close your eyes, focusing instead on the lingering feeling of having his lips upon yours, if only to keep yourself from breaking into tears yet again.

"I-I don't feel like I... Like my body very much, these days..." Your voice came out barely a whisper. "It's a formal event, right? Fancy dresses and all that... I went window-shopping with Tara today, and, I—"

Your breath got caught in your throat, and you shook your head, moving once more to bury yourself into his chest.

"I don't know, Zayne... Maybe, I think I just feel—hard to love, right now, or something. And it's so stupid. I know that you love me, I know that the girls do, and I've never questioned it, I just—I don't feel like I'm pretty enough to be loved, and..."

You clutched him tightly as more of your tears seemed to fall without your consent at all, your own heartbeat thrumming wildly in your ears just painfully hyperaware of just how pathetic you were being.

And you've been feeling pretty darn pathetic for virtually the entire day.

You really couldn't tell if crying was making you feel any better, either—you'd held it together this whole day up until now, but each and every time you spoke, it was almost as if the tears wouldn't stop. Even as he sighed into your hair, even as he hald you close, even with his soft, feathery kisses over the top of your head.

"Don't cry, snowflake," he murmured, gently rubbing your back. "Here, breathe with me. Relax, alright, sweetheart?"

You swallowed your sobs, settling slowly into whimpers and then slowly into hiccups, focusing on the steady movements of his palm against the silk of your nightgown.

"That's it. Breathe, okay?"

You sniffled as you looked up, pouting visibly, and he reached over to wipe your tears away once more, shifting to press his forehead against yours.

"Sweetheart. Have you been feeling this way for some time now?"

His eyes were intense. They carried within them was an emotion you couldn't quite place. It was almost as if it had swirled into a complicated mix, almost as if desperate to pull you out of your self-deprecating reverie; only giving way to a certain kind of sorrow when you feebly nodded your head.

"Oh, snowflake," he whispered, and the genuine regret that was laced into his voice made your heart thrum. "If only you had told me sooner."

"...M'sorry, Zayne..."

"Why do you apologize? I only wish to make you feel loved. Because I do love you. And I think you are the most beautiful, beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon."

His words felt weighty on your heart, nd you had to swallow down, for the nth time that night, that very same desire to cry.

"...Zayne..."

This time, he kissed you—soft, and slow, and gentle; not unlike most of his kisses, but laced with a certain passion that almost seemed to drown out all the fragments of disdain still in your mind. His hand moved up to your hair, his other drawing you even closer against him, the heat from his skin becoming ever more noticeable to you.

When you pulled back from his kiss, eyes dazed and mildly breathless, he traced his fingers over your face—from your eyes, to your nose, to your mouth, to your jaw... And down, over your collarbone, over the skin of your upper arm.

"You are beautiful, sweetheart," he repeated. And he stroked your arm, never once taking his eyes off of you.

For the first time that night, you thought—yeah. Maybe I am beautiful.

His hand, then, moved from your arm over to your clothed breast, grazing over the exposed skin peeking out of your now-disheveled nightgown, before trailing down to your stomach—and your hips—and your thigh—

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes moving downwards to watch as his hnd repeated the same motions, steadily feeling yourself relax into the lull of his caresses.

"Your hips," he mumbled. "Your stomach... your thighs... your arms... your breasts..." Zayne leaned over to kiss the tip of your nose, offering you the smallest of smiles. "Your cheeks. Your lips. Your nose, your eyes, your..."

"—Z- Zayne—"

"...Everything." His voice dropped low into a whisper, his hand slipping right between your thighs, brushing a knuckle against your clothed heat.

He nuzzled against you, sighing.

"You're beautiful, my snowflake. And I love every single part of you. Do you understand?"

You could only nod underneath his gaze, staying completely still as he moved his arm down to settle firmly over your waist, his eyes conveying a certain desire that was quite familiar to you.

"...Zayne," you mumbled. "A-aren't you sleepy?"

"No."

"But... You always say it's bad to stay up late..."

He gaze was unwavering; firm, yet expectant. You could feel his thumb rubbing circles into your skin, and when he lened back in to whisper over your lips, you could feel yourself dizzy at his hot breath against you.

"Maybe so," he whispered. "But you are more important right now. And if you would allow me, sweetheart... Then I, as your husbnd, would want nothing more than to show you just how much I love you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

His hand, now, would slide up ever so slowly, tracing the curvature of your spine, and you shuddered—

"Okay," you spoke, breathless, quiet, waiting in anticipation of his movements.

And when he smiled, you thought, truly, you couldn't wish for a more loving husband.

"May I know?" he mumbled as he gently moved the fabric of your gown up above your breasts. "What about your body do you hate so much?"

He stopped when you shivered involuntarily against the cold air on your stomach, subconsciously moving your arms over to cover yourself.

You looked away.

"I understand if you do not want to talk about it. If it's too much, then please, forget I as—"

"...I'm not slim, like the other girls," you cut him off softly.

Zayne's hands gently pried your own away from your stomach, bringing one of them up to kiss at your knuckles.

For a while, there was silence, and you shrunk under his gaze.

What if he also...

"You don't have to be," he interrupted your thoughts with a nod of his head, having finally gathered his thoughts, and his other hand moved back to stroke the side of your waist.

"...But... I-I don't fit well into dresses... My torso is long, and my figure isn't very flattering, my belly fat would show if I—"

He moved lower, this time, to place a trail of kisses from the valley of your breasts down over your navel.

"Z-Zayne..."

"You must understand that I think your figure is very flattering, sweetheart. You've always looked stunning in everything that you've worn. Don't you know how much self-control I must practice whenever I see you?" A smile tugged at his lips, and you almost shivered at the look in his eyes, goosebumps raising on your skin when he snaked his hand over to the plush of your inner thigh. "And I love the way my hands would mold into your skin. They fit so perfectly around your waist, your thigh... So easy for me to hold. Very easy for me to love."

He gave you a squeeze as if to prove his point, but you could only look away almost shamefully. "...But I have scars on my legs," you mumbled. "So wearing short skirts would expose them, and they're—"

"Beautiful."

He bent your leg to kiss your knee, gently brushing his fingers over the marks on your skin.

"They are beautiful."

Zayne shook his head with a sigh, before moving back up to capture your pout into another kiss.

"But—"

"No buts, sweetheart. These are not flaws to be hidden, nor things that you should feel the need to get rid of. They are part of you, and to me, that makes them perfect."

Another kiss, this time by the side of your jawline, and you drew in a breath.

"You are perfect, snowflake."

You felt your skin burn against his touch, and his words made you feel warm and tingly.

"The shape of your face is, too, perfect as it is. In case you were wondering. Just as perfect for me to hold, and just as perfect for me to kiss."

A kiss on your neck, to your collarbone, to your shoulders, down your arm...

"I can only say the same for your arms. So soft. They wrap perfectly around me, did you know that?" He smiled against your skin, before shifting to press you onto your back, caging you between his arms and hovering above you. "And your shoulders sit on you perfectly fine, I hope you don't think of them so badly, either. Frankly, they must be tired from carrying all the burdens you keep from me still..."

You noted the seriousness in his voice, and felt yourself subsequently relax.

"...Zayne, I—"

"Do not apologize. I won't ask for it, and you've nothing wrong. However... you must tell me, next time, sweetheart, whenever you feel like this. Can you promise me that?"

A silence followed, as if you were weighing your words—

And perhaps, you were.

It was never easy for you to speak of this thoughts. You'd think yourself normal if not for all these baseless insecurities, and you'd much prefer to keep them to yourself—

But what had that done? All these years spent holding in your tears, only to break at the slightest prod of your thoughts.

It wasn't as if crying had helped you.

It even made things worse, probably.

And it would do more harm to you if you continued in this unhealthy cycle of bottling things up.

"...You don't mind?" you whispered. "I don't want to bother you... You're always so busy..."

"Oh, sweetheart. I will always have time for you. And I am always here to listen. You understand that, don't you?"

"...I know, but..."

"I am your husband. What husband would I be to ignore your concerns?"

You smiled faintly at that, finally finding in yourself the courage to loosely hook your arms around his neck.

In the end, Zayne was willing to be your confidant. And communication had always been important between the two of you, you knew this well enough—an issue like this shouldn’t be too different from that. Why would you keep such things from him, truly?

"Okay," you nodded, a promise to yourself and a promise to him. "I promise, Zayne."

"Good girl."

His praise, so associated now with certain activities that you had often done, went straight to your core—you almost wanted to hide, despite knowing you had given him consent to do as he wished, but he leaned in for another kiss.

You could feel his smile as he moved his lips against yours, biting gently at your lower lip enough to elicit a gasp.

When he pulled back, the mirth in his eyes was clear, and you jumped as you felt the pad of his thumb graze ever so slightly over your pert nipple.

"Z-Zayne..." you whispered, eyes searching his.

"Do you know what I love the most about your body?"

He spoke against your lips, close enough just to touch, but not quite.

You slowly shook your head no.

"You're always so responsive."

His hand moved to knead at your skin, brushing slightly over your nipple but never quite touching. His eyes fixed upon yours, taking in the way your eyelids would flutter and the way you would instantly shudder at his touch;

"So... expressive. So telling."

You couldn't help the way you whimpered, feeling yourself arch slightly into his hand, eyes closing as he flicked once more against your nipple before pinching it between the pads of his fingers.

The moan he elicited out of you was airy and long, and had you opened you eyes, you would see the way he tilted his head, watching you, observing you. He only continued, of course—rolling it slowly, tugging slightly, feeling the bud get harder between his nimble fingers. It was almost as if he were eager to hear more of you moans, and he would get them instantly.

"You're always so sensitive for me, sweetheart."

Without giving you a chance to react to his words, he dipped his head down, latching his mouth over your other bud, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your arms. Another moan fell from your lips. You felt him gently rub your waist once more to ease you into the pleasure, expertly working you up.

He knew you so well.

You could feel it in the way he pinched and rubbed at you in all the right places, skillfully swirling the tip of the warm muscle over your stinging nipple. You felt his saliva pool from the sides of his mouth and onto your breasts—when he pulled back with a 'pop', you flushed at the way he casually wiped it away, eyes never leaving yours.

"Z-Zayne, really, you..." You were breathless when he spoke, barely getting a chance to collect yourself when he sat up, spreading you open and settling between your legs.

"You're wet, aren't you?" he spoke matter-of-factly, but the look in his eyes told you that he was quite pleased. "Hm, what did I say? So responsive for me."

His hand moved lower.

"Just like the good girl that you always are..."

Lower, lower, digging into the waistband of your panties—

"And you are such..."

Another kiss on your stomach, and he slowly pulled the fabric away.

"A beautiful..."

His eyes dropped to the way your slick pulled with your underwear, a telltale sign of your wetness.

"Good girl."

Zayne moved to swipe a finger over your slit, collecting your arousal and spreading it over to your clit. He raised an eyebrow slightly at you as he did so, taking in the way you would mewl almost instantly;  "So wet for me, my snowflake."

You whimpered, hands reaching out for him, settling only when he tucked you under his chin, easily slipping a finger into your hole.

"Mmh— Zayne..."

Another moan, and he kissed at your hair, gently pumping his finger in and out of you.

"See how perfect you are?" He murmured, and his thumb would press over your clit, gently rubbing in time with the languid thrust of his finger. "The way you wrap around me like this... I could keep my fingers inside of you all night long, sweetheart."

You could feel everything, with the way he took his time with you, exploring every inch of your pussy almost as if committing it to memory. And he was right—he felt perfect inside you, feeling his sighs against the crown of your head everytime he would clench around you.

He slipped another finger in, and you groaned at the stretch.

"Shit, Zayne," you whispered, feeling yourself buck up into his fingers.

"Language, sweetheart."

You almost laughed at his words, had he not quickened his pace, finally moving his head down to bring you into another deep kiss.

You could feel it—the gradual knotting in your stomach, the jolt of pleasure when he rubbed against your sensitive spots.

"Zayne—" You moaned when he pulled back from the kiss, eyes turning hazy. "Zayne, please, I'll cum—"

He peppered kisses over your face, and smiled.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

You gasped as you climaxed almost as if by command, trembling in your place, eyes wide as you felt the pleasure rip through you intensely. Zayne continued to kiss at your skin, soothing phrases in your ear, gentle caresses over your arm.

"Z-Zayne, I... You...—"

He pressed his cock against your cunt, sighing into your neck.

"One more, sweetheart, okay?" he breathed, teasing your entrance with his tip. "I need to be inside you."

And how could you say no?

You could feel the lust radiating off of him, his chest heaving with remnants of self-control, leaving slow, languid licks on the side of your neck if only to placate himself.

It was rare to see him lose control, but you knew that he would always end up getting like this whenever he would push himself inside you.

He would only get like this with you.

For you.

Your heart jumped, and you nodded, running your hands over his back.

"I can take one more," you mumbled.

Immediately, inch by inch, you felt him sink deep into your cunt, feeling the stretch of your walls to accomodate his length no matter how many times you'd done this.

Your eyes closed as you hissed in pleasure, wrapping your legs around his waist, taking in the way he would gently rut against you. Soft, steady, rocking movements; the bed would creak along with his thrusts in a lull that had your eyelids fluttering closed.

"You take me very well," he groaned from the throat, voice slightly muffled into your neck. "So perfect for me, snowflake... Your pretty pussy around my cock..."

His words sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core, every squeeze of your cunt on eliciting a sharp hiss from his lips.

"Haah... Zayne..."

He made you feel loved.

His cock was snug in your walls, every vein and ridge dragging perfectly against you. You were made for him, and he for you—his low moans were music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, your chest swelling with warmth.

"I love you," you whispered, bucking your hips up to meet his. "I love you, Zayne... so, so much."

He finally lifted his head, the lustful cloud in his lime-green eyes mixing with overflowing adoration.

"And I love you, sweetheart. More than you think. More than you know."

You'd never felt yourself glow at such words before.

The pace he kept was steady, but the lingering feeling of your previous high had you now moaning unabashedly, feeling yourself getting closer, and closer to another one.

"Please," you whimpered, feeling your nails dig into his back when he angled his thrusts, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars. "Please, Zayne, 'mso close..."

He shuddered at the way you clenched, obliging you with harder, deeper thrusts, adoring the way you would throw your head back in moans of his name.

"Fuck," he cursed, eyes closing, hips stuttering. "Go ahead, sweetheart, 'm right there with you."

You could feel the way he twitched inside of you, thrusts getting faster, more erratic.

"Inside, right?" you breathed, clutching him tightly, almost locking him in place. "Inside, Zayne, please—together—"

He moaned lowly, nearly driving you into the mattress with the force of his thrusts, your words igniting a newfound fervor. "Shit—you'd like that, huh, sweetheart? Want me to fuck a baby in you? You'll be such a beautiful mother, won’t you?"

Your eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the feeling of his cock against your walls, claiming your cunt in the way you liked best. "Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, "please, Zayne—"

You mewled in your release, clenching tightly, feeling him paint your insides white as ropes of his cum spurted deep inside of you.

You held him close, panting, burying your face into his neck.

"I love you," you whispered, repeating your words. "I love you, Zayne. I love you, and thank you... For always being there for me."

He panted as he thrust inside of you once, twice, plugging you full of his spend, before pulling out and kissing you deeply.

"I love you ever more. I will never stop feeling lucky to have you, and I will always be here. I meant it, sweetheart... You'd make a beautiful mother." As you flushed, he pressed a hand against your stomach, and smiled. "For what it's worth, your weight is perfectly healthy. And there is nothing wrong with your body, okay, snowflake?"

"...I know. Thank you, Zayne."

"Would you prefer to go shopping with me, instead? My shift will end earlier tomorrow. I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with you."

This time, you smiled. You snuggled into his embrace, finding solace in his warmth, just as you always did.

"I'd like that a lot."

⁺₊ / an: i ended up combining a couple of requests for this (and the youtiful series as a whole) and finally got around to writing zayne!!! this was incredibly hard to write, i love him INCREDIBLY so, and something about writing him amplifies the need to have it down perfectly 😭

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[bamsara]

I'll ask, if it hasn't been already - regarding the tags on the fanfic poll:

What kinda things make you click out/give you the squick? I'm so curious 👀

rubs my hands together: could be a mix of things anywhere between character dynamics, personalities or even how the fic is formated

Btw for people who don't know what squicks are: 'Squicks' are just personal preferences that someone doesn't like. Nothing wrong with em it's just not your vibe. (Exp: Like how all my friends HATE tomatoes but I am tomato eater forever)

anyway long ramble list:

Can't read big blocks of text without breaks very well, and I dislike when characters (esp main characters that are talking in every chapter/scene) have bolded or italicized dialogue. I think it's fine for special reoccurring characters but it genuinely messes up with reading flow for me when it comes to taking in information if used too much

If I'm reading a fic specifically for a monogamous romantic paring, I don't care for the 'past lover interest reappears' trope or one of them currently has one, or the love triangle that results in one of them being like 'oh but i love them both i can't possibly choose!' *cough twilight cough* it just makes the relationship feel disgenuine and icky. zero stars. Any mention of a character's past relationship usually makes me just click out, just personally not here for that

-^^^ to go with this, big fan of the 'misunderstanding where someone thinks there's a love rivelry but the third person never had a chance.' Like to the main pairing there's only eyes for each other and that's all they care about, there's just some third person who's there and causing problems (either because someone in the pairing is jealous of the third person thinking they're gonna steal the other when it's not, or the third person thinks they're a love rival when in reality they're not even thought about) *cough Tyren cough*. I think there's a lotta comedy to have with this. Bonus points if it brings main pairing closer together

When characters have linear character development and recovery. I prefer my characters to realistically relapse and bit a little bit of a hypocrite as they develop from start of story to end. Failing and falling short and again makes the final result much more satisfying when they're healing

When characters use 'therapy speak' or otherwise react perfectly 'acceptable' to stressful situations. Again, I prefer realistic depictions of characters under stress, and work out becoming better under that stress rather than just One Big Thing Happen and suddenly they're never going to react negatively or lash out again because another character told them It Was Bad and To find Better Coping Mechanisms.

Unhappy endings. (Or open ended ones) Sorry for hurt/no comfort lovers but none of my fics will have unhappy endings. I like my stories to have people that go through absolute hell and still come out on the otherside

The ace in me doesn't care for fics where physical attraction is a large part of the ingredients that gets the pairing together. Not saying they can't admire each other when the sunlight hits them or wearing a nice outfit but just not a fan of reading about how 'sexy' a character is to another. Probably why I usually blast all my characters with the aspec beam

That's all I can think of off the top of my head but if someone had a more specific question I might be able to answer

[n0tamused]

HSR/Genshin characters as dragons

A/n: I feel like this is a bit shorter than my usual dragon posts, I apologize for that. But I also have to say (for my sake at least) that these images of dragons aren't what my finished art looks like. At best I'd call them colored sketches, so please - if you're interested in my finished works, check out my instagram as I have way more concrete examples of my art! <3 Thank you. And if anyone is interested in a c0mission, you can feel free to check the carrd link in bio! They are still open!

Contents: Jing Yuan, Capitano and Aventurine as dragons, x reader, gn reader, tinge of angst, headcanons

Jing Yuan:

-Jing Yuan, although looking really fluffy and soft as he does, is a formidable warrior. He didn’t get to be a General for nothing at all

-His fur does hide a lot away and it does give him a rather gentle appearance, making him a bit easier to approach than your regular dragon. His species specifically wasn’t made for war but rather for more endurance and some more milder things, but Jing Yuan excels in all aspects of his kind and has proven himself worthy of his station during the wars and during more diplomatic events.

-It goes without saying, but this guy is cunning, he has his brains about himself and knows how to play an opponent where necessary, although he does prefer more honorable approaches and would never do anything purely “evil”

-Some wonder how he hasn’t turned brown from how much he loves to bask in the sun in his dragon form. And oftentimes it has happened when someone went to check on him and he was just knocked out in a nap coma, not laying in any shade, just all sun. If he was in his human form he would have been burnt to a crisp

-But there’s something about Jing Yuan’s dragon form that is rather comforting, to both you and honestly anyone else. Everyone knows stories of old kings and leaders of planets and countries that are described as these powerful and frightening individuals that hid their softness for special people in their hearts. Jing Yuan, although powerful, does not evoke fear in his people like those kings from the stories do. His presence does command respect, yes, but people can approach him and talk to him just fine, without any unwarranted fear that he’d reprimand them or punish them for saying anything he may dislike.

-He has a lot of patience with people in general, and all diplomatic meetings he attends go by smoothly

-Jing Yuan doesn’t shy from his dragon form at all, and at times he prefers it when the sun is not as strong, so he can soak up every single ray of sun he possibly can. He has quite the bit yard so he doesn’t lack space either

-Loves to see you cuddle him. Since he is quite big, he does tend to not move much if you decide to hop onto him while he’s sleeping and cuddle him, just in case you find yourself under his claws by some chance. He doesn’t want to crush you. Other times he is rather playful, gentle all throughout, as he picks you up or nudges you with his head. Once he smacked you with that big tail of his, and although it looks mad fluffy that thing does have weight to it alright.. you were knocked into the grass bro

-Older age has turned some of his coat a darker shade and some of those spots also came in later in his life. It is something he doesn’t mind, he is quite fond of his spots

-He lets you do his hair or help him with his armor in dragon form. There are always those small and annoying clasps that are bothersome to put on so he entrusts them to you

-Some of the armor does hide scars from his past battles, but so does his big thick mane. That’s also some of the reasons why people think he doesn’t do much fighting since he always looks so well put together and “clean”(no visible scars) both in human form and in dragon form

-He is also very clean btw, smells fresh. Chef kiss

Capitano:

-His name has only existed in rumors and legends for centuries, and he has long since become some sort of  ghost tale. Some believe this dragon exists, some don’t, some use the stories to scare their children with, others laugh about it..etc

-No one doubts Capitano, the strongest man alive, the first of the Fatui exists, but the question of his dragon form is another matter. Many don’t even believe those are one and the  same, due to the lack of all the proof that the two are correlated 

-Capitano has never admitted to anything either to anyone outside of this Fatui fold, and he never truly had the need to take the form of the ice beast. He is the strongest man in Teyvat, he can do everything in this form without causing too much of a ruckus, he doesn’t need a dragon to wreck more havoc and cause more of a scene yk

-Although in his battle against Mavuika… maybe they both let out their beastly forms yk and they just duked it out a bit until both sustained damage and that fog curtain was blown over them and they retreated

-In his dragon form he is quite cold to the touch, it’s almost like he doesn’t produce much heat at all, and although his breath sometimes smokes and fogs from his nostrils, his scales are never warm. 

-His scales are dense and thick, made for protection and endurance, but they do hinder some of his ability to be flexible

-Don’t be fooled though, although he isn’t the most flexible or speedy dragon around, he is a killer tank, a machine. His claws and teeth can pierce anything and everything, and that tail of his is also something to be wary off. Even if he has his back turned to you that tail seems to possess a mind of its own and lashes about to protect him if someone tries an attack from behind (side note: inspired by an iguanodon, specifically that big claw on his front legs)

-Ice powers of course, he can freeze the ground underneath him and summon ice projectiles, as if he wasn’t a battle beast already 

-This form is quite rare to see, and for a long, long time his darling didn’t even know about it until that battle with Mavuika that brought it out of him

-It was nothing to scoff at or turn your head from. You were worried for him when you heard he was injured, and to know he had pushed himself into his dragon form also speaks great volumes of the intensity of the battle itself

-He doesn’t see it as important even after you expressed your concerns and bafflement after having found out. He just sort of shrugs it off. No big deal 

-His wings look quite heavy, and they are, so he does require quite the run up to take to the skies

-In human form he does have some scales on him, so if you’re cuddled up to him at night you can feel them under your fingertips. Capitano is quite open to your touches, rather relaxed after being with you for so long and these days, your touches often lull him to sleep. He sleeps on his back and sleeps like a log. He usually has an arm around you and the scales on his chest and arms are free to be examined by you

-He is quite scarred, and Capitano is not opposed to telling you how he got which scar. His way of storytelling isn’t exactly rich, it’s straight to the point but not boring

-Sometimes he leaves his tail around when he goes back to his human form, but only if he knows no one will see him, except you. 

Aventurine:

-Although the smallest in the list today, and a smaller stature for his species in general, Aventurine’s strength lies in his head. Due to the rough past he preserved through with luck and cunning, he knows what the world is like and how it operates

-Most people base their judgment on visuals and vocal tones, so Aventurine has gained quite the rep for being flamboyant and extra. Just like he wears so many fancy layers and clothes in his human form, he adorns his dragon form in pretty pearls, gold, rings, scarves, fluff..etc. Everything to show this image of confidence and maybe a bit of cockiness and arrogance

-As the money goat of the IPC, he has to look the part too, no?

-As mentioned before, he knows what a lot of people look at and what they look for, and due to the smaller size of his dragon he is able to walk through most places in that form too, bringing more attention to himself and more opportunities too.

-Of course he has had his fair share of insults directed at him, both in human and dragon form, but he tries not to let it ever show. The dragon form does tend to ward off any truly malicious individuals though, and his status as a Stoneheart has granted him a fair share of protection as well. Not many would dare to strike a Stoneheart.

-By nature he is quite colorful, additionally Aventurine also takes great care and hygiene of his looks. I mean dude probably has his own perfume brand along some others, he smells good and does leave a lasting impression overall

-The only thing he wishes he could get rid of is that branding on his neck. It is there no matter what shape he takes and it is glaringly obvious to anyone that looks at him. He can hide his eyes, but he can’t hide the red letters on his neck that the feathers or his collar fail to cover up. Even after so many years after it happened, the feathers in that spot of his neck never grew back, the tissue being far too scarred to allow any new growth.

-It is the only thing he  could visibly react to when in the presence of someone else. He may huff and puff, try and jest about it before switching topics

-No matter how much he takes care of himself though, he’ll never be able to wash off the blood of his skin and feathers, the blood of his people that died while he survived, then the blood of the master that abused him and kept him chained up.

-His feathers may look glossy, clean, pristine, but if it were up to him, he’d pluck them all out

-In private, if you catch him before he reverts back to his human form, he tends to not let you touch him

-He makes some excuses, that his feathers are too oily, or that they don’t smell good, or that they’re too rough and this and that, and he just goes back to his human form before you can protest against it

-If you really insist he will agree on gifting you a couple of his feathers for keepsake, your pick too. You can use it as an accessory, or maybe house decor - sell it if you want to, he doesn’t mind what you do with it

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Tags: @moonlitreveri3 @lexidraws @drowning-in-cabbages @creationsabyss @grimulf-of-the-wilderness @st4rrl1ghtwastaken @the-inquisitive-constellation @voiddance @the-bilkush @fictionally-attached @cheese-enjoyer9471

[plumipal]

AAAAAOMG UR TWST OC IS SO ADORABLE?? i'm absolutely in love with eden sm (+ his design?? the star eyes and the wings are my favorite,, i wanna smooch all his tattoos!) and i hope it's okay to ask a few questions about him... (I KNOW U SAID IT WAS OKAY BUT I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE 😭 i'm genuinely interested in knowing more!)

1) does he have anyone in the twst cast that he tolerates/likes? i know he's part of the whole harem thing but is there anyone he doesn't necessarily mind being around (or even sharing with the prefect?)

2) do grim and eden have a good relationship? i would assume so since they're living both with one another but do they just get along with each other for the prefect's sake or are they actually best buds? (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

(little dumb idea but i think it would be so cute if the prefect treated the two as if they were all like a little family! eden and prefect being the two parents and grim their rambunctious kid lmao,, i would imagine the others not being so happy about it (っ‘ω`c))

3) is he okay with physical affection/pda? is he totally chill about it or would he rather shy about the whole thing? is he open to having the prefect touch his wings or his tattoos?

4) oooo any funfacts that you have about the new ramshackle resident?? just in general really if that's okay with u ofc!! ☆

aa okay that's it!! i hope my questions weren't annoying or anything! (っ‘ω`c)

Had to get one of those wheels ive seen going around where you put the oc and how they feel about the character and how the characters feel back about them, but with a twist lol (most of them are haters).

The ones he are most tolerant with are grim, ace, deuce, jack and kalim. Only one he could possible share with would either be kalim, jack or deuce, because of how he sorta is annoyed by ace.

Of course cant forget how he feels about you :) he thinks you are very very very special and he loves you a lot <3

He likes grim a lot, seeing as grim isn't one of the students that is oh so annoying. He warms up to the monster, seeing how gently you take care of grim, wanting to do the same. It feels, domestic, in his opinion.

Grim likes Eden a lot too, he has never belittled him, he has always made sure to feed grim along with Eden being very warm (and therefore very nice to sleep on). In grims opinion, he thinks you should go with Eden, cuz he is a good candidate for marriage (grim has been bribed with love, affection, and tuna).

He takes good care of the cat son, making sure he is healthy and happy.

Now onto pda. Eden are only okay with you touching the wings, the tattoo and the core, being as they are quite sensitive. The scar is still off limits, but maybe if you make him warm up to you even more you might be able to-

He loves when you help him with his wings, it's one of the best feelings out there. Fo mind that only you (and grim) can touch the wings, anyone else is off limits, ESPECIALLY ROOK HE IS FORBIDDEN TO TOUCH THEM.

Eden facts!! He has lil "ear-holes" like birds, just behind the feathers. Be careful around that part when you help him with his feathers, otherwise you might have a pouty and angry Eden on tour hands.

His eyes also glow in the dark! It's the scariest during the nightly snack runs down to the kitchen, seeing him suddenly stare at you, but you slowly get used to it!

You don't know where the extra eyes sometimes come from tho...

Also some general facts about Eden!

Dorm: Ramshackle

Birthday: 1/1

Age: ???

Height: 185cm

Fav subject: alchemy

Hobby: cleaning in ramshackle, birdwatching

Likes: you

Dislikes: Loud noises, blond 3rd year hunters named rook hunt, people trying to grab onto his wings that aren't you

Fav food: he don't need to eat to gain sustenance, bur he likes mashed potatoes with gravy

Least fav food: soup, any soup, he hates it

Btw if anyone were to write for Eden I would explode it would mean the world to me

[idanceuntilidie]

Huloo, just read Yandere cheater and it was hook line sinker for me, do you still do request? If so can you do a Yan! cheater but the reader is like one of those cold stone face to others but warm to their friends and family but especially soft towards someone they really like? (In this case the cheater). Im curious about your take 😭. Scenario would basically be the same same I guess, like Yan! Cheater jumped to conclusion and, being an idiot, decide revenge cheat is the solulu to his delulu thoughts.

(If your requests are closed, please ignore this, Id be embarrassed)

I would have finished this way earlier today, slowly back to posting I hope yall are proud of me Warning: non con touching * blood * mentions of rotting meat and killing people * yandere themes ofc

yan cheater x gn reader

„SMILE FOR ME ALRIGHT?”

“I like when you smile, you look really cute when you do” “Haha aren’t you a charmer?” “Listen, I am serious! Your smile is special, not many can see it bunny.” “I love you” “I love you too.” Your face doesn’t reflect on how you are feeling, unless it is someone that you actually care about. It is only natural that people can’t tell what you are feeling, and that comes with its pros and cons.

People won’t know if they hurt you. Ciaran was pretty, but underneath all of that hid a disgusting freak. Too bad you have learned that when you saw the man you love kiss someone else. You remember he kissed you with such passion not even a few hours later. You hate to admit, he looks pretty even now. Standing at your doorstep, red hair clinging to his face. Make up slightly smeared because of the water. Ciaran looked beautiful, even if messy and wet. It made your blood boil. You wanted to rip his hair out, punch him and then curl into a ball and cry your eyes out. Instead you kept leaning against the door frame, the scent of rain calming you down. You didn’t say anything to him, and he didn’t to you. He knew that you found out, and you knew his only regret right now was that he didn’t hide well enough.

The more you look at him, the more sick you feel. You waited for him to come back though, so you could spit on his face and throw him out of your apartment. You didn’t even bother with a suitcase, a trash bag fitted his personality more. “I have nothing to say to you Ciaran, take your shit and get lost.” Your voice was cold, monotonous but it made him shudder. You threw the bag into the closest puddle and finally slammed the door in his fucking face. There was something about you, Ciaran couldn’t put his finger on it. He doesn’t know why you are so attractive to him. Your eyes are cold, dead just like your expression that you wear. It’s like making eye contact with a corpse. Despite your very dead expression, you are quite attractive. Beautiful. It made his heart flutter, so it was only natural that he tried to get close to you. With time he got to see more of you, your little traits. Likes and dislikes. What you listen to, and what you eat.

The best part was when your stoic expression was replaced with a smile. He lived for those moments, but then it got boring. Can you even blame him? It all felt lukewarm. He needed that excitement back, and you couldn’t give him that. That is, he thought you couldn’t. But he was wrong. Ciaran wouldn’t admit it of course, it would hurt his pride. He was too proud, and you were just difficult and used.

He couldn’t admit that after just a week his body ached for your touch, scent. He wanted to see you smile again, hear you speak, touch you.

Every single time he tried to crawl back to you, you welcomed him with an ice cold stare and blank face. After God knows how many times he appeared in front of your house, you didn’t even bother opening the door and soon enough you moved away.

How could you? Leaving him wailing in the dirt in front of the place both of you called home. You are so cruel, didn’t you say people deserve a second chance?

Maybe he just needed to try harder.

The house breathed with you, calm and unbothered. The air felt heavy still and moist, in other words it stank in here quite badly. Slightly rotten food with the mix of your sweat made you gag. You laid still in your bed, eyes tired, achy and dry from the lack of sleep. You feel like you are going to suffocate in here. You listen to the melody of the forest surrounding your house, the gentle sway of the trees and cicadas. It’s dark, why were you up again? Your eyes start to wander around the room trying to adjust to the soft light of the moon. It’s dark, you see your furniture and that pile of clothes that looks a lot like a human now that you stare at it.

You turn on the light, it blinds you and you close your eyes and hiss in pain. When you open them again you see the same pile of dirty clothes. It looks normal, like a pile of unwashed clothes would. You thought it was.. nevermind, brain tends to imagine weird shapes when you can’t see shit. That’s what it was, you sigh as you get up. The air feels stuffy.

 If it wasn’t for the crippling anxiety you would open the window, you can’t see outside but it can see you. That makes you worry.

You dragged your heavy feet to the kitchen to grab something to eat even though there is not much you can choose from. You need to go shopping. Your stomach recoils at that thought. Ciaran just waits for you to leave. He is probably not very happy that you have ignored him as much as you did. His gifts lay unopened at your front door, slowly piling up. The sweet scent of rotting meat emitting from them. Just thinking about it makes you weak in the stomach. The kitchen is dark, after the bedroom incident you didn’t bother even turning on the light. Your poor eyes. Your shaky hands search for the least dirty cup so you can at least drink some water.

After your break up, Ciaran hasn’t left you alone. Blocking him didn’t help, the police didn’t help. He made sure you were alone, with no one to help you. Your ex successfully tracked you every single time, that's why you are stuck at home. Looking and smelling like shit. It has been a week without him trying to contact you but you aren’t sure he finally moved on. You will sneak out of the house, leave everything and just escape this madness. You will be free. There is a warm breath on your neck.

The glass shattered against the wooden floor. “Did you miss me?” he rasped out. He smelled like forest. His voice goes through your ears, making them ring. You didn’t respond, praying that your brain is imagining things. It surely is, he imagines how he nuzzles into the crook of your neck and his hands slowly wander around your body.

You feel weak in your knees, hands gripping the sink in an attempt to get some stability. Ciarans cold hands painfully dig into your stomach. You feel like you are going to puke.

Then everything stops. You turn around and you are greeted with the sight of your kitchen. No Ciaran.

You raise your shirt, no marks.

You were going crazy or the lack of sleep is really getting into you. Forget the water or food, you are going to sleep. Ciaran is not here, you are safe and you need sleep. Badly. The floorboards creak against your weight, the trip to your room. It’s like being like a kid again, and you feel like someone is chasing you so you run up to your room to turn the light on and scare the evil away. The thought of it makes you chuckle. Something feels wrong though, you look at your front door. It’s open.

Fuck the sneaking, you are ready to run to your room when someone grabs you. Their hands are sticky, warm. The metallic and sweet rotting smell fills the room. “Bunny, bunny calm down. It’s okay, I am here finally.” “Ciaran, Ciaran please…” you choke out as he squeezes your frail body. “Ahh how I missed that voice of yours.” he moaned into your ear and hugged you tighter. You want to cry, you want to throw up but you can’t give him the satisfaction of that. You can show him any basic human emotion, that’s what he wants.

 He kissed your neck, nipping at some places. Like he used to, when you two were together.

“You missed me too, right bunny? you missed my voice?” “Ciaran leave my house.” “But baby why? We are finally together again.” He let go of you. Your body ached, head pounding and all of your senses screaming to run.

“Aren’t you happy? Please bunny, smile for me like you used to.” His hands grabbed your face, fingers jamming into your mouth forcing it to open. It hurts, you can taste the blood coating his hands. He forces you to smile and you stop yourself from actually throwing up. Your thoughts are muddy, body weak. You claw at his hands but he grips you together. Nails digging into your gums, you gag. Ciaran beams at you, happy. Smiling widely, just like he used to.

“Now, was that so hard?” he hums.

You try to protest, but you are unable to speak. You are so tired, so weak. He took notice of that. Kissing your forehead.

“Oh my poor baby, you are exhausted waiting for me right? Don’t worry, I will help you.”

The last thing you remember is pain, the amazement on how strong his head is and a small thought that no matter how far you run. Your loving ex will find you.

[edible-emerald]

Ok so PVP civilization??? I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS???

Spoilers for episode 5 btw

So first off the REVEALS THIS EPISODE??? And the fact that most of them were to the viewer and not to Evbo???

The first reveal I want to talk about is PRINCEZAM REVIVING. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. This means WAY MORE THAN YOU MIGHT INITIALLY THINK.

Princezam's character, in nature, is selfish. He talks highly about how Evbo repeatedly dying is heroic, and while he may be subjecting himself to endless torture, he's saving so many lives, he's a hero, he's a good person. It's implied that Zam believes, if he were in Evbo's position, he would do the same; that he would let himself die to save others. But it's a lie. Because he IS in Evbo's position. HE CAN REVIVE TOO. But he kept it a better secret than Evbo, which is the only reason why he hasn't been endlessly farmed yet.

The second reveal Princezam gives that also shows more about his character and motives is that Evbo has a limited number of revives. He isn't immortal. He's on his last life. If he dies again, he'd be gone forever. And Zam knew this.

And I think something is really, really interesting about this. Because in episode 4, Zam's motive is to make Evbo die over and over indefinitely so he can keep increasing durability of the iron swords and increasing life span. Still an interesting character, but him KNOWING that this solution is temporary, and him KNOWING that Evbo will die permanently soon, changes everything. His motive wasn't to save the iron swords, I actually think he couldn't care less about them. His motive was to kill Evbo.

What else would it be? Why else would Zam KNOWINGLY make Evbo die over and over with every death coming closer to permanent death? Because for whatever reason, Zam wanted to get rid of Evbo. But why? Yes, it's true he was the chosen one. But that leads me into my next point:

Is he?

The only real thing that made Evbo special enough to be the chosen one is that he could revive himself after dying. But he isn't the only one who can. Zam can too; and I believe Tabi and a few other people can as well. So IS he the chosen one? Personally, I don't think he is. I think that someone else is the chosen one, but I'll get to who eventually. What possible motive could Zam have for wanting Evbo dead, if he isn't the chosen one?

Evbo was a diamond sword.

OKOKOK HEAR ME OUT

Evbo was a diamond sword who's memories were erased. He was threatening to like do something (maybe become a netherite sword?) that Zam and others didn't approve of and maybe he was working with Tabi, so both of them were killed and revived in the wooden sword level. But Evbo's memories were erased in the process so Tabi decided to manipulate him and get to the top without him this time. That brings me to the next point.

Tabi has history with some of the diamond swords. Specifically, Ferre. We don't know what yet, but I believe like I said above that she and Evbo were previously diamond swords, and were trying to do something and ended up being killed. Evbo's memories were erased but Tabi's weren't.

I think the reason the diamond swords were willing to let Evbo back in and not Tabi is because he lost all his memories. Maybe, he'll get some back and realize that the diamond layer is corrupt or evil in some way, and team up with Tabi to defeat them. But I don't think so. I think Tabi is evil and had either roped in Evbo, or worked with Evbo but losing his memories made him change.

Anyways, on the topic of reviving, I think it's also safe to say Zam was a diamond sword. First off, he seemed to know the diamond swords personally and disliked them, calling them 'bottom feeders' (which by the way is so fucking funny I giggled so much at that line) also we know he can revive as well so safe to say he was killed and revived there. Maybe he was in the plan (that may or may not exist idfk) with Tabi and Evbo and was killed as well. But I doubt it, considering how he treats Evbo, but then again, his character is very selfish and antagonistic. I think his ultimate motive is to rank up to a netherite sword (which may be godhood like in parkciv?? but we don't know) and he's trying to kill Evbo to take out the competition.

Also this is a minor thing but now we finally know why Zam kept his door closed in episode two, because he had an armor stand too and didn't want the secret to come out.

Now for the final reveal: Parrot has a backstory. And I think I know what it is.

Parrot is the real chosen one.

Ok my evidence for this is mostly speculation but also if Evbo isn't the chosen one than who?? Parrot is a really odd character, like every time he talks it just feels like there's something off about him. He talks a lot about the chosen one, but he acts. Weird. Around Evbo when he finds out that he's the chosen one. Also, for someone so devoted to the chosen one, he's still very much alive; and I point this out because he has a mansion AND a video journaling machine. That costs a lot of swings and I have a feeling he hasn't really ever paid respects to it. Even though he says he has. And why would he? BECAUSE HE'S THE CHOSEN ONE.

If Parrot isn't the chosen one, either one of two things are probably true:

he was a diamond sword

he was a/the netherite sword

I don't really know how these would work in the story the same way the chosen one theory would, but yeah

Thank you for reading my ramblings :33 hopefully I didn't miss anything lmao

ALSO??? WEMMBU AND MINUTE IN A EVBO VIDEO???? HELLO???? IS THIS REAL LIFE????????